Mrs. Cowley.

Dramas and Poems.

In Three Volumes.

Vol. III.


Published by Wilkie and Robinson, Paternoster-Row.
Printed by T. Davison, Whitefriars.

A1v A2r A2v A3r


  • Page 78, Line 10, for rave read lave.
  • 121, Line 7 from bottom, for Therpsichore read Terpsichore.
  • 122, Line 1514, for where read were.
  • 138, Last line, after her insert ’tis.
  • 190, Last line, after love insert then.
  • 343, Line 2, before Thaw insert A.
A3v B1r


To one who had spoken lightly of poets.

What! is it then so slight a thing

To touch the Muse’s sacred string!

Is it to Common Mortals given

To be like Beings formed in Heaven,

To be all Spirit, unclogged air,

And in angelic gifts to share?

Oh, listen to me whilst I tell

The Powers that in such mortals dwell.

――Inspiring Beings! guidance lend,

And o’er me in the venture bend,

Nor from my daring pen depart

Whilst tracing out the poet’s art!

All information is his own

Of what belongs to either zone;

Not by laborious Tasks acquired,

Or by Attention, strained and tired,

Vol. III. B B1v 2

Ah no! his intellectual glance

Pervades Creation’s mystic dance.

What others gain by Study hard,

Flows in, upon the musing Bard,

A Word, the slightest Hint will do

To bring all knowledge in review.

Calm and unmoved his mind may seem,

Emitting scarcely forth a gleam;

Chance but a casual spark to stir,

The brightest flashes quick occur,

All is instant fulgent Light

Pouring on his mental sight!

Still, various is his glowing mind

Acute to feel, by Taste refined.

His thought can reach to Nature’s soul,

Its Agents see, conceive the whole,

Ascend where stars in millions flame,

Millions ungifted, yet, with name,

Each star a Sun, whose Planets roll

In circles kept in firm controul.

All rapt with Awe, the Poet burns

As he to their creator turns,

In fervid strains his raptures pour――

Who, like a Poet, can adore?

B2r 3

From Skies, his glance in Fancy’s flight

Surveys Earth’s hidden Wonders bright;

Sees Nature’s works, the veins of ore,

The glittering arch, the sparry floor.

Darts where the Salt-Mines columns vast

O’er realms unsun’d their Radiance cast,

Whose Domes pour down the Diamond’s beam,

In rays that form one sparkling stream

And brilliance ’neath the earth display

Unequall’d in the upper day.

His eye from splendid visions there,

He turns to scenes midst healthful air,

To Men, now blithe amidst the day,

Now soothed by pensive lunar ray;

All Characters at once he sees,

In all their varying degrees,

As by the quadrant of his mind

Their altitude is clear defined.

God, through his Works, thus widely sought,

The moral system fills his thought.

And here his intellectual eye

Wonders on Wonders will descry;

He sees, in lovely Order ranged,

Eternal Virtues, never changed;

B2 B2v 4

And, though some Principle of Ill

Lurks each unguarded space to fill,

Yet, Moral Order still is found

Where’er he looks the Earth around,

Eternally it must endure

The word that spake it made it sure!

Though hurricanes and tempests fly,

And whirlwinds vex the Indian sky,

Only in brighter hue it shines,

From midst Confusion――all refines!

Again his soul in Transport moves,

Who, like a Poet, feels and loves!

Led by Imagination bright,

O’er all the Earth he takes his flight;

In Palmy Groves he’ll now reside,

Tomorrow skim th’ Atlantic Tide,

Pierce through the Deep, its Grottoes know,

And roam where ruby Corals grow.

――Where’er he breathes, whate’er he meets,

Each Object, as from heaven, he greets;

Each is an Altar, or a Shrine,

Erected to the Power Divine――

To raise Devotion’s glowing fire,

Strike Mortal, if thou canst, the Poet’s Lyre!


The Maid of Arragon.

The Moors in Spain.

A Tale
in Blank Verse.


The following is but the Fragment of a Poem. Or
rather it is a Poem that is deficient by a fragment, the
intended Contents of which are described in a Note at
the end, so as to make the reader master of the whole
story. It describes an Invasion of Spain by the Moors,
the Siege of Sarragossa, and the Conquest of Arragon.

Those in whose minds the Beauties contained in it
constitute not a sufficient excuse for republishing it in a
still unfinished state, may perhaps think there is a
sufficient justification in the extraordinary coincidence
between the Events therein described, and those occuring
in the present day in Spain, and in some respects
throughout Europe.

The latter portion of the Second Part was never
before published; it is taken from a M.S. in Mrs.
hand writing, found amongst her Papers after
her decease. The rest of the Poem was first published
thirty years ago.



To the Author’s Father.

Accept, dear Parent! from a Filial pen

The humble offering of my pensive Muse,

She traced upon my mind a daughter’s Love,

Nor could my Heart the tender theme refuse.

The Rightful Patron of th’ eventful tale

To You I dedicate the scenes she drew;

My soul she searched to find Osmida’s thoughts,

And coloured Her, from what I feel for You!

Your’s then the meed, if meed kind Fame will grant,

The tale to you, to you the Bays belong,

You gave my youthful fancy wings to soar,

From your indulgence flows my wild-note song.

B4v 8

Its music will in your ear sweetly sound,

Its page, with fond Delight, you’ll traverse o’er,

With half your Pleasure may the world peruse!

My muse, my Vanity, can ask no more.

Dear other Parent! guiltless hold my heart

Though unadorned my numbers with your name,

Your worth, your goodness, in its centre lives,

And there shall perish only with my frame.



I entreat the Reviewers to have compassion upon me! From
the beginning of my literary progress, though I may not have
been unpraised, I have been teazed with the petty bickerings of
Criticism—and how will my outrage on Geography now
escape these unmerciful wits?

With what Triumph of critical Sagacity will they say (after
the necessary strictures on the Story, Thoughts, and Verses)—
“If our Author was determined to send her Pegasus into
Spain in quest of adventures, she ought to have consulted
Salmon about the situation of its Provinces. And, though
the small scale of her uncoloured Map may not have clearly
given the boundary line, which separates Arragon from the
narrow slip that intervenes between it and the Sea, yet, with
due diligence, she would have found that it is fifty miles from
the shore, and that the Moors could not possibly have debarked
on its Confines, unless, like fish to the London
markets, their fleet had arrived by land carriage. Had this
Lady-Writer’s reading extended to a Translation of the Iliad,
she would have found no example of such Liberties there.
Homer gives us an exact map of the country he carries us B5v 10
through, and, from Ithaca to Troy, not a village or a river
is misplaced.”

True. But Homer (I mention his as a Modern Painter
does a Corregio, or a Raphael) Homer united the Historian
with the Poet, and could not therefore venture to be inaccurate;
I deal entirely in Fiction. It was enough for me,
that Spain, during a Succession of Ages, had been subject to
the ravages of Africa, and that during that period Sovereigns
had been robbed of their territories, and obliged to resign their
Sceptres to their swarthy Conquerors. The relation of the
Events of these dark times the Historic Muse has generally left
to her creative Sister, who never fails to profit by their obscurity,
to relate them to the world in ther own unshacked manner.

The geography of the Heart, and the History of the passions,
are the only Realities to which she attends. If, in describing
these, I shall be found deviating from the laws of Truth, my
Negligence will indeed be unpardonable! But I protest, if the
cacoëthes scribendi should continue on me, and if I should
wander again into the regions of Romance, I shall treat Oceans
and Provinces with as little Ceremony as Rivulets and Meadows;
I will avail myself of the established Privileges, and create
mountains, seas, or kingdoms in any part of the habitable
globe, or, if it hit my fancy, raise a Temple to Dulness in—
the chamber of a Reviewer!

Upon referring to the Work, it appears that a word or two
(at B 1 line 188) would have corrected the geographical inaccuracy.
The Moors might easily have been made to debark
upon the neighbouring coast, and march into Arragon. But, in
a work of mere Imagination (the Error by this Deprecation
being in fact corrected) Mrs. Cowley seems to have preferred a
Jeu d’esprit against her Critics, to the character of a Matter-
of-Fact Poet. This was bold for an Author! but it probably
however angered not the Critics thirty years ago, it can have no
effect but that of amusing those of the present day.
B6r 11

The Maid of Arragon.

Part the First.

Oh ye! whose sympathetic Hearts are formed

To Woe responsive, and whose tremulous nerves

Vibrate to Sorrow’s mournful notes, attend!

Not you, ye gay! nor you, ye vacant crowds,

Who only wake to pleasures of the World,

Nor feel Existence when they cease t’ impel,

I call not you! for your unfeeling breasts

Wild Dissipation steels, and robs your minds

Of the sweet Energies bestowed by Heaven.

But, come ye few! who love the lonely hour,


Who know the sense refined, the charming agony,

Which Pity gives the hallowed heart she fills,

To you I call! Oh come, and trace with me,

B7v 14

Whilst eve’s bright star gives forth its glittering rays,

The mazy windings of yon sombre Wood.

Behold the lawn that opens on the left,

Whith crocus border’d, aromatic Thyme,

And every fragrant shrub that tempts the Bee

Down from the buoyant air to breathe in sweets.

—Erst oped the wicket of that humble Cot


By slow degrees full softly on its hinge,

As forth, with cautious tread, a beauteous girl,

A blessing breathing o’er her slumbering Sire,

The threshold passed, whilst from his short repose

Almanzor starting, called—“Where art thou Child?

Where, where’s my darling? Oh! return, Osmida!

Why wilt thou wander through Night’s piercing air?

Ah! venture not amidst its chilling dews,

Return, my Child! th’ unpitying winds will seize

Thy tender frame—”


“The night is calm my Father!

A Zephyr scarcely moves the restless Aspin,

And the clear Moon, with soft inviting beam,

Tempts through the Foliage of the lofty pines;

A thousand glowing colours bloom around,

A thousand scents perfume the tranquil air,

A moment let me breathe its balmy sweets.

B8r 15

Confined beneath the Cottage roof by fear,

But more confined by duteous cares for thee,

All Day I live immured. Then let me now


Taste Nature’s blessings—exercise and air.”

“Heaven guard my Child!” he breathed. “But soon

That balmy Sleep may sooth thee on thy couch.”

Osmida left the cot, and bent her steps

Towards the margin of a neighbouring Lake.

’Twas not its lucid bosom drew her steps,

Nor moon inviting through the lofty pines,

Nor balmy air, nor healthful exercise;

Ah, no! her bosom’d anguish ’twas to breathe,

Where grief, though audible, its notes might waste


In vacant air, not torturing the ear

Of old Almanzor, Sire revered, beloved!

Sinking to Earth, with eyes that view’d with awe

The glowing canopy of Heaven, in sounds

More mournful than the tender stock-dove’s plaints,

She thus implored Omnipotence Divine.

“Oh, Thou! to whose eternal, boundless, sight

All woes present themselves, to Thee I pray!

Not for Myself my Prayer, but for my Sire,


For him, whose care-worn heart, oppress’d, and

B8v 16

Subdued by torturous Griefs, seems torn from Thee!

His soul her wonted Confidence forgets,

And falls from Thee! he leans not on the rock,

The sacred rock, by which alone he stands,

And, quitting, sinks to measureless Despair!

O Thou! accept my humble heart for his,

Hear, hear Almanzor, in Osmida’s voice!

’Tis he implores; bless, comfort, heal his griefs,

To Thee direct his sorrow-wilder’d Heart!

Next, for my Country, Heaven, accept my

Behold its Struggles with a pitying eye!

Drive from thy Temple’s gate the mocking Infidel!

Restore thy Altars! Guard—”

By Terror stopt,

Unfinish’d was her Prayer! Forth from the Shade

Of the surrounding thicket rush’d a Knight

In shining armour clad, on bright steed borne,

That seemed to scorn the earth his light heel pass’d

As though his element had been the Air,

And bore his master to the glittering lake


Whose border still Osmida’s knee impressed.

Light vaulting on the ground, the Knight approached,

And in such Courteous Phrase addressed the maid,

C1r 17

That half her Terrors ended with his words.

“Leave me Sir Knight!” with Firmness she pronounced,

And as she spoke, her voice, though sweet, expressed

A custom to command! “Leave me Sir Knight!

None ever tread these unfrequented wilds,

But those to whom the door of sweet Society,

And Friendship’s holy gate, are shut for ever!”


“And can the social door, and Friendship’s gate,

To others open, close on thee? O Heaven,

This Paragon forsake the peopled world

And here midst Desarts dwell! But, tell fair maid,

What ills, what sore afflictions, thee have driven

To these sequestered shades!”

“My sorrows, Knight,

I scarcely whisper to the speechless air,

And must not trust them to a Stranger’s ear!

And, from your courtesy, I now demand


My Solitude again. But, as you hope

Protection from the Power that hears my voice,

Swear never to divulge that in these glades

A maid you found of not mere rustic air!”

The Stranger paused. And then, in hopes to win

Her Confidence, and woo her from Reserve

By frank Example, thus the Nymph addressed.

Vol. III. C C1v 18

“—To whom could I reveal this lone abode?

I who, like you, by keen misfortunes pressed,

Here shelter from the World; quit former haunts,


Blithe Gallia’s vineyards, and her fertile meads,

Which bloomed and fertilized in vain to grief!”

“Ah! is Affliction so insatiate

That daily victims must become her prey?

But, way-worn Knight? say whither tends your path,

What Warder lists to hear your Bugle’s sound?”

“Sweet, pious, maid! no hospitable gate

De Courci seeks, no Welcome waits his steps!

To Eastern Climes I bend my lengthening course.

Entrust me with your Woes, instruct me, Lady,


How, at the Holy Sepulchre, your Name

May animate my Prayers! that there your griefs,

From Holy Ground, may pierce the vault of Heaven,

And gain from thence soft peace and cheering joy

Fit inmates for your breast. That duty past,

My Sword shall lend its vigour to the Cause,

The sacred cause, which arms each Christian Knight!”

Osmida’s eye, with new-born Hope’s bright beam

And Gratitude inspired, shot forth her thought,

Ere from her moving lips these accents flowed;—


“And shall my sorrows from the holy cave

C2r 19

Gain greeted audience at th’Almighty’s throne!”

She stopt, and check’d her growing Frankness!

The stranger saw instinctive Prudence rise,

And fear’d to give her Caution time to act—

“Yes,” he rejoined, with Zeal most pure and ardent

“Will I your sorrows bear to that blest spot,

Where virtuous Sorrow cannot plead in vain!”

Struck with his Piety, and hallowed air,

Yet doubting still, the timid, wavering, maid


Paused, then resolved; and, bending, meekly said

“—Such kind persuasion Confidence demands

Reposed in Christian Knight, who, with his Life,

Now passes forth to aid each Christian’s cause!

Yet, patience will you need, whilst I relate

Events so mighty fitter they’d become

A manly tongue. Of Battles I must speak,

Of falling kingdoms, and victorious arms.

Such strains attune not with a female voice!

But, not alone of War shall I discourse,

Of meeting armies and contending states,


A Tale for gentle Pity I’ll unfold

But too accordant with each tender note!”

Osmida, deck’d with grace of chaste reserve,

At gentle distance, near the moss-grown roots

C2 C2v 20

Of an expanding beech a Wood-Nymph seemed,

A Woodland Goddess! and her grassy seat

Chaste Dian’s rural throne. Grave recollection

O’er her soft features spread an air composed;

Whilst in Night’s zenith, ’midst her radiant court,

The Moon’s sweet rays invited calm Attention.


Closed were now the whispering Zephyr’s wings,

To stillest rest resigned the rustling trees,

The silent waters of the lake reposed,

Night’s sweet musician too had still’d her song

And heard a sweeter note from sad Osmida.

All thus in Silence wrapt, the thoughtful maid

In tone sedate began the promised Tale.

“This happy clime, the Realm of Arragon, Had late a Monarch whom her sons revered, As King, revered him, and as Father, loved! 170 He loved his People, knew no griefs but their’s, And the fond blessings which they gave his name Soothed all the cares a Diadem brings on. Peace in this happy reign secured the throne, And brought each prosperous blessing in her train, Fair Commerce waved her Penons in our Ports, Our sterile fields the fertile plough enriched, Our Granaries, like those of Egypt, drew C3r 21 From neighbouring countries riches and renown. The common Peasant, round his well stored board, 180 Saw thankful features prove contented Hearts, Blithe in the Morn he rose to healthful toil, And hail’d, with joy, th’ approach of festive eve. Such once the envied lot of Arragon, But, fame for Riches marked her out for prey! The hope of Plunder spreading through the South, Enticed the Moors from their polluted home. Barbarian prows swarm’d o’er our peaceful seas. The Afric spoilers swiftly reach’d our shores, Our warning Beacons were but Hamlets fired 190 That blazed the woe-fraught tidings through the land! Death, Rapine, Ruin, mark’d their dreadful way, As, Devastation at their Coursers’ heels, They onwards came to Saragossa’s walls. Deep Consternation spread through every street, Th’ affrighted daughters to the Temples ran, Each Mother grasp’d her child, and shrieking hied Near Husbands, Fathers, Brothers, all in arms, Who chid the mourners that thus check’d their speed. Snatch’d last Adieus, and rush’d upon the walls. 200 But, from the walls, what image struck their view! A turban’d Phalanx on the hill appeared; C3v 22 Upon the Right advanced a dreadful Column Of Cars all armed around, so thickly set With Scimitars, and tranchant glaves, each seemed A steely Porcupine, whose burnish’d quills Caught the bright rays of the meridian Sun And on the Town refracted gleaming fire. Upon the Left, the Marksmen, dark, keen eyed, With ebon bows, and quivers fully stored, 210 Seem’d minions from th’ unerring archer Death! In dreadful pomp, they slowly reach’d the plain, Fixed their bold Standards, and entrenchments formed! Whilst our scared citizens observed their works Like louring elephants when looking forth Upon th’ entrapping huntsmen they behold Inevitable Fate!—But, dark despair, That first unnerved, next gave them mad’ning Rage, ‘Lead us!’ they cried—‘lead to the Moorish Camp! Their Numbers what! for self alone each comes, 220 With us our Parents, Wives, our Children, Laws, Religion, Liberty, all aid the war, And will incessantly inspire our arms!’ This holy rage like sparks electric flew From man to man. Each urged his valiant Friend, As if on Each the general weal depended! C4r 23 The King, who felt that from Th’ Almighty’s arm Their foe’s destruction could alone proceed! Each holy Temple’s gate threw wide. The Soldiers, Citizens, the Nobles croud, 230 And every fane resounds with earnest Prayer. Devout and prostrate, they implored the High For Gideon’s sword, and mighty Joshua’s arm. ‘Shield us!’ they cried, ‘preserve thy faithful people! Nor give us to the Mockers for a scorn! Omnipotence! preserve us from their yoke, Humble these boasters who repose their strength Not on thy arm, but in their own frail host. To Thee, O God of Battles, we appeal!’ The Arragons, with sanctioned hopes inspired, 240 Rush’d from the temples in impetuous haste! All like fierce Lions that at distance see Their destined prey, and pant, and foam, and rage With Pride of certain Conquest! But their Prince Strove their incautious ardour to restrain. No golden torrent hurried from his lips, No dazzling periods on each other strung, No Lightning rapid in each sentence flew, No words that petrified, or pause that spoke, Calm and reflective he pursued his theme, 250 C4v 24 As, true to Thought, his words spontaneous flowed— ‘All bounteous Heaven,’ he urged, ‘by means, not
Decides the Fate of Armies and of Realms, Let prudent Foresight then direct your aim. The haughty Moors, contemptuous of our strength, Doubtless expect to see our opening Gates Receive them Masters at the Trumpet’s call! To lull their Vigilance we’ll offers make Of Terms, too humble for a state in Freedom, And yet too high for Conquerors to accept. 260 Then, in the Night’s meridian, when no star With tell-tale beam upon our polished mail Shall show us to the watchful centinel, Then will we rouze, like Lions from their dens, And prove our Courage equal to our Cause!’
The swelling notes of spreading approbation, Like growing Thunder height’ning on the ear, Pour’d on at length in loud extended shouts! ‘Live, live the King!’ re-echoed all the troops— ‘Heaven guard my People!’ breathed the heart-touch’d
The Herald sent, in well set terms misled, 271 By show of fear unfelt, the Moorish camp. C5r 25 All now made ready for the hour of onset! Peace-rusted swords regain’d their polish’d edge, The nervous Archer tried his idle Bow, And gave new plumage to his missile darts, Whilst Maidens, Matrons, spread the martial flame. Yet ’mongst the maidens one sad Heart there was, Which in the bosom of the Princess heaved. Her vows, her plighted vows, had long been given 280 To young Montenos, Duke Medina’s Heir, He, only he, could melt her icy breast! And none so well a heart untouched deserved. His mind, more noble than his Princely Birth, Lent Glory to his Name, his Form was matchless, As th’ Ancients feign celestial Virtue wears When visible to man. Then, wonder not, She lived, she breathed, she thought, but for Montenos! Incessant terrors now besieged her mind, A thousand Perils which her Fancy dressed 290 In colour, substance, circumstance, and form! Yet, from her Lover, ’twas her care to hide The tender weakness which her heart confessed— ‘Yes go, Montenos, prop our tottering State, Amidst our great Preservers, be thou Chief!’ The shades of Eve advanced, and from the camp C5v 26 The subtile messenger returned—returned With Insult loaded, and contemptuous threats, That spoke the Spirit of the dreadful foe! The Moors demanded general Vassalage; 300 That conquer’d Arragon! so proud their stile! Should yield them Homage, and perpetual Tribute; A Day they granted, to elect or Death, Or slavery on earth, Revolt from Heaven! Our open’d Gates, and Crescents on our spires, The only answers they will deign to take! Some hours, tremendous Pause! were yet to pass, Gloomy Suspense imprinted on each brow, Between this Insult, and the hour for fight. All, self collected, seem’d retired within, 310 Reflection nursing courage in their hearts. The tender Twilight, which so long had dwelt With dubious light upon the martial plain, Withdrew its beam to follow distant day, And Night, at length, advanced her gloomy reign. And now through Saragossa’s streets the March, Unmeasured by the Drum’s awakening sound, In awful pomp began! The mansions near Re-echoed Blessings as the soldiers passed, And urgent voices uttered fervent prayer 320 As eager, ardent, eyes petitioned Heaven! C6r 27 Where, near the Postern gate, wide Space extends The Army formed. But I, a simple maid, Cannot relate, Sir Knight, in terms of Art, How, in what Order, grew. I have not skill To use the Phrases chance hath given my ear. Were I to muster Flank, and Rear, and Van, You’d find my tongue to wild Confusion lead! —Learn then but this: the King the Centre kept; Montenos, lofty Chief! led on the Right. 330 ’Twas now the holy Prelate, with a train Of cloister’d Priests, bare-footed, robed in white, And bearing each a Crucifix, advanced— ‘Ye more than Warriors, said the man of God, Ye Christian Soldiers, think whose sword you
The barbarous nations of the earth, whose ears With sound of Gospel truth were never blessed, Have yet atchieved such wondrous deeds in arms Their names will live to Time’s remotest day! How many nations have for Freedom fought? 340 How many others for Revenge have armed? All this You fight for.—But, You fight for more! The death You risk, is death incurred for Him, Who, on this Cross! bore torturous wounds for you C6v 28 Beyond all mortal sense! For your Sins flowed, This blood, this sacred blood, for All gush’d forth, As Tortures, borne for All, surpassed all Mortal pain! For Him then fight, who Heaven’s bright crowns
Go, and atchieve them, as you die for Him! Let all aspire beyond this earthly sphere As you with hopes of more than Life pass on! The Choirs of Holy Angels hymns attune 350 To greet ye Conquerors at the gates of Heaven! The sword of Gilead girded on your loins Go forth, undaunted!’
As the Father ceased, By this true Heroism all inspired, As if one Soul had reign throughout the field From every mouth burst forth —‘We fearless go!’ All eagerly depart; and favouring Night 360 Long hid their progress from th’ unwatchful foe. The midnight gloom no longer aided now, For traitress Echo to the Moorish Camp The sounds of distant warlike steps conveyed. From Guard to Guard the hasty signals flamed, Like Meteors flitting thwart the dark expanse! The Infidels, alarmed, were all alert, And quivering lights, that lately faintly served C7r 29 To guide our soldiers in their dread approach, Now multiplied and blazed, till all the Camp 370 One vast illumination seemed! that broke, With dreadful splendour the surrounding gloom. Our troops, undaunted, quicken’d as they trod, Till hasty marching grew to eager speed— ‘To Arms! To Arms!’ the scared besiegers cried, ‘Our arms are here!’ replied th’ advancing Foe! Silence, no longer useful now, gave way To all the dreadful din that Battle loves! The haughty trumpet, and the vigorous drum, With the shrill fife’s acuter voice, accorded 380 To summon Valour in the weakest heart! The Moors rush’d forth impetuous and confused, No order thought of, and no order heard. Some to the Trench, some to the War-Cars flew T’ attach the frighted horses to the shafts, The restive horses spurned th’ accustomed yoke, Dash’d their scared leaders wildly to earth And plunging scour’d th’ illuminated plain. Ere panic yielded to courageous calm, Our troops had gained the ditch, and to the fronts 390 Of the besiegers, now besieged, advanced! The battle’s Fury in an instant spread, And all its horrors were mature at once! C7v 30 The bows were useless, throat to throat they fought, Foes mixed with foes, ranks broke on hostile ranks, Till both were blended in one dreadful whole. Death never triumphed as he triumphed now, Of hasty victims ne’er such tribute gained. He who was killing, by another’s slain, And he, in finishing his blow, partook 400 The Fate he gave! The armies scarcely joined, A thousand souls had passed th’ eternal bourn, And mingled blood, of Moors and Christians, flowed In heavy tide one murky stream along. Borne by his Steed, in all its pride of Strength Ire’d by the Corslet’s and the Helmet’s glare, O’er Heroes now Montenos Hero shone; Turn’d the aim’d spear, and, fired with sense of Right, Dread Retribution wreaking on the Moors, Each foe o’erthrew, whilst fearless valour beam’d 410 In vivid sparkes from his threatning eye. Where’er he moved destruction oped his way, And Death seemed rampant on his ponderous axe! What caught the view a moment since, no more Had hold on Thought throughout the spacious plain, So much beyond the rest his deeds excelled The wildest devastation of the Night! C8r 31 At length, the glowing portals of the east Gave forth the Morn, whilst Victory still advanced Our trophied Banners o’er the reeking field. 420 The Moor perceived the remnant of his host Bereft of Leaders, and for quarter called. His Troops their arms surrendered on their knees, Invoking Mahomet their lives to save From forfeit merited; invoking him Who them taught ne’er to spare th’ avenging sword! The mercy, now implored as gracious boon, The Christian Rule accords as due of Right, The Christian wars not but in self-defence, Nor knows to trample on a vanquish’d foe! 430 With louring fronts the conquered Moors are led To grace the March Triumphant to the town. The Princess, midst her Suite, upon the walls In dread Anxiety had passed the night! Judge then her Rapture, her exalted Joy, When she beheld, on this victorious march, Betrothed Montenos and her royal Sire! She to the Plain, of Forms all heedless, rush’d, Her virgins followed, and the reverend Priests; To Heaven they lowly bent, and, with their King, 440 Adored the mighty arm that him restored, C8v 32 With unstain’d Victory from the deathful field. Her valiant Lover, leading in his hand The Moorish Prince, with eager pace pressed on, To claim his high Reward—her raptured glance! The sullen Moor scarce deign’d a startled look As, with an air no fancy can pourtray, The lofty triumph of the Conqueror’s smile His features height’ning to sublimer Grace, The gallant youth presented him, and said— 450 ‘My arm, resistless when inspired by You, Hath vanquish’d even this courageous foe, Whose Valour, shown in righteous cause, were Fame!’ Ah! Fatal moment, source of every grief! Would Heaven had pleased, in mercy, then to send Death’s saving dart to strike the royal maid Thus in the thrill of every sweetest joy! So had her breast, each throbbing anguish spared, Sunk peacefully――Alas! where roves my tongue, From the strait Order of narrating facts! 460 It needless were my story to prolong In painting scenes your fancy will supply; The joyful Entry, warlike Games, where all Was one triumphant Holiday. In brief, T’ appreciate Liberty a Tyrant taught D1r 33 High Ransom offered now the captive Moor, With league of amity and lasting peace! The Terms accepted, Gallies were dispatched The barter’d price of Liberty to bring. Meanwhile he joined the Games, and seem’d to lose His barbarous roughness in blithe social sports! 471 ’Twas other influence subdued his soul, Alas! the Princess fired his heart with Love! Perchance he hoped to found a future Claim On realms allied thus by a tender tie. He e’en dared vaunt his haughty hopes to her When now approached the destined day to join The royal maiden and her loved Montenos. Though marriage sports already were prepared Still the proud Moor, audacious! talked of Love. 480 With due disdain repulsed, strait to the King His Love-tale he, with sullen port, addressed. ‘I am not used,’ he urged, ‘to offer Crowns And have them spurned, like Subject-lover’s Toys! Give me your Daughter! I’ll give her a Throne! Dominion she shall have makes Arragon But fertile Villa seem, so vast the State Whose Sceptre’s mine!’ The King’s firm answer showed Vol. III. D D1v 34 Th’ assuming Infidel his suit was vain! 490 Zorador’s Fury to such Transports grew, At this destruction of his Hopes, he seem’d No longer Man! his eye-balls glared with Rage. His Brain on fire, his wrath spared not Himself! His beard in scattered fragments strewed the floor, Whilst his inflated bosom, rack’d within, Without resounded with his frenzied blows. He raved, blasphemed, and wept. His Strength o’ercome,
His Mind gave way, as though convulsive sleep Had seized his Faculties, and slack’d the fire 500 That filled his heated veins. His Slaves who oft Beheld their Lord a victim to himself, Bore him, exhausted, to his couch; and there, With tremulous Lutes, and Vocal melody, By sweet enchantment woke him from his trance! His haughty soul, that scorns all other laws, Will yield to Music all its boisterous ire, On each strain hang, at each note’s magic melt, And transient virtue gain from soothing sound.
Composed in air, and masking what he felt, 510 Again Zorador sought the pensive King. ‘Forgive,’ he said, ‘the Frenzy of my mind! Spoiled by Prosperity, till late I thought D2r 35 That Earth, that Fate, that Heaven, for me combined To shield misfortune from my circled head. Your Powerful Arms, O King of Arragon! First taught Zorador that he is but Man, And, now, your Daughter’s still more potent sway Has taught Zorador he’s almost a Slave! I love with Agony, with Madness, love! 520 Oh, spare me then the horror of a sight My fever’d brain doth fire to think on! Save, From torturous neighbourhood to marriage Rites, The Heart which thus with hopeless ardour burns. Now, lingering Time hath number’d all the hours That we allotted for my Fleet’s return, Soon as the southern Zephyrs sooth the air, The swelling sails will whiten all the coast. My Ransom paid, I quit your fatal walls; Then, whilst my woes I bear to distant seas, 530 The blithe triuphant spousals may be sung, And no wretch near to madden at the sound!’ Here ceased Zorador, and the good old King, Unable to withstand a claim thus urged, Granted his tortured suitor his request. The Moorish squadron with the shifting wind Quick reached the ports; whence patient Camels bore D2 D2v 36 Their sumptuous loads to Saragossa’s gates. Stuffs, Ingots, Ivory, formed the Ransom borne, Carpets of Persia, Hangings wrought with gold, 540 The richest sables, scarves enrich’d with Pearl; Silk robes, by Grecian damsels taught to glow With flowers of vivid tint, and buds so prompt, They seem’d to blow beneath the gazer’s eye; Rich Scimetars with sparkling diamonds deck’d, Or sanguine Rubies dyed. All these were borne, In pompous march through Saragossa’s streets, Whilst haughty coursers, from Arabia’s hills, In sumptuous housings, champing golden bits, Curvetting, check’d the wonder-loving croud. 550 At length arrived the joyful wish’d for morn To rid the city of the sullen Moors! With words of courtesy, by moody looks, Zorador went; but bade his train of Slaves To shed profusely, as they pass’d along, Rich showers of Gold upon the gazing croud, Whose venal voice was loud with ‘Live Zorador!’ Soon as our couriers, swift returning, brought News that the swarthy Moor had spread his sails, State Heralds strait proclaimed the Royal Marriage! 560 —The Nuptial Morn the silver trumps announce, D3r 37 With soft hautboy, and the tender lute, And sweeter voice of choral maids, combined. Forth from the palace to the Church, through streets With carpets laid, and myrtle garlands hung, The long Procession’s length’ning train drew out. The Nobles first, in Order due, advanced; The less in Rank escaped eclipse in front, The greater after in due progress came Till Splendor heighten’d into Sovereignty! 570 In his due rank, not yet of royal state, Montenos, still not unattended, walked. Her rich Train borne by twenty noble maids The Princess came, by gazing eyes abashed. The King, beneath his Canopy of State, With due Attendants closed the splendid scene! Now, from the croud, a Youth advanced, who
The eager gaze of every wondering eye! His face a Mask, of youthful beauty, hid, His airy Form seem’d worthy such a face; 580 His flowing hair with knots of Pearl was tied, And on his head a rose-form’d Garland bloom’d; An ivory Flute he held, through which he breathed Each melting touching strain of melody! As he came on the soldiers clear’d his way, D3v 38 And near the King, with fuller note, he passed, Approached the Princess, and, with reverence low, And softer breathings, paid her graceful homage. He passed, and reached the Bridegroom; quicker
His hurried music gave.—He forward step’d, Proffer’d, with courteous air, the tuneful pipe; Montenos, smiling, stretch’d his hand, when—Horror! His breast the Flute-head reach’d, whence sprang a Poniard! A second blow, ere thought could steady, came, The third the murderer on himself bestowed, And weltering sought his refuge with the Dead!
Astonishment all motion seem’d t’ arrest, And rooted all who saw the bloody deed. The Bridegroom, sinking on th’ assassin’s corse, From this state roused the horror-struck around! 600 And now dread sounds, of Death! Montenos! Murder! Assail’d the wretched Bride—almost a Wife! Osmida paused; for Firmness seem’d to strive; Her flutter’d pulse, all tremor for the Cause, By sudden Fear congeal’d, its office ceased, And saving Stupor snatch’d her from her woes! The dying Bridegroom to the Palace now By Knights in blood-stain’d marriage robes was borne, D4r 39 Whilst others search’d the Murderer’s mangled corse, To learn his Motives for the dreadful deed. 610 His mask unclasped disclosed a well known face; A Mute he was, and in Zorador’s train! Content to die by self inflicted blow, Less tortured thus than had he dared refuse! A Fiend-like scroll, concealed within his vest, Developed all the murderous hell-sprung deed In these dread words:—‘’Tis not the Slave, from Me Proceeds the blow! Vengeance, though not my Love, Shall be appeased. Learn, King of Arragon! 619 Learn both to know, and dread, contemn’d Zorador!’ The noble victim of the Moor’s revenge Breathed not a word; but strain’d his beamless eyes To catch the object made his heart still beat! ――Not seeing her, they closed on all, for ever, Seal’d for their long enduring Sleep by Death!”

Here paused Osmida, fixed in moody thought!

The story, fraught with woe, had cast a shade

Of deepest Sorrow o’er her pensive brow.

Her heaving bosom laboured with her Sighs,

Her Mind was absent, lost in past event!


The Knight, who eager grew to know the tale

She promised of Herself, presumed at length

D4v 40

To wake attention to the point at which

Her voice ceased charming with its touching notes.

“You, gentle Stranger! shall be spared to hear Described at length in torturous detail The Court’s distress, the anguish of the King, The Bride’s, the unwedded Bride’s, forlorn distraction. Uncheering Suns passed o’er long tedious months, Ere midst her features Patience spread its Smile 640 And Resignation soothed her widowed Heart: Nor then, until, at lost Montenos’ Tomb, Her solemn Vow she made, no more to list A Lover’s tale, but, widow’d still to him, To wait the heavenly hour that should unite Her faithful Spirit with her murder’d Lord’s! —This tribute paid, a dawn, like that of Peace, By soft degrees illumed the mourner’s mind. Two years had slowly doled their heavy hours To Time’s eternal stream, when, in the south, 650 Terrific Objects all th’ horizon broke! Zorador, he whose soul from inmost hell Was mission’d scourge to earth, not glutted yet With full satiety of hoped for Vengeance, Nor yet forgiving our triumphant arms That seized the Laurels all his Life had gained, D5r 41 Like a night torrent, dreadful, fierce, unchecked, Again came on to overwhelm the land. —As vain, as striving with a whirlwind, seemed Our hope to vanquish this long muster’d force; 660 Mysterious Heaven will’d they should succeed! Again we saw them hover on the hill, The country victim to the locust train. The Parley, deign’d before, not now allowed, Their arrows, catapults, and battering rams, Were now the only messengers they sent! —Whilst sounding anvils clanging music gave, Still, one dread week our troops sustained the siege, And filled the Breaches with their slaughter’d foes. At length some billets on the Javelins’ points 670 The rampart passed; their threats Assault, and Death, To every citizen that dared refuse To own Zorador Conqueror and King! The Threat effected all the Moor had hoped! And Arragon’s grey Monarch all forsook, They, for whose Rights he’d freely yield his Life! The throneless Monarch saw his yielding gates Part, and admit his fell remorseless foe! The Posterns still were open to escape, Swift, all distraction, he his Daughter sought, 680 D5v 42 ‘Fly! let us instant fly! he, breathless, said, The Moors have vanquish’d, and my Child’s a Slave! The Crescents gleam throughout our conquer’d streets, And fierce Zorador will not long delay Within my Palace to assert his reign! Away! my Daughter, lest dishonour find thee.’ —The Princess, practised in repressing Grief, And taught a Firmness stranger to her years, Her Father’s hand close grasped. ‘Lead on’ she cried ‘Where Providence ordains! My duteous steps 690 Shall ever wait on your’s, assist your path, And chear, to Life’s last sigh, your weary way!’ The world before them lay, they knowing not Whither to point their feet, or whom to trust! In this drear moment, loyal Arlos came, In haste exclaimed—‘Accept the only aid Destructive Fate, Sire, suffers me to give. Your Flight is plann’d! A loyal Knight attends, To humble, but secure retreat he’ll guide. The worst forseen, this Refuge I prepared 700 As the fell Moor advanced upon the town. For me, I’ll stay, and greet with plausive smile, My Hate! Zorador; whilst you ambush near, To take advantage of each turn of fate.’ D6r 43 With speechless Gratitude, and brighten’d eye, They both quick followed where Lord Arlos led, ’Neath humbler Mantles those of State concealed, And ’scaped on steeds the swiftest of their race. Full entrance now the Moorish troops atchieved, O’er all the walls their haughty Crescents fixed; 710 No Terms the citizens, thus Slaves, obtained, ’Twas unconditioned Slavery, or Death! Now, heavy Tribute starves their pallid frames, And tears the morsel from their children’s mouths! With quickest speed towards the royal dome His palace now! Zorador bent his course; In haughty vaunt enjoying that the King Would now implore him to espouse his child, Though proffer’d Thrones rejected were before. But—Frenzy fires his brain! his Prey is flown! No fallen King to outrage and insult, No Princess subject to his dreaded suit! His furious rage made victims all around, Each Church, each house, each Monastry was search’d, And troops dispatched soon reach’d each frontier pass To bar the Fugitives from full escape. The King and Princess devious journey’d on, Through Wilds where Boars and howling midnight
D6v 44 Had taught the Echoes all the sounds they knew. A whole day’s Sun they rode; the Moon that rose 730 Through Heaven’s blue vault bedropt with molten gold In vast magnificence its course pursued, The travellers guiding to a Forest’s verge. Their trusty Guide a humble shelter there, Formed by misfortune’s hand, to view displayed. And on a rough-hewn table, that before With other dainties never had been heaped Than labour culled from the surrounding herbs, Parch’d corn, sun-candied grapes, and racy wine They found with caution frugally prepared; 740 Exhausted nature craved the cordial aid And all the patriarchal feast partook. Th’ attendant Knight here left them; with the steeds, That traitor hoofs might not betray the King, To other districts, by detour, went off; But, bosom’d deep in numerous leagues of wood, The means to find the wish’d Asylum gave.
A weary distance now, on foot, they go, Through dreary Desarts, and untravell’d Wilds, The aged, grief-worn King, when faint, cheer’d on 750 By her who seemed to find the griefs assuaged That gave her Heart full range of filial care! D7r 45 In the full centre of the Wood described, The Cot, made humble by Design, they found, Three rooms, all fitted but in rural stile. Their food they took, or from the stores prepared, Or from the Vines, long hid from human eye No hand to ease them of delicious loads! Such the retreat the Fugitives have found. 760 Farewell to gilded roofs, and chorded Minstrelsy! Their shelter, now, but such as Peasants seek, Their concert, Birds immingling wild-notes sweet, Or Winds that rustle round their turf-crown’d Cot. Some shifting phases of the moon they’ve watch’d, Since human voice, save their own pensive tones, A Sovereign’s lately flatter’d ear hath reached. Yet, happier they than those condemned t’ endure The voice of coarse unfeeling Tyranny! What can I more? If my eventful Tale 770 Hath touched the chord of Pity in your heart, And raised the pleasing pain of Sympathy, Know, ’tis no Stranger’s woe that I have told! Myself the Subject of my grief fraught tale, It is the Princess speaks――”

“Enough! exclaimed

The Knight, with ardor springing from the bank,

D7v 46

Enough! our Prize is found! and Wealth, and Rank,

Gained through his Master’s smiles, are now De

His hurrying lips his Bugle closely press’d,

The piercing sounds the mingling Echoes seized

And sent them transverse back from hill to hill;

The Signal heard, the call some Moors obeyed,

And spur’d their horses headlong through the glades.

Osmida now had flown! The wily Wretch

No sooner spoke his Joy, than like the fawn

That finds ’tis neighbor’d by a lurking foe

Lovely Osmida flitted through the shades,

Rapid, as starting star that cleaves the air


In beauteous transit ’thwart the Ethiop Night.


The Maid of Arragon.

Part the Second.

D8v E1r

The Maid of Arragon.

Part the Second.

Fly hence all sordid Cares, unhallowed thoughts,

Let Vanities and Follies all avaunt

In this the Muse’s hour! Her Inspiration

Fills my rapt mind, and every nerve endures

The glowing Thrill. Imagination wake!

Whilst I still strive t’ expand my thoughts and language

And raise my fancy to the lofty Theme,

Nor quit me till my faithful pen hath traced

The living images thou bring’st before me!

Whilst fled his Child, the Royal Cottager


Whom Sleep had woo’d from grief to soothing rest,

Its spell broke suddenly, and called—“Osmida!”

—In vain he listen’d for her cheering voice!

Vol. III. E E1v 50

He started from his couch, and, robed in haste,

Rush’d forth to seek her in her favorite haunts.

Darting his fearful eye across the lawn,

Just reach’d its edge, her figure all alarm,

Panting and breathless he beheld his child!

With all the little strength that Age had spared

He hasten’d to her aid, but—what his dread!


As at his feet he saw the Princess sink,

Exclaiming as she fell, in fainting voice,

“Almanzor! Father! King!”—The fear-struck Monarch,

Unable from the chilly grass to raise

His lovely child, knelt frantic by her side,

And strove by tears and fond paternal calls

To rouse her torpid sense, re-wake her soul.

He thought her startled by the gaunt Wolf’s howl,

All unprepared for that Excess of woe

Which soon must fiercely seize his aged breast,


And oh! how short a time his Fate allowed

This self-delusion! Through the night’s calm air

The sound of human voices, and the clank

Of hurried hoofs, revealed at once—Destruction!

The Gallic Leader of the Moorish band,

With steady eye, had track’d Osmida’s course.

“Courage! he cried, as Moors obeyed his call,

E2r 51

All our past trouble, and our long Fatigues,

This happy hour repays! Osmida’s found!

Found at the instant that our cheated hopes


Scarce gave a ray to cheer us in pursuit.

First through a dazzling Thicket to my eye

The friendly moon revealed her; Hope, prophetic,

Called her Osmida, but, my eager tongue

I dared not with the name intrust, lest Fear

Should prompt quick stratagem towards her foe.

In Prayer I found her bent, and instant saw

That Piety must be the bait to snare her!

So won her Confidence, and read her Heart!

A Cottage, onwards in the sombre Wood,


Conceals the Trembler and her aged Sire;

I marked the road she took, and now will guide

To those who will not welcome hail accord!”

—Oh! there’s no soil but Gallia’s could produce

A Knight thus recreant, thus completely formed,

To guide a project framed in nether hell!

They onwards hurried as he ceased. Soon found

The humble mansion of a fallen King!

There saw the hoary Prince, on Knee on earth,

Osmida’s head now resting on the other,


His clasp’d petitionary hands raise up

E2 E2v 52

Imploring aid from all protecting Heaven.

The touching picture e’en De Courci’s eye

Could scarcely see with Pity unsuffused!

Of Conscience heedless, practised in Deceit,

With chasten’d air Almanzor he approached,

As though he sought him only to bewail

The dire events that barred him from the world!

“Unhappy Monarch! said the smooth-speech’d Knight,

Much it afflicts me that outrageous Fortune

From all Zorador’s court De Courci chose

T’ explore the place of your retreat. And if”

By glanced Disdain his treacherous speech was check’d!

Through flowery Words th’ experienced King saw

As lurks the serpent midst the blossom’d shrub,

Saw Villain crouch too in his shrinking eye!

Not deigning Answer, anxiously he view’d

The now reviving Princess. Oh, Osmida!

Thy pulse returning thus, unwelcome beats!

’Twere better now these eyes were closed for ever,


This fluttering Heart by Death’s chill hand were stopt,

Than, thus, receive thee back again to Life!

Her mind, till now not thoroughly restored,

Announced perception by display of Fear—

E3r 53

“My Father! Let us fly! she murmur’d forth,

We’re now pursued—the Knight! the wily Knight!”

“More than pursued!” replied the King, “we’re seized,

They have us in their Toils, we’re lost! we’re lost!”

By these words roused, the Princess, scared, looked up.

Threw round her eyes—she saw De Courci’s shrink!


And, speechless, crouch’d into her Father’s arms.

The polish’d villain, still, unwilling was

The stain t’ incur of want of Courtesy!

Though scorned his speech, his stile was all Respect,

“—Pardon, Illustrious Prince!” he said, “the slave

Whom harsh Necessity, alas! compels

To stop your converse with your beauteous child!

Zorador, he who knows no law but Will,

A breach of whose Commands the rack awaits,

Ordain’d that soon as your retreat were found,


A moment, maugre circumstance, or tears,

Should not in lingering delay be lost.”

“A boon from You! I must descend to ask,

Replied the King; ’tis that my tender child

May through the journey not from me be torn!”

De Courci seem’d to pause, when straight a Moor,

Of port superior to the rest, advanced—

“It is our Sovereign’s Will, that this fair creature

E3v 54

Should hold no converse with her princely Sire

Till their arrival at our Master’s Court.”


The Moor, De Courci’s Flattery in view,

His country’s courtesy essayed to pay—

“Then, doubt not,” added he, “that every boon,

That fruitful fancy can devise, our King,

Gracious to charms like her’s, will freely grant!

To Loveliness he knows not to deny,

Her beauty’s sway with him no limits will”

Th’ impatient King, with swelling Rage, approached

Upon the Moor!—“Cease, Saracen!” he cried,

“Nor dare thus violate my Daughter’s ear!


Or thou shalt find that, though deserted thus,

Old, and unarmed—Almanzor is a King!

—Lead on! since Heaven ordains thy impious master

Hold, yet awhile, the balance of my fate,

His harsh command to sever us obey!

Drag from the Old Man’s heart the only joy

His woes permit to shield him from Despair!”

The starting tear that down his aged cheek

Upon the bosom of Osmida fell


His firm port broke! He grieved in words which those,

By long use steel’d ’gainst Pity’s touching voice,

Could not, unsoften’d, hear. And conscience struck,

E4r 55

To their own hearts they strove to palliate,

By coarse spun Sophistry, their Task so base!

If to De Courci, and the summoned Moors,

Osmida lovely seem’d—how beauteous now!

As bright’ning Day illumined to their view

A Series of charms, of tender cast,

Which Sorrow did not sully, but become!

Her form, more beauteous than the Antelope’s


The Moors described, her Air the soaring Eagle’s

That o’er Arabia’s clime so graceful glides!

Her Locks, were such as nature only gives,

Once in an Age, to perfect some rare Beauty,

And formed a golden veil of burnish’d threads

Through which the purest symmetry was seen!

The sporting zephyrs snatching part in play

Appear’d enamour’d of the beauteous toils,

The rest, in dropping ringlets fell around

And deck’d the flowings of the robe they touched.


Such was the Princess, whom a Moor now seized

And on De Courci’s steed securely fixed.

Upon another steed was fixed Almanzor,

Whose reign a Moorish horseman held. Thus went

The Kingdom’s Monarch, and the Kingdom’s heir!

—Twas not the want of proud Grandees, or that

E4v 56

Of cheering populace gave grief.—Oh no!

It sprang from dreadful fear, from torturing doubts,

That filled their bosoms, and usurped their minds!

The sheltering Wood, which had so long appeared

A cheerless Prison to th’ illustrious pair,


With aching Hearts, and heaving sighs, they quit.

Its solitary shades, how welcome now!

Its humble turf-crown’d cot, its devious glades,

Its choral Groves, they’d now with Rapture greet,

And, grateful, hail th’ abode of humble Peace.

Too soon, too soon! upon the distant eye

The quitted Forest’s verdant roof grows dun!

The eager Moors, with spur and slacken’d rein,

Leave a whole league obscured with floating dust.


The Royal Prisoners, scarcely with a Look

Can glance a Thought, much less converse, and share

With kind participance each other’s woes.

Thus, strait across untrodden Wilds they go,

Whose savage tenants never yet till now

Had heard the modulated voice of man.

At length on peopled Vallies they approach,

The Moors dread Rescue, ’twas the midst of Day.

By Sleep refresh’d not in the previous night

All were grown fever’d from their constant toil;

180 E5r 57

The Moors now strain’d their wistful eyes, and found

A Cave in which t’ enjoy restoring rest,

Until the Sun behind the western hills

Should sink o’erpowering beams, and humid eve

Bring on her deep’ning shades, and quench the thirst

The fiery Day had raised in plants and man.

The Cave they found appeared t’ have been the haunt

Of fierce Banditti, or more peaceful home

Of some sequester’d Hermit; for its floor

The Chissel’s edge had smooth’d, its lowly roof


Was rudely fashion’d to a Semi-dome.

De Courci and the Moors, in grudged rotation,

Their heavy lids to soothing Sleep resigned.

Those near Almanzor interruption gave

Whene’er the Royal Parent and his Child,

Through Day’s hot Zenith and the breezy Night

No Converse known or social ease enjoyed,

Strove to beguile the melancholy hours

With such sad converse as their Woes allowed!

This had Zorador ordered, lest Osmida


Should, from her Father, steadier Firmness gain

T’ oppose his furious passion, than he thought,

In Afric taught! mere woman could possess.

Constrain’d to silence, sorrow’s blest physician

E5v 58

Sleep, whom no torture can preclude for ever,

In gentle progress, closed their aching eyes.

—O soft enchantress! thou whose sweet dominion

Boundless extends wherever nature breathes!

’Neath thy soft sway the throes of anguish cease,

Want ’scapes the piercing blast, and wild despair


Gains gleans of comfort shed alone by thee!

The Sun had scarcely reach’d th’ horizon’s edge,

The mountains still with ruddy gold were coif’d,

When prompt De Courci and the watching Moors

Flew to caparison their grazing steeds.

They roused Osmida and the age-worn King

To such Awakening!—Touch not, trembling hand,

The plaintive Theme! lest, caught in Woe,

Thou dwell too long upon the tears, the sighs,

The grief-fraught words which marked their start
from sleep!

Some hours they onwards urged their steady course,

When, from a Coppice, bordering on the road,

An armed Troop rush’d forth! So quick they came,

De Courci’s Band were, ere perceived their risk,

By vizor’d Warriors encircled all!

One seized Osmida from De Courci’s hold,

The Knight not yet had drawn to save his prize

E6r 59

Ere he beheld her carried from his arms!

Turning with fury on his foe, who thus

Bereaved his heart of every splendid hope,


He thrust his out-stretch’d sword to reach his prey

With force so urgent! that his o’erpois’d frame,

To Earth propelled, lay breathless with the shock

Where trampling steeds the wretch, for ever, fixed!

The Moors, undaunted by their Leader’s fate,

Sustained th’ assailants’ prowess, all resolved

Their prisoners only with their Lives they’d lose,

Or both together save. Two forced their way

Towards the spot where, guarded by her Knight,

The Princess stood; three vizor’d foes pursued,


The Moors soon found the road which led to her

The path to Death! The remnant Saracens,

As struggling, battling, o’er the field they rush’d,

Their vests with living flowing crimson dyed,

Fought as those fight, who, knowing they must fall,

Resolve the victors shall buy conquest dearly!

Meanwhile Osmida, deep in Wonder lost,

Beheld herself unchain’d, and still not free!

Those who had held her Prisoner, now were slain;

But who are these who venturous risk their lives?

250 E6v 60

Perchance new masters, and again they’re slaves!

The question scarcely, in her whirl of thought,

Had time to form itself, ere at her side.

She saw the noble Arlos—Hence, vain Fears!

The magic touch of Hope her bosom swell’d!

“O Generous Arlos! said the grateful maid,

Save—save the King unarm’d amidst his Foes!”

He staid not to reply, he forward sprang,

But, ere he join’d, the prize he sought was lost!

He who had led the Steed that bore the King,


More fiercely than the rest, more madly, fought;

His fellows too the struggling Prince hemmed in,

Their Horses ’gainst him back’d and outward faced,

Their Spears encircled him with threat’ning Rays;

When he who led them, watching well his time,

Broke from the rest, and, on the distant winds

Seem’d by his swift Arabian borne away,

His war-taught fellow keeping equal pace

On which the King was too securely fixed!

Their ardent eyes which view’d the hills and plains


Scarcely outstripp’d their hoofs; the vales, the woods,

Their glance surveyed, were in few instants passed,

Whilst four pursuing stretching mad’ning foes,

E7r 61

At first delayed by the remaining Moors,

Beheld new hills, new plains, new woods, arise

Between their outstript horses and their Prince.

The few remaining Moors, in mere Despair,

Still madly fought, preferring instant death

To the slow tortures that they knew their King

Would fail not to inflict on those who lost


The beauteous object of his brutal love.

Their refuge soon they found! their Spirits freed

Were launch’d upon the air. The Princess now

Became sole object of the care of Arlos;

Her feet unconscious moved on in the course

In which she saw her Father torn away,

But, saw him further borne o’er distant wilds

And in that sight her new born rapture lost!

Arlos, to moderate her fears, assured

The gallant youths who steadily went on


Would not pursue the flying slaves in vain!

They knew the mazy roads, each devious path,

Each secret turning, and the Moor would meet

When least the hovering Danger could be known!

“Then Princess! to my Castle let me lead;

There, if not happier, yet, at least secure,

Your Father’s hoped return you may await.”

E7v 62

Osmida, scarcely knowing what was urged,

Allow’d herself upon a Steed again

To be replaced, and to his distant home,

O’er trackless Heaths, and roads almost impervious,

The faithful Arlos brought his royal Ward.

How blest the moment, had the loyal roof

That shelter’d her, been shelter to her Sire!

To lead her thoughts away from present dread,

He now related how, by venial arts,

The jealous Tyrant’s mind had been misled

To deem him truest servant to the Moors;

That, unsuspected, he might watch the road,

His royal guests to rescue from their doom

If e’er by chance malevolent betrayed.

Without the King she saw the troops return,

It was enough! of Circumstance no need,

None sooth her anguish, none her woes encrease!

Their Tale scarce won Attention. Much they talked

Of hot pursuit, and of the villain’s speed,

That once the flagging coursers raised their hopes,

When, sudden, on a wide spread plain appear’d,

In mock engagement, half Zorador’s troops.

The Saracen gained Vigour at the sight!


Whilst those had followed backward traced their road.

E8r 63

Pursuit was vain, they fled through covert paths.

Their Lord’s inevitable fate they knew,

Should racks extort whose agents they had been!

Vain were th’ attempts of Arlos to dispel

The deep distress which seized Osmida’s heart.

With happiest words e’er Consolation framed

His youthful Sister lent her tender aid

To chear the Royal Guest. In sweetest wiles,


Kissing the drowning roses on her cheek,

She strove, from Grief, to draw her thoughts on her!

The sprightly Morn, each added day, in vain,

The moon grown pale of office to bereave,

Burst through the clouds that, brightning as she came,

Beam’d joy;—for, oh! to hopeless Misery,

Whether the placid moon, or sprightly Morn,

Or Sun refulgent, mark the passing hours,

All, all alike they undistinguished roll,

One cheerless Chaos of impervious Gloom!

In vain the Columns, o’er her downy couch,


Dropped shady draperies inviting Rest;

Dearer to her th’ o’erhanging Forest Beech

Whose meeting branches canopied the earth

Where stood their lonely Cot. Oh! dearer far,

The humble couch on which her Father’s head

E8v 64

Securely rested, settled by her hand,

As, when exhausted nature asked recruit,

She watched his sleep beneath umbrageous trees,

Whilst sounds so pleasing floated in the air

Sprung sweetly forth the blithe birds trembling throats.

Who now will lull his woes, and guard his sleep,


His rising watch to sooth his waking grief,

And cheer, with tender voice, the lengthened day!

His plaintive child her sorrows thus indulged.

Now, midst the constant cares to cheer her hopes

We leave the mourner, and pursue the King.

Almanzor, dragged as Felon through his Realm,

His earnest eyes on those who followed bent;

“Protecting Heaven! speed them, prayed the King,

Nerve their slow coursers, gift their tardy feet,


To save Almanzor from Zorador’s chains—”

“Cease! captive Prince,” replied the sturdy Moor,

“For know that should, to thee, their luckless speed

Give my great enterprize a moment’s Risk,

This trusty Poniard robs them of their hopes!

Upon thy head, fallen Prince, my Fortune rests,

From them I keep thee, or by Flight, or Death!”

Almanzor heard the murderous threat, appall’d,

Nor answered him who thus at his command

F1r 65

Imperious dared to hold a Monarch’s Life!


The Saracen with unremitted flight

Traversed the land, until the Moorish troops,

By Arlos’ vassals faithfully described,

Dispelled his fears, and made his prize secure.

Whose is the vivid pencil could pourtray

The looks of Grief in Saragossa’s streets

As passed their hoary, captive, Prince along?

—Alas! ’twas Grief alone! the view still failed

To rouse them into Men! Why rush’d they not

With virtuous, prudent, Madness on their foe?


Is’t Wisdom, to submit to Tyranny!

Was all that they endure—discreetly earned!

The Moor, informed the King alone was brought,

Foaming with disappointed hope, exclaimed—

“Peril to all! if She is not produced

For whom alone I wage this second war.

Why Fate thus mock me but with conquer’d Crowns!

What’s empty grandeur, Happiness ungained!

My Troops are Victors whereso’er they move,

And yet one boon thou, niggard, dost deny,


Which makes all others vain, unwished, unfelt!”

—Thus raved the conquering, insatiate, Moor,

Whilst good Almanzor—dark mysterious Fate!

Vol. III. F F1v 66

Through his late Palace as a Prisoner passed.

A room which lately served his lowest page

Now held the King! Here he was bid repose,

Until Zorador should pronounce his Will!

In such a state, misfortune’s aloed draught

Thus swallowed to the dregs, in such a state,

Could there one ray of Comfort pierce the gloom,


The cheerless gloom, around the monarch’s soul?

Yes! one sweet Solace shed its glad’ning beams,

And, like a solitary star, burst through

The dreadful dark—Osmida was not there!

For this his griefs were banish’d by a Thought!

Or, if revived, soon sunk in Thanks to Heaven.

He who, when Rage e’er failed to reach its aim,

Could give, in turn, his fawning arts their range,

Zorador, bade the Captive King approach,

With lofty air of High Respect received him!

Upon the Left, the Moorish seat of honour,

He placed Almanzor; whilst a train of slaves,

From the rich mouths of golden Censers filled

The feasted air with exquisite Perfumes,

Others, in vessels rich with orient gems,

Cool beverage offered and delicious cates.

At length, with gracious unembarrass’d front,

F2r 67

The tyrant Proteus thus address’d Almanzor

“The Chance of War hath made me Conqueror, Prince!

The Laws of war have made me Master, thus,


Of you, your kingdom, and your People’s fate!

What then remains, but that the state’s Grandees

Be dragged in chains to our more torrid shores,

Or sent to rove, neglected, through the Earth,

Whilst I my Captains gift with their Escheats?

What, Prince, remains but that yourself, who late

Wielded the Arragonian Sceptre, now

Should pass a Life of meet imprisonment

To bar all danger of the State’s repose?

All this doth common Policy point out—


But, more than Interest, Mercy rules my Deeds!

I therefore destine you a brilliant fate,

If Wisdom prompt you to a prudent Choice!

Know then my southern Kingdom claims my presence,

And, from this Region calls it’s truant King,

Who, in its happy clime, almost forgets

His native people, and descended realms!

Your Crown hereditary I’m content

Should still remain upon your Sovereign brow;

A trifling Tribute merely I exact,

440 F2 F2v 68

A thousand yearly crowns, a render slight,

In proof you hold from Us your regal state;

A Troop of Warriors too must here remain,

Not spies, but as our Military Proof

That we have Conquerors been in Arragon!

The boon I ask, for all, but dare reject,

Your Subjects in mean Vassalage shall breathe,

Appendant to the Lands I’ll parcel out

To favour’d Chiefs! Yourself dethroned; no Laws,

But those Zorador wills shall rule the state!


No Worship sanction’d, but what I shall grant!

No Prophet bowed to, save the one I serve!

Whilst Moorish Soldiers, Governors, and Priests,

Shall rule throughout the Army and the State,

And spread our Arms around midst neighbouring

View the weighty difference of these Terms!

Now learn, that what I ask in Recompence

For every good within my power’s command,

Is—that Osmida will reward my Love!

You, doubtless, know th’ obtrusive friends who rescued

The beauteous Fugitive; to them I grant

Pardon and amnesty, for her dear sake

F3r 69

In whose behalf they dared incur my wrath!

Dispatch then to your Daughter those you trust,

Bid her, with duteous swiftness, instant fly,

Replace her Father on his native Throne,

And shield his cherish’d People from their Fate!”

“Moor! I have listen’d, firmly said Almanzor,

To all the fancied Greatness you displayed!


Receive my Answer: First, those friends who snatch’d,

And placed in safety—that sweet ward of Heaven!

I know not; nor the loyal roof that now

With kindest shelter canopies her head.

Learn next, that though your pliant tongue deserved

That Faith should rest upon the words it spoke,

And though your Troops were not to lurk behind

To spread unhealthy leaven through the state,

E’en then, could I believe Osmida’s soul

Debased to such degree as to abate

Her righteous Hatred of Zorador’s love,


The power parental, whose strong aid you ask,

Should rouze her sense of Thee—and of Herself!”

How, would’st Thou lure my child to marriage

Thou crown’d Assassin! base Banditti’s King!

Wilt bring her to the spot where fell Montenos!

A breathless corse in hymeneal robes!

F3v 70

Before her eyes display the blushing steel

Plunged in her Bridegroom’s heart by thy command!

—What deeds are these? have they new colour, shape,

Because they spring from forth a Conqueror’s mind?

They once were Murder! are they Virtues now?

Or, has mankind now lost the mental eye

Which once distinguish’d mingled right and wrong,

That bad may smoothly blend with coming worse!

Are threats too made your arms shall spread around

’Gainst neighbouring Powers?—Pause in thy Career!

Ere added, though not heighten’d, crime heap up

A dread Account, to burst upon thy soul

When, thy fell plan of conquest all atchieved,

No added Prospect to attract thy eye,


Thou then, for object, wilt turn back, and view

The dreadful Retrospect of long link’d Crime!

Yet still thy schemes may fail of hoped success,

For who prevails whom the Almighty stays!

Who free to act whom his great Fiat binds!

Science or Knowledge not a ray impart,

Perception fails before his mighty word.

When I’m no more thy progress thus may cease!

—My Fate I dare! then waste not thus thy Frown,

On him who scorns thee! heedless of thy Rage!

510 F4r 71

“My Hate! be on thee then, resumed the Moor,

And all the Ills thou’st daringly invoked!

I stoop not to defend my deeds! ’tis true

I made a Murder useful to my Views.

I killed Montenos—and I claim his Bride!

—I, gracious, asked a Gift, of what is Mine!

Thy Daughter lives my Subject, thou my Slave,

Your fragile Lives are held but of my breath!

Think not thy Arts shall cheat me of your child.

Nor House, nor Castle, that the land contains,


Nor church, nor monastry, shall ’scape unsearch’d;

Unless the Princess in eight days be found

No quarter shall to any here be given,

A murder’d City my revenge shall glut,

Prey to assassin licenced Soldiery!

—Bear the ungrateful Captive from my sight,

Who scorns my Favour, and defies my Wrath!

Find him a Dungeon ’neath the reach of Day

There to regret the Splendors of a Throne!”

The Mutes obeyed!


“Yet, said the Monarch, breaking from a trance

Which for a time his faculties o’ercame,

Still is Osmida safe!—For ever bless’d

The hand that snatch’d her from Zorador’s power!

F4v 72

Oh, Thou Omnipotent! who see’st it fit,

That here, in earth’s chill depths, her wretched Sire

Should count the lingering moments of his life,

Still, when my aged head, upon these stones,

In peace is laid, guide, to her Father’s throne,

My Child preserved, by thy defending arm,


The Rightful Heir of this thy Christian Realm!”

’Twas thus, in earnest and incessant Prayer,

For welfare to his child and Realm, Almanzor,

Midst Hopes by Heaven ordain’d to spring within,

Cheer’d as they passed his lonely prison hours.


The Maid of Arragon, except from Line 357 of the
Second Part, was published in the year 17801780; since
which it has been very considerably retouched, but, unfortunately,
never has been finished.

Since the Author’s decease, a MS has been found, in
her own hand writing, from which the additional pages,
now first published, have been taken. Prefixed to it is a
Sketch made in the year 17981798 of the manner in which it
had been intended to continue the story; but which she
says it was not then her intention ever to finish.

Osmida was, in disguise, to have obtained (by the aid
of Arlos, now impressed with the most respectful Love
for her) admission to the Dungeon to attend upon her
Father, at length labouring under the Delirium of
Fever. Recovered by her constant care, her first perception
of the Restoration of his Reason would have been
—discovering him on his Knees in Prayer.

During Zorador’s absence, to quell a rebellion in
Africa, Arlos, commanding an army of Allies, would
have released Almanzor and Arragon from the Moorish
yoke. The grief-worn King dying after his release,
and leaving the Crown to Osmida, she would have declared F5v
Arlos (to whom she had been so highly indebted)
King, a Transfer of Sovereignty not unusual in the dark
ages. And, declining his earnest, but respectful, Love,
and observing her vow of fidelity to the memory of
Montenos, her thoughts all directed heaven-ward by
the woes of her life, she would have built a Convent, and
to that would have retired; ending her days as a Nun,
as best suiting her feelings, her purity, and her distinguished

Those who are not insensible to the powers of the
hand that wrought up the scenes of this Poem, and
prefixed the Dedication to a Father, will regret that
it drew not that of a Father’s death in the arms of such
a Daughter, conscious of her every Duty performed!
that it sketched not the Delicacy of her Feelings towards
Arlos; traced not the Progress of her mind to its final
determination; and gave us not the Convent-scenes,
of such a character as Osmida —retreating from

How sweetly the Convent Music would have trilled,
may be imagined from the description of the scoffing
Turk (in The Siege of Acre B 4. line 341) who becomes
half Convert as he listens to the Christian Hymns,
and from the description of the pealing Organ in the
poem intitled Emigration.

F6r 75

The Death

Ill fated Chatterton! for Thee I raise

A mingled Lay of Censure and of Praise!

Bright Star of Genius! torn from Life and Fame,

My tears, my Verse, shall consecrate thy name!

Ye Muses! who around his natal bed

Bestowed your Gifts, and all your influence shed;

Apollo! that didst fire his infant breast

And, in his genuine Numbers, shine confest,

Ah! why on him such sensate Nerves bestow,

To heighten torture to the child of Woe!

Thou haggard Poverty! whose cheerless eye

Makes note of Rapture change to deepest sigh,

Subdued by thee, his pen no more obeys,

No more revives the song of Ancient Days,
Check’d in her flight his lofty Genius cowers,

Locks her faint wings, and yields to thee her powers!

F6v 76

Behold him Muses! see your favorite son,

The prey of Want ere Manhood is begun,

The Heart, which You inspired, with Anguish torn,

The Mind you cherish’d, drooping and forlorn!

See now! Despair her sable form extends,

Creeps to his couch, and o’er his pillow bends!

Ah, see! a deadly bowl, till now concealed,

Before his eyes is gradually revealed,

Some Spirit seize it! seize the liquid snare,

Cast it to earth, or dissipate in air—

Stay, hapless Youth! refrain, abhor the draught,

With racking pangs, with deep Repentence, fraught!

Oh, hold! the Cup with Woe eternal flows,

More, more than Death! the pois’nous juice bestows.

In vain!—He drinks—see how the searching fires

Rush through his veins! see, writhing, he expires!

No sorrowing friend, no Sister, Parent, nigh,

To sooth his pangs, or catch his parting sigh.

Alone, unknown, the Muse’s Favorite dies,

And, with the vulgar dead, unnoted lies!

Bright Star of Genius! torn from Life and Fame,

My tears, my Verse, shall consecrate thy name!

F7r 77


In warm weather.

Cooling Zephyrs! haste away

O’er my fever’d temples play,

Groves and Grots, in Pity, leave,

All around me gently breathe!

I beck none from Italia’s vales,

Nor from midst Gallia’s sunny gales!

But, speed from Greenland’s icy plains

Where silver Winter constant reigns,

Or, higher, from the Arctic fly,

Through the chill Norwegian sky,

And o’er the Northern Ocean sweep,

As frost-deck’d Naïads glide the deep.

F7v 78

But on high Grampia’s fleecy top,

Where kids the gelid herbage crop,

There, Zephyrs, touch! With freshen’d wing

Strait from its chilly caverns spring.

Oh! linger not midst England’s fields,

Nor taste the sweets its Garden yields.

In passing, ripple with your wings

The gurgling founts, and glassy springs,

Where thirsty meads the streamlets rave,

And croud their Flowers to drink the wave—

Ah! Breeze I hear thy vagrant wing

Where yonder Black-bird joys to sing,

Thy whispering voice again I know,

There where the willows drooping grow!

Oh! flit the meadow’s jewel’d ground,

With racy Freshness me surround!

F8r 79

The Signals.

On replacing candles,
which had been removed in a dark night
from a window on an eminence.

Burn, lucid tapers, fiercer burn!

Refine each ray to brighter light,

Pervade the sun-deserted air,

And pierce the thickest dark of night!

No vapour gross your fulgence feeds,

From snowy wax your flame is drawn,

By skilful bees extracted pure

From each sweet Flower that decks the lawn.

The Rose, the Violet, the Thyme,

That scent the morning’s dewy shower,

Have yielded up their clearest stores,

To form ye for the present hour.

F8v 80

Why then thus faintly glow your fires

Whilst Charity invokes your beams?

Why, inauspicious to the prayer,

Still fainter, fainter, are your gleams?

E’en now across the distant Heath,

Its canopy a threat’ning sky,

Some weary Traveller may roam,

No hut, no guide, no shelter, nigh!

Perhaps an aged Parent tries

To find, amidst the thick’ning shade,

Her doubtful path! perhaps the Child

Bemoans, forlorn, in yonder glade!

Your honest light they will not dread,

No ignis fatuus is your ray,

To lead astray their trembling feet,

And lure them from their wish’d for way!

Then, guiding signals! brighter burn,

Your beams with vigour shoot through night,

With brisker sparkles charge each ray,

And dart them on the Wanderer’s sight!

G1r 81


This wild chaotic mass of every dye,

Where teeming Principles of Order lie,

Is surely emblem of the scene

Ere out of dark Confusion rose

The variegated orb terrene

Amidst the Æther where it flows!

See! as the Vision fills the Artist’s mind
All to its impulse plastic is resigned!

Beauteous Prospects vast expand,

Here foaming surfy billows rise,

There stretches Verdure out in land,

Or brilliant Radiance streams in Skies.

Vol. III. G G1v 82

The cumbrous alps ascend, whose tops explore

The regions day-eyed Eagles fear to soar!

Streams tumbling from the flinty rock

In white meanders lead the eye,

And then, its keenest search to mock,

Through deep time-fretted Caverns fly.

Here spikey Furze conceals the barren Down,

Or distant Forests spread their mellow brown.

And now the soft Jonquils unfold,

Midst the low beauties of the Vale,

Their robes of imitative gold,

To fill with sweets the buoyant gale.

Now, spread o’er beauteous slopes, the nect’rous Vine

Bids rich festoons of luscious Purple shine.

The gorgeous orange here doth swell,

The groves of genial climes t’ illume,

Soft colours tinge the Nonpareil,

Or the rich Peach’s tint assume.

G2r 83

See! rise amidst this scene, thus deck’d so high,

The Form Divine, of soul-illumined eye!

Here springs a Beauty, there a Sage,

Now, Heroes from the mass emerge!

Here, Benefactors of their age,

There, scowls a Conqueror—mission’d scourge!

But, who shall e’er that gorgeous scene design,

Where Chaos, yielding to the Thought Divine,

Arranged its real Shade and Light!

As objects, by omniscient skill,

For Man were bid divide, unite,

Obedient to Jehovah’s Will!

G2 G2v 84


The paper’s blacken’d edges peep,

With mournful aspect warn to weep!

The Seal with fearful speed is broke,

’Tis thus the sorrowing writer spoke—

“Oh Charles beloved! my Dear is dead, And every bliss, for ever, fled! You, and your wife her constant friend, Her funeral rites must now attend!”

The day arrived, the solemn Bell

In dismal notes tolled Laura’s knell,

And floating plumes on shoulders borne

The dusty lanes and streets adorn.

Charles, and his Mate, in blackness clad,

With rueful thoughts, and faces sad,

Saw her interr’d;—heard—“Dust to Dust!”

And cried—To this all come and must.

The coaches then in sad array

Paced back the mournful late trod way.

G3r 85

The Widower sad, alone, Charles found,

In sable length upon the ground.

Soft Consolation he essayed,

And many a weary moment staid!

From scripture culled a sacred store,

And drain’d from heathenish learned lore

All that was ever thought or said,

To prove—we cant call back the dead!

His Tears were soothed at every gush,

Until at length his sorrows hush.

“Oh! Charles”, James said, “thou’rt very kind!

This shall live long within my mind.

How shall the Friendship I repay,

Thou’st proved upon this mournful day,

Which tore my dearest Wife from me,

And placed her with her Family?”

Charles rubbed his cheek, and thus replied,

With head a little turned aside!

“Why, dearest James, thou shalt to me

Be just—the Friend I’ve been to thee!

Would Fate grant that! ’tis all I ask—

Be Mine the Sorrow, thine the Task!”

G3v G4r

Scottish Village.

Pitcairne Green.



I read lately 1786 an account of splendid Ceremonies, at Pitcairne
in Scotland, on marking out the ground for an
extensive Village destined for the introduction of the Lancashire
Manufactures. All the persons of consequence of each
sex in that part of the country assisted on the occasion.

As my eye ran it over, a hurried sensation of the Advantages
and Disadvantages of Society and Commerce, of what was to
pass away, and what was to come, almost started a tear, that
will cause in my Reader, perhaps, the more amusing sensation
of a Smile! However, taking advantage of the Superstitions
imputed to Scotland, I have ventured to make the tear actually
fall from the eye of the Genius of the place; who shall describe
the sensations that prompted it. He who thinks them not
sufficient to excite it, will find himself represented by a Sage,
who discovers Consolations to prevent another from falling.

The little work has not been without its difficulties. My
canvas was to hint a landscape—in a country which I had never
seen. The accounts presented by Travellers might be false,
they might be invidious; yet they were to govern me, whilst
images very dissimilar crouded to my view! The prospects
of Devon—my native scenes! were ever before me, and all
my Efforts were necessary to suppress the complaints of Dryads
for the loss of their Shades, and to prevent Nightingales from G5r 89
pouring their regrets that their prescriptive habitations were

Had the scite of the intended village been in that district,
Description would have had room to range! fancy might have
rioted, and the most luxuriant imagination sated itself. There,
a poet might have led his readers through verdant lanes (for so
in other Countries Devon’s high-roads would be named) where
the hedges, composed of hawthorn, sweet-briar, myrtle, and a
thousand Flowers, effectually screen the traveller from the most
sultry sun, whilst, through the breaks, a country presents itself
—all enchantment! and where, if the humble Cottager was not
seen to boast views as delightful as those of the Patrician, the
whole Province might be mistaken for one vast artificial pleasure-ground.
There, whilst the ear is filled with music, poured
from the throats of the gold-finch, the blackbird, and the thrush,
the eye incessantly wanders over the richest meads, or roves
from Dale to Hill; rests on the soft Foliage of sloping woods,
or pursues the serpentine of pellucid rivers, beholds fields of
burnished Corn waving like a golden sea to the indenting
breeze, and Orchards loaden with fruit of such a Tint, that the
story of the Hesperides scarcely seems a Fable.

I find I have turned Guide! to those of my friends in Scotland
who have not yet crossed the Tweed. When they do,
they are not to return persuaded that they have seen the Beauties
of England, unless they have travelled through Somerset
and Devon.


G6r 91

The Scottish Village.

Mild wakes the Morn, with aspect blithe and sweet

O’er the blue Hills foretells a golden day!

Mild waking morn the beauteous blossoms greet,

Early precursors of the approaching May.

Th’ unfolded Flocks enliven all the dale

The landscape decking with their fleecy white,

The Shepherd’s calls, that prelude love’s fond tale,

From the neat Cot the list’ning maid invite.

Yon distant Mountain, on whose farthest side

The modest rays of April morn first play,

Till from its top the ardent Sun-beams glide

And Pitcairne Green bedeck with bolder ray,

G6v 92

Owns in its riven base a Cavern deep,

Where harden’d filter’d drops of emerald green

Are pendent down its fretted sides so steep,

A sparkling, jewel’d, vegetative, scene!

In that resplendent Grot a Sage deep reads


Mysterious Nature’s laws that never swerve,

Not from distaste to Man his life thus leads,

But Man to contemplate, and, studious, serve!,

There, rapt in Second Sight full oft he sees

Futurity appear, and fade away.

The Genii, that glide upon the breeze,

To him his gifted visual powers display!

Ah! what a tone is that which floating near,

Seems harmony’s full soul, so rich, though faint,

And, seizing thus on my enraptured ear

So sweetly murmurs in melodious plaint?

Hush’d be each ruder note ! Attention spread

In thick’ning folds thy cobweb veil around,

Hold thy full sway o’er my reclining head

Whilst eagerly I catch the golden sound!

G7r 93

Ah, dull of Heart! th’ harmonious voice not know!

Who but our District’s Genius has the skill?

From You alone such melting notes could flow,

’Tis only you so sweetly thus could thrill!

Say, pure descendent from the realms concealed


Beyond the ruby gates whence Dawn takes flight,

What Ills, midst such sweet scenes, to thee revealed,

Thus cloud the brow should beam celestial light?

Ah! wherefore grieves The Genius of the Waste,

Bending thus pensive from the fulgent sky?

Can Beings, pure like thee, of Sorrow taste,

Those, next to Angel, ever know to sigh!

Sage, still unlearn’d! ’tis now thy hour to know

That the dear Privilege to feel, to sigh,

To let the tear of sacred Pity flow,

Is not for Man alone, and earth-formed eye.

Where the Preeminence that Angels boast?

If, coldly negative in quiet Rest,

They formed a brilliant, but insensate, host,

By Heaven’s most precious gift, to feel, unblest!

G7v 94

The fine sensations of the human mind

Exist more keenly in th’ angelic frame,

More elevated poignant and refined,

As Earth’s exceeded by Ethereal Flame!

Wonder not therefore that an Angel’s brows,


Thus drooping now no cheering glances throw;

But give Attention—so thy Fate allows!

Whilst I relate what made the tear to flow.

See yonder Plain, unchanged by Mortal’s hand

Since each Chaotic Element, aroused,

Sprang forth all Action at the great Command,

And in its new appointed station housed!

Since that first instant of the young-born time,

The days, all guiltless, o’er the Plain have flown,

To each year’s ending from its earliest prime,

In sweet simplicity’s unruffled tone.

There Zephyrs calmly waft their airy wings,

And birds of Solitude glide, fearless, by,

And sometimes too the bird that lofty sings

Chants all its measures from the lucid sky.

G8r 95

That yellow broom, that frames with golden bounds

The verdent carpet smoothly spread between,

Marks where light Fairies nightly trip their rounds

Happy to gambol secret and unseen!

Whilst in the glittering regions of the Pole


The Northern Lights their vivid tints prepare,

The seeming Lightning, though no Thunders roll,

Prismatic Glories streaming through the air!

A Sage, Futurity there vision’d saw,

Tranquil as you in times long passed away,

His Country groan beneath the Feudal Law,

Or glut with power the Tyrant of the day.

Its neighbor England, with irruptive bands,

Watching each turn, and changing of its Fate,

To bind with manacles its warlike hands,

And make it vassal to her haughtier state!

At length, with Pride! he saw his Scotland give

Monarchs to wear its Rival’s splendid crown,

Blest in The Union, saw both people live

Bound in one Empire, sharing one Renown!

G8v 96

Sacred to Visions grand like these was kept

The magic Circle this horizon bounds,

And, since with Seers long past the Hermit slept,

There, ne’er have yet been heard tumultuous sounds!

In times when Feuds unfilial tore the land,


And horrid War her crimson flag unfurled,

And dread Rebellion, with its sanguine hand,

Midst peaceful swains its murderous arrows hurled,

No turbid Clans e’er passed that mossy heath,

No rival Thanes there proudly fought for place,

None came with hostile thoughts, or vows of Death,

If warriors came, ’twas only to embrace!

There but the oath of Mutual Peace was heard,

As yielding Chiefs to yielding foes gave hands,

And only sounds that friendly Joy had stirred

Thence reach’d the sky, though sprung from warlike

Man’s Envies, Frauds, and Malice, there ne’er felt,

Each shriek of Woe beyond its bounds was kept,

No mothers near heart-broken offspring knelt,

There Terror shrunk not, there ne’er Sorrow wept.

H1r 97

As rolling Years have drawn their veils between,

And Ages, born of Ages, passed away,

All Vice and Shame in other haunts have been,

The World’s fell Arts ne’er flourish’d there a day.

But, now approaches fast the hour of change


E’en whilst I speak, the scene I vaunt is past!

There shall no more the blithesome Faires range,

The late nocturnal revel was their last!

They all have sought the air-embosom’d hill

Where vivid breezes sport in blithesome play,

Have left the plain where gads the circling rill,

And Thyme-dress’d heath, where lingering flocks
yet stray.

See, quick advance the numerous motley croud,

Mechanics, Traders, Pedants, pour along!

Their joy breaks out in carols rude and loud,

Mere Noise and Clamour steals the name of Song.

The verdant face of this once happy plain

The sharp tooth’d mattock shall deform and tear,

That evil first, and then, an endless train

Follow the footsteps of yon graceful Fair!

Vol. III. H H1v 98

The crescent Town, obedient to their will,

Will rise from earth, spread forth its streets around,

Ah! that the stubborn rock, in quarry still,

Could keep, unhewn, unformed, its rest profound!

The noisy town, and air opake, they’ll greet,


And the coarse din which trade and folly form!

Whilst Pride, Temptation, Fraud, in contest meet

And Virtue silence in the vulgar storm.

The social Evils now will all rush in,

Th’ opposing Passions that distract mankind,

The blazon’d crime, the sly, well-cover’d, sin,

And every complex vice full range will find!

Cold wary Avarice, and Penury scant,

The proud man’s Scorn, the rich man’s sturdy Mien,

Wide-squandering Luxury, and pallid Want,

All haste to fill the varied, wretched, scene!

False Friendship here will spread its close-wove nets,

With muffled poniard stab, in tenderest part,

Ingratitude, for all the good it gets,

Returning barbed arrows to the Heart!

H2r 99

The love-lorn Self-assassin’s groan I hear,

The broken Vow deplored, the rending sigh—

Ah see, the maid deceived upon her bier!

Of all joy reft, her solace but to die.

Yonder, a Robber skulks; a Murd’rer here!—


Ah, canst thou wonder, Sage, I mourn the hour!

Thou’st heard the Cause that swell’d my starting tear,

Now Thou wilt grieve too in thy secret bower!

Here paused the Genius. And the earthly Sage,

His hoary tresses floating round his head,

Slow raised his eyes, thoughts beaming riped by Age—

“I see the vision’d Future Scene”! he said.

And ah! your woe-fraught Prophecy too sure

Fate will to utmost plenitude fill up;

Each threaten’d Ill ’tis fixed they must endure,

And drink from Sorrow’s never full-drain’d cup.

Yet, not unmix’d, the bitter draught will flow.

But, Guardian Genius of Simplicity,

Ill sorted Virtues please not thee, the foe

Of Vice and Virtue’s mixed complexity.

H2 H2v 100

Formed to endure earth’s mingled wrong and right,

Whilst I yet linger in this lower state,

Though future Visions pour upon my sight,

As Man, naught human must excite my hate!

Whilst Man and Sorrow spread in equal pace,


Midst vices Virtues spring upon the sight,

The great Result, a still more numerous race

Hereafter destined for the realms of Light!

More numerous Beings destined for the Skies?

Each art productive man must eager court.

By Industry, encouraged by the Wise,

Encreasing Numbers must obtain support!

Yonder rude circuit, where th’ obtrusive fern

In sullen vegetation chills the glance,

A few revolving halcyon months will turn

To one all-cheering, lucid, gay, expanse!

Where Scotland’s Staple shall delight the sight,

Courting the blanching beams of day’s bright orb,

To give enduring Lustre to its white,

And every slight impurity absorb.

H3r 101

There from the loom shall costly webs be brought,

By pure taste taught in rich festoons to rise;

Which late from Belgia distant kingdoms sought,

But Caledonia now shall grant the prize.

Here shall rich damask spread its fruit and flowers,

For social tables, and for Halls of State,

There textures, seeming woven air, have powers

To soften beauty, and new charms create.

For these, whilst Labour chants its jocund song,

Shall foreign prows be guided to our shores;

Each rival State our ample harbours throng,

Its Tribute paying for our laboured stores.

Thus blest, this Village may, in unborn age,

Become a City graced with many a dome;

Of note in commerce, and of arts the Stage,

Where man industrious may secure a home.

Though social Evils will spread o’er the plain,

The Social Blessings too will haste along,

And, on the spot where Vice will lead his train,

Illustious Virtues eagerly will throng.

H3v 102

If here the craving Miser heap his gold,

And frown upon the shivering needy wretch,

Her Pity shall her Cornucopia hold,

And Charity her fostering arm outstretch.

And Female Elegance shall bid arise


The Spell all feel, but never can describe!

Scarce tangible by Thought, the tongue it flies,

Pride can’t command it, nor can riches bribe.

Not sense, not loveliness, not wealth, nor wit,

But formed of all, the gift enchanting grows;

Each time and place adorns with Graces fit,

But in domestic hours supremely glows.

And who than Scotland’s daughters more prepared

To spread the fascinating Charm around?

When through the Sex, great Nature beauty shared,

Thou know’st she here was even lavish found!

And though disastrous Love may seek the grave,

Or mourn the violated vow of bliss,

Yet, here shall faithful love the maiden save,

And parents cheer her with approving kiss.

H4r 103

Their thanks in rapture shall the Bridegrooms give,

Sweetly meandering amidst the shades;

For Shades shall be where now the Thistles live

Guarding th’ expanse from man with pointed blades.

For Nature’s self to Commerce ever yields,


Kind social Commerce every climate blends!

Transforms the drear dun heath to cheerful fields,

Or through the desart fruitful streamlets sends.

Yes, that great power will here exert its force,

Will change these heaths to richest fruitful farms,

Bid stranger riv’lets wind their silvery course,

Make sterile Moors display exotic charms.

And bounteous Learning too shall raise its pile,

Designed the fret of Ages to withstand;

Within, the classic scholar form his stile,

To pour instuction through the list’ning land!

Yes, from this source may future sages burst

To charm abroad, ameliorate at home;

A Thompson in its cells be haply nursed,

A Blair give splendor to th’ enlight’ning dome.

H4v 104

The Lawyer here shall gain the precious seed

Of growing honours, dignity, and fame,

Here shall ensure the future splendid meed,

That crowns his labour, and extends his name.

A Mansfield, Erskine, Loughborough, shall arise

The boast of Genius in the unborn times,

Our glory spreading ’neath the distant skies,

And mark us envied by less gifted climes.

Philosophy’s profound disciples too,

Shall in its aisles a new Lyceum find;

Uncasuist Ethics, system plain, and true,

May here ennoble the well tutor’d mind.

A Hume!—a second Hume from hence may shine,

In Lustre like the first, but oh! his Heart

Shall humbly shrink before Religion’s shrine

And prompt his Talents to a better part!

A Robertson may hence, with copious stream

Of long collected knowledge, fill his page,

Dark Ages make by light reverted gleam,

And rightful Freedom trace, from stage to stage.

H5r 105

And ah! whilst future Laurels verdant spread

Will not the Myrtle for our Females grow?

Yes, whilst the Laurel crowns the manly head,

The blossoms for the fair shall livelier blow.

Another Seward may deserve the prize,


Like her whose pensive and mellifluous throat,

Where’er misfortune scowls with cheerless eyes,

Pours forth her soothing her reviving note.

Sweet, as her fond complaint throughout the eve,

Rings through the leafy grove the tender Dove,

Till, so endear’d the scene, the Light we grieve,

Detest the sprightlier note, and Sorrow love!

Another Barbauld, here, the new born Isle,

That lately 1783. sprang amidst Norwegian seas,

May deck with all the fervor of the Stile

That endless Fame to Corsica decrees!

Descriptive, powerful, strong, as her, in verse,

When, with Longinus’ nerve, and Graces meet,

She wills the Isle, in Measures rich though terse,

To live with Homer’s Tenedos and Crete.

H5v 106

She’ll raise the veil of Time! and show us how

The cindery mass the climate works refines,

What the vast produce, though all unborn now,

And all its Changes, in her magic lines!

May show the land which would, beneath the skies,

Of soft Italia, bloom with scented Flowers,

Its surface deck with nature’s richest dyes,

And swell in Hills, and give soft Shade in Bowers,

May show it here, divest of every sweet

That could endear it to the eye of taste,

No Flowers, no Rills, the wandering eye to meet,

No rural Beauty, all one dreary Waste!

But, though not sweet, the scenery will be grand!

Not rills, but Torrents will her muse display;

To roar, when mellowing southern winds breathe bland,

Grow dumb and stiffen, in the wintery ray.

No gentle Hills but Mountains vast will show,

Whose cracking Pines confess strong Boreas’ might,

Whilst bright Volcanoes from their summits glow,

And spread, o’er plains around, their awful light!

H6r 107

Arcades and Temples e’en her muse will sing,

But not of Marble formed, nor part for part;

Nature will there the Noble Sculpture bring,

Wildly magnificent, not curbed by Art!

The frozen cataract a dome will form,

From streams arrested ice-formed pillars rise,

Their Capitals be sculptured by a Storm,

That carves whilst rushing from the Zemblian skies.

The Polar Sun will pour its scanty beams,

To tint the glacid scene with shifting hues;

Now strong, now fading into fainter gleams,

Or seen a general ruddy blaze t’ effuse.

Where others could but give unskilful sketch,

A Barbauld’s pencil would the beauties seize,

No lesser genius, on its utmost stretch,

Could make the frigid, cheerless, landscape please!

When man’s attention, worn by scenes like these,

Retreating wishes for familiar hours;

And seeks the lounging seat, the robe of ease,

And gladly yields to Common Life its powers,

H6v 108

Some future Burney then may sooth the breast,

From Nature drawing with a skill so true,

’Twill stand in every varying mode confest,

Distinctly courting the enquirer’s view!

A Power peculiar, will her portraits fill;

When lines are bold, and strong, a vulgar pen

The sketch may take; it asks no mighty Skill

Misers to paint, or mad, or wayward, men.

But human nature, in its faintest dye,

Will she detect, and drag to open day,

Make evident what slipped th’ unmarking eye,

And bid it glare, with Truth’s pervading ray!

The huddled beings of the common mass,

Who, to themselves, appear of equal kind,

Will not in unawakened error pass

Where’er is known a keen-eyed Burney’s mind!

Touched by her spear, they’ll sudden spring to sight;

But not new formed, she’ll shew them as they are,

Will mold no character, but give the Light

Which makes them clear as Herschel sees a star.

H7r 109

Yes, such as these, this plain may one day boast.

Prize! sweet Intelligence, oh! prize the Change!

Laurel will then bedeck our letter’d coast,

And here the Muses, fondly cherish’d, range.

This vacant Wild, till now expanse unblest,

Unknown, and useless in the general scale,

Through Ages slumb’ring in ignoble rest,

Scorned, or unheeded in th’ historic tale,

Will hence assume a Rank, enjoy a Name,

Not hid, a barren, disregarded, spot,

But, living in the breath of future fame,

Will greet its happy, though its late drawn lot.

Whilst, gliding hence, thou’lt seek with searching eye,

For pure Simplicity without Alloy,

Wilt henceforth find it ’neath some other sky,

And there thy calm felicity enjoy.

Yet thou hereafter wilt approve the change

That formed more beings for a higher scale!

Destined with thee through realms of light to range

On Seraph wing the source of all to hail!

H7v 110

Here stopt the Sage. The Genius paused awhile,

His honied words as though revolving o’er;

Then turned his eye, with a celestial smile,

And beam’d a promise he would mourn no more!

In sweet tone said—“O man of well stored thought,


’Tis Truth inspires thee, thou hast seen aright!

In his generation’s interests Man’s more taught

Than some who’re formed the Children pure of Light.”

Fell plants their Antidotes will oft reveal

In the same fields that poisonous herbs endure,

Th’ Almighty Guardian of the general weal

For every misery gives more than cure.

To thee is due the bliss which just men know,

Felicities which pious acts attend,

Round thy blest mansion they will ever flow,

And cheer the anxious moments of thy end!

He glided onward, as the Sage adored,

His pinions shedding splendor on the day,

A blushing radiance marked the path he soar’d,

Till clouds, illumed, concealed his new sought way!

H8r 111

Departed Youth.

What though the rose-buds from my cheek

Have faded all! which once so sleek

Spoke Youth, and Joy, and careless thought.

By Guilt, or Fear, or Shame, uncaught,

My Soul, uninjured, still hath Youth,

Its lively sense attests the truth!

Oh! I can wander yet, and taste

The beauties of the flowery waste,

The Nightingale’s deep swell can feel

Till to the eye a tear doth steal,

Rapt! gaze upon the gem-deck’d night,

Or mark the clear Moon’s gradual flight,

Whilst the bright river’s rippled wave

Repeats the quivering beams she gave.

Nor yet does painting strive in vain,

To waken from its Canvass plain

The Lofty Passions of the mind,

Or hint the sentiment refined,

H8v 112

To the sweet Magic yet I bow

As when Youth deck’d my polish’d brow.

The Chissel’s lightest touch to trace

Through the pure form, or soften’d grace,

Is lent me still, I still admire,

And kindle at the poet’s fire—

Why Time! since these are left me still,

Of lesser thefts e’en take thy fill.

Yes, take all lustre from my eye,

And let the blithe carnation fly,

My tresses sprinkle o’er with snow,

That boasted once their auburn glow,

Break the slim form that was adored

By him, so loved, my wedded Lord,

But, leave me, whilst all these you steal,

The Mind to taste, the Nerve to feel!

I1r 113


On a Field of Battle.

The cheerless Groves I quit, which sighting wave

Amidst November’s blasts their naked arms,

All their red leaves fallen fluttering to their grave,

All sunk again, in Dust, May’s vernal charms.

In moody thought, at dark’ning Eve, I seek

A field far famed for Battle’s savage reign.

With looks, which superstitious weakness speak,

Its timid neighbours beck me to refrain!

“On yon dread field,” they urge, “full oft are heard

A thousand neighing coursers of the plain,

When not a flow’ret by the breeze is stirred,

Spirits of those in dread encounter slain!”

Vol. III. I I1v 114

Their clattering hoofs their hurried speed declare,

Woe to the Mortal who obtrudes his sight,

As, urged by Phantoms, o’er the earth they tear,

And round the Barrow they perform their Rite!

E’en though he live to tell the dreadful view,

Through Night they punish his presumptuous sin,

And whilst with dreadful torments they pursue,

The hoofs, the snorts, the arms, encrease their din.

Till through the bright’ning confines of the night,

As Phantoms fly, as Horses, Warriors, fade,

Come forth the glimering messengers of light,

And drive, from realms of air, each martial shade.

Almost alarmed! I wander o’er the plain,

Whose verdure decks the mansions of the brave;

Where Heroes fell, insensible to pain,

And, cheer’ed with Glory, sunk into their grave.

I pensive roam around the laurel’d field,

Whilst Fancy calls up Heroes from the Soil,

Makes bursting sods their pallid Inmates yield,

And o’er the waste repeat their martial toil.

I2r 115

Ah! wayward Fancy bids dread scenes revive,

Which Time’s dark mists had veil’d from mortal

Embattled squadrons rush as when alive,

And shadowy falchions gleam o’er shadowy men!

The Fiends who war and earthly battle love,

Rise from thier lakes of fire midst endless night,

Seem joyous o’er the the carnaged haunts to rove,

Pressed by infernal instinct to the fight!

Whilst Battle rages fiercely o’er the field,

Whose verdure’s fed from many a Warrior’s heart,

As Heroes bled who, never known to yield,

Sunk crowned with Glory, reckless of the smart.

Ah! who was that who swift with frantic air,

Flew fearless on to yonder bleeding youth,

Bound his deep gashes with her flowing hair,

And died beside him to attest her truth?

His Sister (’tis inscribed.) The Orphans grieved

For Parents long at rest within the grave.

They by their Guardian were of wealth bereaved,

The little all parental care could save!

I2 I2v 116

Chill looked the world, and chill had seized their

For where shall Poverty expect a smile?

Gross lawless love essayed its ready arts,

And all beset was she by Fraud and Guile!

Her Henry sought the War, ill check’d the tear

Of love fraternal as he bade farewell!

But, fear for him absorbed each other fear,

She followed, Fate soon struck their mutual knell!

Chaste Maiden rest! and purer spring the green

That decorates the Turf thy dust doth feed,

Ah! in the kindest mercy ’twas I ween,

To worth like thine a Brother’s grave’s decreed.

The shrieks of death seem all revived around,

The hollow winds prolong each lingering sigh!

Now bitter groans, now deeper groans resound,

Whilst Fathers, Brothers, Lovers, Husbands, die!

Yet, why from such sad thoughts avert the mind,

To Hamlets, Cities, peaceful regions turn?

For, glancing there, such varying Deaths we find,

The change from War-scenes scarcely we discern!

I3r 117

Why draw the mind from this contracted plain?

The sky that canopies the sons of breath

Sees the whole Earth one scene of mortal pain,

The vast the universal Bed of Death!

Where Husbands, Fathers, Brothers, dying moan,

Where Wives, where Mothers, Sisters, Orphans,

Each way is hear the last expiring groan,

And the deep throttle of the deathful sleep!

If, as Philosophy does sometimes muse,

A State of War is Natural State to Man,

’Tis Battle’s sickness bravery should chuse,

The noblest death in nature’s varied plan.

Whilst vulgar Souls await the Fever’s rage,

Or, slow, beneath pale Atrophy depart,

With fameless death inglorious Effort wage,

Ignoble Sorrow cankering the heart,

The Firm demand that Fate to them decree

To aid their Country—by a Death Sublime!

By languid pains their high souls scorn to free,

And, by the Sword’s swift edge, escape from Time!

I3v 118

A Fire-Side Tour.

I hate the constant Elegiac Lay!

Give me a Measure blithe as day,

Such days as near the Ides of June

Inspire the Lark’s elaborate tune.

When, as beams of Morning pour,

Ambitious midst a cloud to soar,

He mounts aloft, and from his gurgling throat

Darts back to Earth the piercing note,

Which falling with the dews of morn

That deck the pink and snowy thorn,

Floats round upon the Zephyr’s wing,

And wakes the burnish’d Finch, and Linnet sweet to

And be my Lines irregular and free,

Poetic chains away from me!

I jeer dull Laws that raise a mound

O’er which the Muse is caution’d not to bound!

She shall in verse meandering sport,

Her Feet or quick, or long, or short,

I4r 119

Just as her varying impulse wills,

And scorn the straiten’d march that each fine fervour

Themes too, without controul, I’ll change,

As Thought excursive chance to range!

Shall I to Love address my Lays,

Whom Poets sing, with endless Praise?

Their lofty minds escape his Chains,

They thus at Ease describe his pains,

And uncheck’d Ingenuity display

For that no real Passion mars the Lay!

But, where Love reigns, a Tyrant he

Whom painted with Bandeau we see,

With downy wings, and childish face,

As though of Angel Cherub race,

And he the action ne’er leaves free

Of mental Ingenuity.

Still, why give Love an endless Lay?

He hath but intermittent sway.

When Newton trod the starry road

And viewed the numerous stars’ abode

And measured every distant orb,

Did silly Love his steps attend,

His mighty purposes suspend,

Or e’er his lofty thoughts absorb?

I4v 120

When intellectual Locke explored

The minds mere Vacuum, where no hoard

Of Innate young Ideas lay,

Did e’er, whilst robed in wisdom’s stole,

Love’s dazzling flame his views controul,

Or light him through his darksome way?

From Theme so trite, away I haste!

For Subject course Earth’s motley waste,

Seek Character, where’er it runs,

View Eastern Climes ’neath fiercer Suns.

Mark how Confucius’ feeble race

His changeless Records dully trace!

To Imitation still confine

Their powers, nor dare a devious line!

Whims elsewhere live their short lived day,

Are tasted, liked, and pass away,

In China, none from old rules range,

Whilst all around is grateful Change!

Away are flown a thousand springs,

As Earth hath coursed its circling rings,

No Art or Virtue more refined,

Not one suggestion left behind!

Philosophy, no inroads made,

Still sleeps within impervious shade,

I5r 121

Dull Learning, blindforld in its pen,

Hath only Ancient Thoughts arranged,

This niggard Precept left to men,

“Proceed, be wise, but, be unchanged!”

Mere Wrecks of States, now passed away,

Are loftier Subjects for my Lay!

O’erthrown Palmyra I’ll explore

There beauty’s glance, and wisdom’s lore,

Ages, long passed, the soul beguiled,

Oh think! in that unletter’d Wild

Longinus wrote, Zenobia smiled!

Where now a humbled Column lies,

Streamed radiance forth from beaming eyes;

The roofs where odious night-birds rest,

Once shelter’d Wit, once echoed Jest;

Where Peasants cumbrous Oxen stall,

Therpsichore swam through the ball;

Serpents convolve where Music trilled,

A Marbled Desart now Palmyra’s fate’s fulfilled!

To Southern regions hence I glide away,

To where deep Wisdom’s earliest Students breathed,

Where Egypt’s swarthy sons imbrown by day,

Where Science first by Herald Fame was wreathed.

I5v 122

There view the reservoir’s collected flood

To bless a famished People spend its wealth,

Pour out itself to renovate their blood,

By Heaven supplied with stores of future health.

But ah! there Locusts close the dreaded wing,

Fix on the Flow’rets, dim their brilliant hues,

In fragrance wrapt, to closing blossoms cling,

And glitter on each shrub like blighting dews.

My Muse retreats! to Europe northward hies

And gains Sicilia’s ever lucid skies,

There views the wreck that Nature lately tore,

Wrathful! from sad Messina’s once famed Port,

As the Proud Marbles that adorned its shore

Where dash’d on Rocks and made the billow’s sport.

Whilst the mad Mother, and the Child bereaved,

The tottering Palaces, the falling Towers,

Showed full Destruction was, at once, atchieved,

With all a fierce convulsive Earthquake’s powers!

I turn from Scenes so fraught with pain,

Italia’s Continent I gain,

Where nature’s loftiest minds were found,

Where Fancy’s brightest thoughts abound!

I6r 123

I linger here, the classic clime,

Doth well deserve devoted time,

I tread the sacred way of Rome,

I press to kneel at Virgil’s tomb!

And ah! be Italy ne’er named,

Without due tribute to the famed

The ever glorious Medicis!

Sweet poetry, attune thy Lyre,

To those who woke thy latent fire

And set thy rolls long prison’d free!

Let sculpture raise its Pillar high,

Their names advance towards the sky,

From whom it life renewed derived.

Let painting sweetly blend its hues,

Its votive canvass ne’er refuse,

To those who all its powers revived!

Their names Posterity will ever prize,

High in the climax of the literate few,

Who from the rust of time will bright arise,

By passing Centuries still kept in view!

I6v 124

On Spain I glance, of late but slightly famed,

From Sports Barbarian little yet reclaimed!

Their Bull-Fight view, whilst earth ’neath fierce hoofs,

As forth his Den the bellowing Monster springs.

The ireful foam surrounds his churning jaws,

His burnished horns, in battle’s anxious pause,

Now raze the earth, now, proudly tossed in air,

The waiting combatants to contest dare!

The waiting troop the wished for signal greets,

Darts on the foe; the lordly Bull defeats

The well-aim’d thrust, and, armed with native might,

Contemns each brandish’d sword, and dagger bright;

And, rushing on, whilst deathful fury flies

In livid sparkles from his blood-red eyes,

He gores the generous steeds, their riders throws,

And round the vast Steccado fearless goes,

In haughty Strength each threat’ning risk to dare

Whilst boisterous admiration rends the air!

I roam now Gallia’s sportive plains,

Where rustic laugh for ever reigns,

Near glossy rills which as they fly

Their curved embroidered banks between

Whose glowing tints begem the green

Bear on their curls the Zephyr’s sigh.

I7r 125

The pleasures here, a rosy band,

Together link’d with Flowery Chains

And blithly dancing o’er the Plains,

Spread cheerful mirth throughout the land!

To England homeward now I glide,

My country view with added Pride!

The Virtues greet of every Time,

The mingled sweets of every Clime!

There, charming is the Morning’s hour,

When, from his chrystal roseate bower,

We see the early Sun pursue

The skimming breeze through fields of dew.

Charming the fiery hour of Noon,

When the sunk Linnet’s fading tune

Allures us to the beechy grove,

Or where some cragg’d grotesque Alcove

Sounds in the ear its tinkling rill,

Attractive by its grateful chill.

Charming, at close of day, the beauties spread,

As Devon’s hills, my native scenes! I tread.

How deck’d the mists attendant on the eve

With colours richest that the Sun can give!

How wakes around the Nightingales’ rich trill,

Till their sweet pipes the Empyrean fill,

I7v 126

And Sensibility usurps the Heart

And makes me through each swelling song take part,

And dwell upon each touching pause,

And lengthen out each added clause,

Till rapt Attention, strain’d full high,

Starts a prompt tear, awakes a sigh.

On Devon’s scenes could I prolong

With added strains, my lengthen’d song,

E’en from the hour when first the Morn,

Imparts the light of beamy Dawn,

Pours Scents and Colours o’er the vale,

And wakes it song, and wakes its tale,

Till every fairy Elf and sprite

Joins in the secret dance at night.

Here, here, then Poetry thy Numbers bring,

Here Music strike thy sweetly trembling string!

I, break the lingering tempting strain

And still each note with pensive pain!

I8r 127


Be hid from me the sapphire sky,

What is to me the verdure’s dye?

Or yonder vales where sportive cattle play?

Near shady Groves, yes there I see,

Why do those beauties burst on me?

Bright Rivers run, and dart redoubled Day.

Can such vain scenes enchant a mind

To deep disgust and gloom resigned?

’Tis but o’er hearts where reigns sweet peace they’ve

Vain are such views, from them I fly,

On scenes of Ruin turn my eye,

And greet thee Horror at the mouldering Tower!

Where, ’mongst unwholesome murky damps,

The flitting gleamy vapour lamps

Of ignes fatui show, midst thickest night,

Where morbid Melancholy sits,

And weeps, and sighs, and raves, by fits,

Or, from her vision hides some fancied sprite.

I8v 128

Or if, amidst the Arctic gloom,

To hurry many a Wretch’s doom,

Thou formest hideous Phantoms of Despair,

Instant thy dreadful labours leave,

With raven wing the concave cleave,

’Thwart the dark vapours of nocturnal air.

Now waft me to th’ impending Cliff,

Below whose brow the stranded skiff

Beholds thee seated on thy rocky throne,

Where, midst the shrieking wild wind’s roar,

With outstretch’d hands wreck’d crews implore,

Their fear-seized sinews motionless as stone.

Hide, hide the Moon’s obstrusive orb,

The gleam of every star absorb,

And make Creation, for a moment, thine!

Bid billows dash, let whirlwinds roar,

And the stern, rocky, threat’ning shore

Back to the waves the stranded bark resign!

K1r 129

Then, whilst from yonder turbid cloud

Thou roll’st thy Thunders long and loud

Thy Lightnings darting on the deep below,

Let the expiring Seaman’s cry,

The pilot’s agonizing sigh,

In dreadful Chorus all immingled flow!

Horror! far back thou dat’st thy reign,

Ere Tyrants History’s page could stain

With records dark of deeds of lawless sway;

Ere Alexanders States o’erthrew,

Or Faction mad’ning Cæsars knew,

To thee Mankind was yielded for thy Prey!

Whose pen Jehovah’s self inspired,

He who, with power from Heaven acquired,

Led Israel’s gifted armies o’er the earth,

Midst frenzied Mothers, Children drowned,

And mansions topling to the ground,

Grandly terrific paints thy dreadful birth!

Vol. III. K K1v 130

Th Almighty from his Throne on high

Bade forth the venging Seraphs fly,

’Gainst Earth imbued with every vice’s stain.

He gave th’ irrevocable sign,

Which marked to Man the hate divine

For Heaven’s commands all treated with disdain!

And sudden to the opening sky

The Angels of his Wrath quick fly,

Then Horror thou didst riot o’er the whole!

Whilst fell th’ annihilating shower,

To Thee th’ Almighty gave the hour

To fill and rack each self-accusing soul!

’Twas thine to scourge each sinful land,

No creature could thy glance withstand,

The Pride-swoln Cities crumbled at thy yell.

Once more thou’lt reign! the Earth on Fire,

Its Frame in Chaos will expire

Ere thou dost seek thy native seat in Hell!

K2r 131

Ode to Indifference.

O Nymph long sought, of placid mien,

Of careless step, and brow serene,

I woo thee from the rustic bowers

Where listless pass thy easy hours.

Or if, a Naïade of the silver wave,

Thou’rt sweetly pleased thyself at east to lave

In some bright Lake, on whose unruffled face

The weeping Willow loves itself to trace,

Of if, from cell within some Rock

Thy smiles all human sorrow mock,

Where’er thou art, on Earth, in Air,

Oh! come, and chase away despair!

K2 K2v 132

Have I not marked thee on the Green

Roving, by vulgar eyes unseen?

Have I not watch’d thy lightsome dance

As Evening’s mellowed glows advance?

Sweet soother, Yes! and whilst the Rustic’s mirth

Proclaims the hour which gives wild Gambols birth,

Supine I’ve found thee in the Elm-row’s shade,

Lull’d by the hum returning Bees have made,

As, chary of their golden spoils,

They close their fragrant fruitful toils,

And to their waxen couches throng,

With rest-inviting slumb’rous song.

Sweet Nymph! the region let me seek

Where thou resid’st with aspect meek;

My future life to thee I give

Oh! tranquillize each hour I live!

’Tis true no glowing Bliss thy vot’ries know,

From thee no poignant Ecstasy can flow,

But oh! thou shield’st the Heart from rankling pain,

Misfortune threats, when blest with thee, in vain!

Wan Jealousy’s empoisoning tooth,

And Love, that feeds upon our Youth,

And holy Friendship’s broken tie,

Ne’er dim the Lustre of thine eye.

K3r 133

For Thee it is all Nature blooms,

For Thee, tht Spring new charms assumes,

Nor vainly ope her Blossoms round,

Nor vainly do her Groves resound;

Her Music, Colours, Perfumes, all are thine,

To thee her Months their richest gifts consign.

To thee the Morn is bright, sweet too the ray

That marks the progress of the sinking day!

Each Change is grateful to thy soul,

No Woes the mental powers controul,

The Charms of Nature, and of Art,

Alike delight the care-free heart!

And oh! beneath the happy dome

Where thy calm presence cheers the home,

That torturous imp is never found

Whose praise such idle songs resound

Dread Sensibility!—Ah! let me fly

Where Greenland darkness veils the lucid sky,

Or where the Sun, with downward torrid ray,

Kills with the beams direct of fiery day.

I’d dare th’ excess of every Clime,

Endure each evil known to time,

Ere live beneath that Witch’s spells

With whom no lasting pleasure dwells!

K3v 134

Her thrilling power deludes the Heart,

Her Tear is ever prompt to start,

Her tender Look, her ready Sigh,

And soft Emotion always nigh.

All calm Repose th’ insididous fiend forbids,

All soothing slumber chases from our lids,

She heightens Fancies into real woe

Till keenest tortures in the bosom grow!

She kills all Taste! In vain the Spring

Bids birds through groves their Matins sing,

The roseate Morn’s hygean bloom,

Sinks, unobserved, to evening’s Gloom.

When She has seized upon the Heart,

Taste can no ray of bliss impart,

One strong idea fills the mind,

And harasses with throes unkind.

Strain’d to Excess, Reason’s her vanquished slave,

The frantic victim shuns her in the grave.

To her all crimes, all evils, owe their birth,

That reign, in dreadful sway, o’er all the earth!

She mixes, wildly, Smiles with Tears,

And where’s no Ill, she thrills with Fears!

Knows most Delight, when most we smart—

Now, whilst she prompts my pen, she riots in my



A Tale

K4v K5r 137


Deep sighed the wind, slow struck the hour,

When from his Couch Alphonso rose;

Soft Down invoked Sleep’s soothing power,

No pillow there could give repose!

The night still brooded on the hill,

Beneath, the sable river rolled,

Not glittering now the tinkling rill,

Its stream was dark, its spirit cold.

His chamber long, with restless feet,

The Lord Alphonso traversed o’er;

There once refreshed by slumbers sweet,

But slumbers sweet he knows no more!

K5v 138

His roused Domestics strait obey

The signal of the Lord they hate;

Their Torches flash a second day

Along the costly rooms of State.

His favorite from th’ obsequious train,

He to his inmost closet led;

To him confessed Love caused the pain

That roused him from his midnight bed.

Oh! thou wert near, Alphonso cries,

When in the Progress late we made,

Gonsalvo’s Daughter in our eyes

Made every other Beauty fade!

Her noble Mien, her blushes mild,

The burnish of her Tresses bright,

Her Age, but just no longer Child,

Her rosy mouth, her graceful height,

All these within my time-worn heart

Again have lighted youthful flame,

I sink beneath the powerful smart,

Tell her Honour prompts my claim!

K6r 139

Oft did I try her soul to melt,

But, ignorant she of Cupid’s power,

His influence she ne’er had felt,

But now is come her fated hour!

With flames illicit I essayed

To touch and melt her frozen breast,

If Hymen sooth the trembling maid

With Hope she then may be addressed!

Strait to her Father speed thy way,!

The fleetest Mules they now prepare,

And ere tomorrow pours its day,

Thou’lt reach the village of my Fair.

These Pearls, these Diamonds, speak my Truth,

Woo her with Treasures to my arms,

When love no longer boasts of Youth,

Riches must spread their luring charms!

Oh! how unlike the rapturous hour,

When Love is bought by Love alone!

When a soft Look, a Touch, a Flower,

Is prized beyond Ind’s brightest stone!

K6v 140

But go, and to her Parents bear

Thy Lord’s designs, his hopes unfold;

Plead, with due force, my meaning fair,

And in thy Promises be bold!

Much more the Lord Alphonso spoke,

His Servant’s mind the whole retains,

And Mules in quickest haste they yoke

To bear him o’er the distant plains.

And now the Morn its silver rays

’Thwart Night’s dark reign began to dart,

Who now no more in deep gloom sways,

Its sombre shades in haste depart.

And ere they yet had fall’n behind

The western Mountain’s misty slope,

Olivia, duteously resigned,

Had listened to Alphonso’s hope!

Not so resigned, but that her thought

Recoiled at such ill suited love,

But, Filial Duty always taught,

She learned to bear, and then approve.

K7r 141

The Sire attends his Darling Child,

For so Alphonso’s pride allows,

And, with high Transport almost Wild,

He hears pronounced the Grandee’s vows!

He saw that Form, where speaking Grace

Gave Soul to beauty most refined,

A Robe of Dignity embrace,

By Taste magnificent designed.

Her Hair, which floated o’er her Dress,

They tied in Folds, with Diamond bands,

Its rich Luxuriance to repress,

For so the Robe, concealed, demands.

But, the rich Curls which haply fell

Upon her Bosom’s lilly snow,

Were suffer’d there, unbound, to dwell,

And spread their wavy golden glow.

Thus the fond Parent saw her rove,

Through gaudy Halls, and Rooms of State,

Whilst humble Trains at distance move,

And from her nod await their fate.

K7v 142

Too short the Time! in which such Joy

Around his aged heart might play;

Bitter, oh! bitter the alloy!

Ah! set full soon is Pleasure’s day!

For Lord Alphonso names the hour,

When he the sumptuous dome must quit,

And seek again the humble bower,

For Birth like his a mansion fit!

Tells him to take a last Farewell

Of her more dear than sense or light,

Bids him ne’er hope again to dwell

Where her sweet Form may charm his sight.

His Daughter, overwhelm’d with woe,

The haughty cruel Order hears,

She sees her mourning Parent go,

She strives, in vain, to check her tears!

Now, slow and heavy passed the time,

Which late flew rapid with delight,

She, heedless, knew not Morning’s prime

Distinct from the approach of night.

K8r 143

Her only Solace was to roam

Amidst deep Woods, in shelter’d Calm,

Where, distant from her gaudy home,

Meek Solitude afforded balm.

There, o’er a River’s fringed side,

Which caught each form that glided by,

She’d watch its curled unequal tide,

And with the Zephyr’s mix her sigh.

View stately Swans amidst the wave,

Whilst Lines of Beauty o’er them glide,

Their snowy plumage bending lave,

Or gently resting on the tide.

Mark the sweet objects Nature drew,

When ruffling Zephyr ceased to breathe,

Its mirror giving to the view

A Phantom-Forest underneath!

Some weeping willows there displayed

Their Foliage painted on the wave,

Which, in reflected green arrayed,

Would still their jutting bare roots lave.

K8v 144

To guile the hours that glided slow

She’d sometimes chide a low bent branch,

Which would its folige, sinking low,

Upon the moist’ning river launch.

She thus was one bright eve employed,

And carols she so sweetly sang,

That Nightingales her notes enjoyed—

When through the wood a Soldier sprang!

Apollo’s graceful form seem’d there

As from his Bow the swift Dart sings,

Or, when the Discus through the air

With equal Force and Grace he flings.

From martial Brow, his beaming eye

Bright as Olivia’s own appears,

Strait to each other’s arms they fly,

With mutual Joy, with mutual Tears!

Olivia, blest, her Brother saw,

Olivia ’twas her Brother press’d;

Attached by Nature’s dearest law,

In pure affection they caress’d.

L1r 145

From Calpe’s glorious Rock he came,

Immortal monument decreed

Of English Elliot’s laurel’d name,

Where Spanish Heroes oft must bleed!

And there his blood did Gusman shed,

Amongst the boldest there was found,

By strongest thirst of Honour led,

Nor shun’d gaunt Death that raged around!

But, when her silver Trump blithe Peace

So sweetly sounded from the Skies,

Each stirring war-note made to cease,

Sped by fond Duty, home he flies!

There first he learned his Sister’s fate,

How lofty raised, how deep depressed,

Heard that amidst her brilliant state,

Her Heart corroding Grief oppressed!

Her Husband’s tyrant law revealed,

No dear Relation to behold,

Obliged him thus, by Shades concealed!

His Sister to his Heart to fold!

Vol. III. L L1v 146

And oft he mourn’d her cruel lot,

And oft he chased her tears away,

As from the interesting spot

They’re slowly warn’d by closing day.

“Gusman, Adieu! Olivia cries,

Yet, let me see thee once again!

Tomorrow bless thy Sister’s eyes,

Then, seek our dear paternal plain.”

From forth my little treasured hoard,

Fond tokens to my Mother bear,

No Miser is my cruel Lord,

And gifts for her I well can spare!

Gusman, with love fraternal strove,

And kissed each beauteous, fading, cheek;

Assured, when Morn should light the Grove,

Amidst its walks her steps he’d seek.

Now, Evening threw its silvery dews

On every shrub that deck’d the glades,

And fainter scents the flowers effuse,

To waste not sweets on desart shades.

L2r 147

Oft had Olivia linger’d here

In hours like these, and traced the beam

Which, sent from brilliant lunar sphere,

Shot through the Wood a shiver’d gleam.

The place Olivia has forgot!

The Arbours, Founts, unheeded, rise;

Blithe Pleasure blinds her to the spot,

The beam-deck’d water idly flies.

In thrill of Joy, the sportive Fawn

Springs o’er the ground with motion fleet,

Regardless of the studded lawn,

That teems with Flowers around her feet.

So speeds the fair-one to her home,

Whose Towers return the Moon’s broad glare,

And, pointing out the distant dome,

Their gold Vanes flash across the air.

On downy pillow soon reclined,

Sleep drops o’er all a dizzy veil.

To cheer with Dreams her placid mind

Fantastic Phantoms do not fail.

L2 L2v 148

At morning’s Dawn, her Lord commands

Her cheering slumbers must be broke!

He grasped in his her trembling hands,

He led her forth, no word he spoke!

“And oh! these horrid sounds she cried,

These piteous moans that rend my ear!”

With Terror struck, she deeply sighed,

And sunk, at length, o’ercome by Fear!

He dragged her on! the Moans of pain,

More piercing as they nearer grow,

Left her unable to sustain

Her blood’s convulsed, unequal, flow!

“There, Wretch, behold! Alphonso cries,

As wide he threw the grating gate,

There feast thy loose adulterous eyes,

See there—thy Paramour’s just fate!”

There, stretch’d upon the racking Wheel,

She saw her Brother’s tortured form!

From his torn flesh the jagging steel

Extracting blood with Life still warm.

L3r 149

She saw—but oh! she spoke no more!

The Agony too fierce to bear,

She, shrieking, sunk upon the floor,

And breathed her Spirit on the air.

“Sister! the writhing Gusman said,

Oh, Sister! plead!” then swoon’d with pain,

On his gash’d bosom sunk his head,

His limbs convulsed the cords restrain.

Alphonso, when he heard the sound,

Sprang swiftly to the deadly wheel,

With eager haste the youth unbound,

And e’en Alphonso knew to feel!

He raved, he struck his tortured breast,

But oh! the guilty deed was past,

The Victims pure were now at Rest!

His tortures must for Ever last!

There, Tyrant, lie! and may the fangs

Of fierce Remorse thy bosom tear,

Each added morn encrease thy pangs,

Thou ne’er knew’st Pity—now despair!

L3v 150

to the Memory
Her Daughter.

On Receiving Locks of Her Hair. She died under Seventeen, at a distance from her.

Dear Tresses! ah, your sombre glow

Renews by Tears, but sooths my Woe!

Ye have escaped the mouldering Grave,

Again before my eyes you wave,

I see them! to my lips they’re press’d,

I hold them to my anxious breast!

But, ah! they ne’er again will flow

Upon her Neck of healthful glow,

Ne’er will they shade again her cheek,

Where nature bloom’d in blushes meek.

How have I seen this ringlet play,

And this, upon her forehead stray,

This, hanging o’er her azure eye

Like fleeting clouds that veil the sky,

L4r 151

And these, upon her shoulder fell,

And these would on her bosom dwell!

Ah! though ye ne’er again will deck

Her modest brow, or veil her neck,

Yet still possess your beauties power,

To please beyond Life’s hasty hour!

A Mother saves them from the grave,

A Mother’s pen from death shall save

Her Memory whom they once adorned,

Though seen few years, for Ever mourned!

Yes Time, Elizabeth, shall tell,

How like a Flow’ret pluck’d you fell,

As gently it unfolds its bloom

In early Spring, unknown its doom,

And to the Morn reveals its sweets,

But Noontide Radiance never greets!

As o’er some beauteous Garden’s pride

The Dawn its silver light throws wide,

Its sweet beam spreads from Flower to Flower,

Arriving through a scented shower,

And, as fresh rays around them fly,

Awakes in each a purer dye,

The Lillies open all around

The forms that snowy veils had bound,

L4v 152

And waving graceful to the beam,

They greet the light’s enlivening stream—

But ah! the seal of Fate’s imprest,

And One is chosen from the rest.

Ere the meridian hour of day,

Whilst other Lillies greet its ray,

And proudly lift their lustrous heads,

So sweetly shining o’er the beds,

This Lilly, by some ruthless knife

Is severed from the stem of life!

Vain were its charms so early burst,

Day’s Lord its fragrance never nursed.

The setting Sun glows through the air

And the lost Lilly is not there—

Oh! Emblem of the sudden blow

That bent my darling’s graces low!

Now must the setting sun illume

My sweet departed dear-one’s Tomb!

Yon late rais’d funeral pile behold,

Dart there thy brightest rays of gold,

Bid there thy richest beams descend

There every glowing beauty blend.

For, your beauties she could taste!

To meet your gilded ribble haste,

L5r 153

Athwart it raptured glances throw,

And hail it with extatic glow!

And when your lingering gleam’s withdrawn,

And each dun vestige leaves the lawn,

Let Stars, to view them oft she’d roam!

Shed their pure lustre o’er her Tomb.

For she was purity refined,

Where Taste and Genius had combined

To raise a lofty sense, and show

What Spells could from their Union flow!

And Spells o’er all her actions hung,

They deck’d her eye, they graced her tongue,

Amidst her Dance they flew around,

In every step, in every bound;

They glitter’d in the lucid tear,

Which to her fringed lid so clear

Would oft from tender sources steal

To prove how well her Heart could feel!

My Child! since thou didst cease to breathe

I could not form Poetic Wreath,

Till now, my swoln Heart could not bear

My Votive Tablet to prepare!

But now, when yonder Pile is lost,

Each monumental fragment tost

L5v 154

In crumbling atoms through the air,

Thee shall defeated ruin spare!

Time’s fateful finger shall delay

To fret thy cherish’d name away.

From Cypress and from Yew around,

O’ershadowing the hallow’d ground,

Shall Pity, smiling, Garlands weave—

Ah! Smile of Sorrow how you grieve!

And, hanging them on every tree

Shall say, Eliza, These to Thee!

L6r 155


Night Walk in a Garden.

Ye Jessmines that beneath the lunar ray,

Unfold your virgin robes, your modest grace,

Imparting odours you denied the day,

Though day’s own light condensed adorns your race!

Ye Stars, that quivering midst yon azure sky,

From forth your circles softened Lustre stream,

And raise towards you calm Devotion’s eye,

And send to lonely love a soothing beam,

Why cease you now to charm, as erst ye did?

Why free from rapture move I, now, along?

Ye scents, ye blooms, ye stars, in vain ye bid

Your soft enchantments round my senses throng—

For She is lost who greeted all your powers;

She breathes no more! who loved your pensive hours!

L6v 156

The Captive Butterfly.

On margin of a gadding brook

In yonder Mead, all sport and play,

Hope weaving round him fairy dreams

A sweet Boy roams midst brightest day.

A Butterfly, on gorgeous wings,

Floats through the air with mazy pride,

Emblem of Youth in Pleasure’s paths

Glides fearless on the eddying tide!

The tide bears on with headlong force,

Its Fate it sees, but, sees too late!

The ambush’d Boy its course arrests,

It darts on sparkling wings to Fate!

L7r 157

You little know how blest it lives,

Youth! let him not expire so soon!

Just past the Morning of its time,

Oh, let it taste the joyous Noon.

When Dawn first shows its cheering eye

And blushing on the Mountain springs,

In undulations through the air

O’er scented fields it sports its wings.

The dew which on the Strawberry hangs

Its Morn’s pure beverage it makes,

And in the Violet’s perfumed cup

Its evening thirst, delighted, slakes.

If Clouds rush through the misty air

It creeps into the Rose’s breast,

Or, whilst the pattering rain descends,

In Tulip’s pendent bells seeks rest.

Though rich Jonquils, whose radiant brows

On all their Sister-flowers look down,

Have shared the gold which o’er its form

Is sweetly blended in with brown,

L7v 158

Though Pinks, on whose high finish’d leaves

Tints into sweeter tints dissolve,

Partake the shades that spot its wings

And with its beamy rings revolve,

Th’ Auricula, whose jewel’d dust

Owns every hue that Iris lends,

The precious powder with it shares

Whose softness all its colours blends,

Still Flowers its hues with Envy see,

And blame their Sylphs’ too little art,

Who to their robes have fail’d to give

Such rays as forth its flutterings start.

Ah! playful Youth, with Mercy view

A creature reft of joy like this.

See! Pity beams within his eye

He feels how Mercy teems with Bliss!

Sweet Youth! he gives it to the air,

From which he heedless brought it down,

For this, may all he e’er may ask

His brightest wishes richly crown.

L8r 159

He gives it still to float around,

Its path delightfully to wind,

On gentle gales that gad midst Flowers

And all their stores of sweets unbind.

See! how it flits the Sun’s bright rays,

On buoyant wings that seek no rest,

And how it plays in scented air,

Enjoying Life with added Zest!

L8v 160

To Lady Manners.

On Her
Ode to Solitude.

All your sweet melodious lore

Fancy! tribute to her bring,

Gift her with your choicest store,

Her, that can so sweetly sing!

Pour before her vision’d eye

Scenes that You alone can give,

Bid all earth-born musings fly,

Bid Your Fascinations live!

When the gold-skies in the west

Sweetly vivid dyes array,

In Perspective richly drest

Beauteous Sun-Set to display,

M1r 161

Rouse for her the dormant notes

That the forest lately heard

Gift the waken’d warblers’ throats,

Tune anew each trilling bird.

Not the pensive Nightingale

Wake to join its plaintive moan,

For its softest tenderest tale

Manners gives in sweeter tone.

Spread around her pleasing Shades

Where the Mountain towers so high!

As the Day-stream wholly fades

Wake Your Splendours through the sky.

Deck for her each starry gleam

With a ray beyond its own,

Bidding Your Effulgence beam

And the gloomy Night dethrone.

Lead where waves, in progress fleet

Risen midst the rocky shore,

Slow, unwillingly, retreat,

And in sorrow, ceaseless, roar.

Vol. III. M M1v 162

Where the tottering Abbey lours

Bid the Fair-one, musing, rove,

Pine that Time’s corrosive powers

Raze the haunts of Faith and Love!

Ponder on the mouldering wall,

Mark where toppled Arches lie,

Tremble as the grey piles fall,

As the Gothic Wonders fly!

Let the ivy’d Towers that swell

Cross the black and barren Moor,

To the weeping Beauty tell

Days of Chivalry are o’er!

There no more, in Tourneys grand,

Break the Lance shall steel-clad Knight,

Or there vaunt from Foreign Land

Rival Charms of Lady bright!

But there Solitude shall charm

Glades that glistering Luna decks

Though midst sweetly soothing Calm

Stretching Shade her fulgence checks.

M2r 163

Hark! there Manners strikes her Lyre,

Vocal makes deserted Plains,

Sings them with poetic fire,

How they’re graced in her sweet Strains!

M2 M2v M3r



This Poem was never printed before for general
readers. Of slight importance indeed was the occasion
that gave rise to it. It was but to describe the Origin of
the Name of a romantic Hill called Wotobank, in the
parish of Beckermont amongst the Lakes of Cumberland.

The village tradition says that a Lord of Beckermont,
during a Hunt which his Lady attended missed
her; and that it is so called form his exclamation of
“Woe to this Bank!” on discovering her thereon—
destroyed by a Wolf.

Mrs. Cowley never was in Cumberland, or in any
other mountainous country. Yet which of her readers,
acquainted with the scene, would doubt, after perusing
the commencement of this Poem that the author must
have ascended Skiddaw, who, after their return from
the Mountain, they find so exactly tells them—what they
have been seeing!

M4r M4v
M5r 169


Skiddaw! I climb thy high uplifted form,

Dare thy bold steep, and soar above the Storm!

Below my feet perceive the Lightnings start,

And, midst the nether region, harmless dart,

Or, through the clouds that roll their seas away,

Thy prostrate Villages and Lakes survey.

Pure Derwent view deep liquid Chrystal spread

O’er pebbles shining from their low sunk bed;

Hang with Delight o’er Keswick’s soften’d glades,

Behind whose shadowy oaks the day-beam fades.


Here catch a glance o’er distant misty Fells,

Or gain it there across the woody Dells,

In the vast Painting own the Hand Divine,

And see, in every part, th’ Almighty’s Grandeur

M5v 170

Ah! my caught vision’s fixed at Ennersdale!

With pensive Grief I view its beauteous vale.

In vain the Riv’lets gad on every side,

And o’er the glens the summer Zephyrs glide,

In vain those guardian Woods that shade its plains,

Are sweetly vocal with their wild-note strains,


And dulcet Groves burst with rich trilling notes

Sprung forth a thousand sweetly gurgling throats.

I see no more their softly blended shades,

All ceased the grateful music of the glades!

For ah! those plains, those vales, those sheltering

Nourish’d by Bassanthwaite’s contiguous floods,

Were fated once to witness such a deed

As makes the tortured memory recede.

For this, yon time-worn Yew its branches bends,

And midst the scene a deeper sadness sends!


In Lorton’s vale its well known stems arise,

Unmatch’d beneath these almost arctic skies,

By Henry planted in a hapless day,

Where lingering on its roots full oft he sorrowing lay!

Yes, to this Story I attune my Lyre,

Nor ask the Muses for Poetic fire!

Parnassus and its long fictitious train,

I never called on to adorn my strain!

M6r 171

Invention puerile of the early mind,

Ere Reason grew, ere Knowledge was refined,


Dim lights, which first o’er Grecian darkness gleam’d

And, midst its polished Ignorance, faintly beam’d,

At length descended to the Roman Bands,

And flash’d, from midst their arms, through distant

I call not You!—your radiant fields I shun,

From all your blithe Deceptions, woe-struck, run.

Let cheering prospects vanish from my view!

Let dank weeds spring, and hemlock fling its dew.

The lorn Owl now should moan his moody song,


The north-wind’s shriekings should be loud and long;

These! should inspire my hand to touch the chord,

That trembles with the woes of Ennersdale’s once

Sole Heir of Atheling, the Herald said,

Of blood, stern Scotland! midst thy heaths oft shed.

Ah! can the mind to Lyric Scotland turn,

And pensive linger not around the urn

Of him to whom was given the logy Lyre

That Homer struck? that thrill’d with Milton’s fire?

Ossian! when hanging o’er thy grassy Vale,


Thy dark brown Mountain, and thy Moon-beam pale,

Thy broad full Sun, and ever placid Lake,

Our bosom’s cheer’d, and every nerve’s awake!

M6v 172

With implements, thus few, thou’st formed a pile,

August in taste, most beautiful in stile.

Let no bold finger’s emulative pride,

E’er, venturous, touch the Lyre that graced thy side,

For, like the bow of Ithaca’s famed land,

It vibrates only to its Master’s hand!

Not five and twenty Springs o’er Henry’s head

Had shed their beams when he prepared to wed


The sweet Edwina, graceful, tall, and fair,

By her fond Father yielded to his prayer.

Full young she was, in beauty’s earliest prime,

Untarnish’d yet, untouch’d by withering time,

O’er her red cheek soft dimples sweetly played,

Her lovely form by every Grace arrayed.

He long had woo’d the charming, bashful, maid,

She, still to listen to Love’s tales afraid,

By many modest arts, so Love ordains!

Increased his passion, as increased his pains.


At length the nuptial Morn illumed the sky,

Bright pearly rays in each direction fly,

Then, vivid Radiance fiercely stream’d afar,

Absorbing all the beams of every star.

The high Lark blithe bestowed his soaring song,

And flowers revived as Morning burst along,

M7r 173

The Breezes snatch’d their odours as they flew,

And gave them in return pellucid dew,

That clear’d their colours to higher tone,

Till Earth a vegetative rainbow shone!


Beneath her Husband’s roof, the matchless Fair

Graced each delight, and each domestic care;

Whilst, ever pleas’d, he watch’d her polish’d mind,

Her sense reflective, and her taste refined,

Her well weighed words, which spoke the strongest

Or cloath’d in lightest dress the Thought intense.

With smile so sweet and love expressive eye

Her face a Raphael to catch would try,

To form, with brow serene and aspect mild,

A young Madonna bending o’er her child.


Her Needle’s skill made tenderest Flowrets blow,

Which now, in sweet festoons, around her glow.

In cooling Grots her Shell-Work seized the eye,

With skill arranged, to show each blending dye.

The Age’s taste her Garden well displayed,

Her vivid Fancy each Parterre arrayed,

Here Yews, in shape of solid Walls, she rear’d,

Or there, a dreary Castle they appeared;

In Box, the Eagle hover’d o’er its nest,

Or couchant Lions seem’d resigned to rest.

110 M7v 174

Her husband’s Sports the loved Edwina shared,

For her the Hawking-Party was prepared,

She roused the Wolf, the foaming Boar she chased,

And Danger’s self was in her presence graced!

E’en whilst I write, its daring Edict now

Mad France proclaims! dissolved the Marriage Vow!

No longer Holy Rite, or One for Life,

Each sues Divorce, as prompts a casual strife!

—Oh, Marriage! powerful Charm, Gift all divine,

Sent from the Skies o’er life’s drear waste to shine,

What splendors from thy bright Tiara spring,


What Graces round thy chasten’d footsteps cling;

Vengeance will surely crush the ideot land,

That drags the Sceptre from thy hallowed hand,

That dares to trample on thy Holy Rites,

And nuptial perfidy, unawed! invites.

The weeping world to thee its Solace owes,

From thee derives its truest best repose.

—Not the cold Compact subtile Interest twines,

Nor that which pale Submission trembling signs,


Is Marriage! No.—’Tis when its polish’d chain

Binds those who in each other’s bosom reign!

’Tis when two Minds form one extatic Whole,

One sweetly blended wish, one sense, one soul!

M8r 175

This was the Gift exiled Seraph cursed,

When from Hell’s blazing continent he burst.

Eden’s full charms he saw without a groan,

Though Nature there had fixed her gorgeous throne.

Its rich Ananas, and its Aloes high,

Whose forms pyramidal approach’d the sky,


Its towering Palms with luscious cluster crown’d,

Its Shrubs, whose Perfumes filled the region round,

Its streams pellucid, and its Bowers of Shade,

Its Flowers that know to bloom, but not to fade,

Its Orb, that gave the new created Day,

Night’s Lunar bow that soothed with tender ray,

Its fields of wavy gold, its slopes of green,

By the fell Fiend without a pang were seen—

’Twas then fierce Rancour seized the Demon’s breast

When, in the married pair, he felt mankind were

Thus two years rolled their joyous days along,


Midst calm domestic bliss, or sport, and song.

But Edgar left corruptive Gallia’s shore!

Hadst thou, immoral youth, returned no more,

Ne’er Libertine had dared make one so pure

The proffer’d Insult of disgrace endure!

Thou dids’t return! and thy voluptuous heart,

That from Temptation ne’er had learnt to start,

M8v 176

Dared view Edwina as a hoped for Prize—

All dead to Honour’s voice, and Conscience’ secret

In Grace a Courtier, and in manners gay,

Edgar to Ennersdale oft bent his way.

He talked to Henry but of Wars he’d seen,

Or Tournaments and Gaudes midst Peace serene.

When for Edwina’s ear the tale was framed,

Th’ Intrigues of Gallia’s frail Court were named.

But soon the prudent fair remarked The Stile!

And saw, beneath feign’d Ease, his lurking Guile!

For Virtue in his tales ne’er gain’d a place,

Nor maiden vigilance, nor matron grace,


So wild and loose his artful stories ran,

She saw the Fiend conceal’d, ’neath form of Man,

The Arch-Fiend’s task who knew not to detest,

And midst the Earth, a Tempter stood confest!

In Eastern Climes, beside a gadding stream,

As native wander musing Fancy’s dream

No sooner seen the Panther’s crouching eye

Glance look destructive—quick they turn to fly!

So turned Edwina when she saw reveal’d


The Guile th’ ensnaring youth had hoped conceal’d;

If still he dared appear, her air grew cold,

And awed to mute Respect the Suitor bold.

N1r 177

To Henry’s house his way he ceased to wind,

Whose wife within in virture sat enshrined

But, his wild wishes did not cease to rage

Nor did he strive the fever to assuage!

Once foster’d sinful love, none turn from sin,

Its victims Self-correction ne’er begin,

But, urged by goading hell, pursue the road,

Ne’er heed the coming Woe! ne’er tremble at their

The Huntsman blew his horn, ere listless Day

Had cast aside its veil of twilight grey.

Lord Henry’s prompt. Edwina’s busy maids

Her rich-hued locks enfold in careless braids,

And now equip’d, o’er hills she bounding flew

As curves the graceful arrow from the yew.

Her jet-black steed more lively seem’d to bound

For the light-burthen on his back he found,

The jet-black steed her Husband had bestowed,

When first a Huntress at his side she rode;


With eye of noble fire, and streaming mane

Clear his descent from an Arabian plain.

The mists, exhaling from the evening’s dew,

Flew o’er the surface of the hills from view,

The Sun, now risen in its brightest mood

Bestowed new glories on the scene it viewed,

Vol. III. N N1v 178

And pour’d its beams around in ample floods,

Full streams of light descended on the woods,

The plains, the vallies, caught the radiant shower

Each plant reviving and each tinted flower.


The Hunt, inspired, the air on all sides rent

With varied sounds, as keen their course they bent;

The dogs, deep-mouthed, in Chorus swell’d the cry,

And sent their forest greetings to the sky;

The horn’s full tone fill’d each pervading note,

And harmony and joy throughout the country float!

At length a Boar, at a dark Coppice side,

Amidst the rustling bushes tried to glide;

He cautious moved, like some fell thief of night

Who, fear-struck, slowly creeps in lurking flight;


Close to the earth, all dread, he crouch’d along,

Where Shrubs and Underwood around him throng,

But ah! in vain he creeps, the air so thin

Th’ effluvia catches from his reeking skin,

To trailing dogs the titillations fly,

Who instantly the brown recesses try.

He’s turned before them into open view!

Quick Transport through each ardent bosom flew;

But, Huntsman’s Law the churning savage found,

Which suffer’d due escape, twelve rood of ground,

230 N2r 179

Ere loose was let the eager, mad’ning pack,

To follow close the bristly monster’s track.

No more retarded by the Huntsman’s thong,

At length in fierce pursuit they pour along.

The game o’er hills now leads them many an hour,

With fear-strain’d sinews and exhausted power.

He heard the dogs faint mouthing far behind,

But views them now, where round the Beck they wind,

With Dread and Joy alternately is filled,

Now, brisk with Hope, and now by Terror chill’d!


Hot rage and fury in his eye-balls glow,

Mad, through Despair, he turns to meet the foe,

But Henry darted forth, before the rest,

And bright lance fixed within his heaving breast.

His struggling breast convulsive motions strain,

His spouting veins the foaming courser stain,

As from th’ enormous trunk the head is torn,

The Death-Notes issue from the brazen Horn!

The tusk-arm’d Head borne Trophy on his spear,

Lord Henry turn’d, to Her he thought was near!


To lay the bleeding conquest at her feet,

And make his triumph more acutely sweet—

But horror!—no Edwina could be seen,

Nor on the hills long slope, or pasture green,

N2 N2v 180

Nor shelter’d near the Torrent’s fall she lay,

Nor ’scaped, on Forest’s edge, the Sun’s fierce ray,

Nor was she on the plain—the vallies too

Gave no Edwina to the aching view!


Wonder and dread compress’d her husband’s heart,

While o’er th’ extensive scene his strain’d eyes dart,

He moved—stood still—’Twas Terror fix’d him there

He seem’d the pale cheek’d Statue of Despair—

Her bounding Steed came fiercely o’er the plain

But his sweet Mistress held no guiding rein!

The reins swung loosely as he cleaved the air,

No mistress sweet with guiding hand was there!

From all, but Henry! burst terrific Cries,

Silent, his dread, and quite suppress’d his sighs!

His manly features sink, his eye-lids close,

Each lineament displays convulsive throes—


Oh Speech! how weak, where Hope allays not pain,

Where Fears excessive through the bosom reign!

—At length, they each a different way diverged,

Some up the Mountain’s haughty brow emerged,

Others pursued the plain, the wood, the dell,

Appointing where to meet, their fortune drear to tell!

And now, ill fated Huntress of the day,

With faltering hand, I trace your devious way!

N3r 181

Amidst the heat and fury of the chase,

The horsemen forming circuit she could trace,


A road succinct Edwina thought to take,

And press’d her steed across an ancient brake,

But, midst the thickets wilder’d and dismayed,

And of the devious solitude afraid,

Again she turned her horse—ah! turned in vain,

She missed the opening to the neighbouring plain!

Her horse unruly tried to bound at large,

Through paths destructive to his beauteous charge.

Through fear dismounting, tremblingly she strove

To find a path where thorns no barriers wove,


The horse released, strait vanish’ed from her eye,

And o’er th’ opposing brambles seemed to fly,

The distant cries his ears erect invade,

He quickly skims o’er every glen and glade.

At length, Edwina found the path. A Rill,

Quite faint, she sought, her ruby mouth to fill;

Her taper’d hand, immersed beneath the stream,

Flash’d through the glassy wave a pearly gleam

And bore the cheering moisture to her lips,

And eagerly the panting beauty sips;


The shining freshness o’er her brow she threw

And bless’d the current as it sparkling flew,

N3v 182

Then on its borders sought a minute’s rest,

Sweet banks with Doddergrass and Pansies drest.

Soon Sleep, unbidden, caught her in his snare,

In soothing slumber lulled the weary fair.

Two Aspin trees, in close alliance bound,

A thin and wavering shadow threw around,

The waters gently tinkled as they fell,

A Sheep too slowly shook his silvery bell,


Cool breezes o’er her temples softly strayed,

And, midst her floating ringlets bounding played.

Who would not wish to linger in sweet rest,

Where Waters, Shades, and Sounds, the mind fatigued

Mysterious Powers! who glide th’ elastic air,

And have sweet sainted Innocence in care,

Where roved ye then? where waved your filmy wings?

Where struck ye then your sweet harp’s beamy

If on Light’s rays you swiftly went to weave

The glowing ribble destined to receive


Day’s sinking Sun, would that had set undeck’d,

Whilst you, on guard Edwina to protect,

Had flown around her through the coming hour,

Form each approaching ill to shield her by your

N4r 183

Her slumbers cheer’d her with blithe heavenly

Which still refresh’d her midst day’s sultry beams—

A sudden grasp now seized her listless hand,

And rudely snapt each soft narcotic band,

She started, all Alarm!—most dreaded sight!

Her hand was seized thus by the villain Knight,


Who tried in specious terms his love to paint,

Inspired by every Fiend, he vow’d by every Saint!

Surprise, at first, held mute Edwina’s tongue.

And changes o’er his vicious theme were rung,

Ere fully shown her chaste and proud Disdain,

Or check’d, with due Contempt, his odious strain!

His daring speech enforced an Answer now,

Whilst lofty Hauteur hung upon her brow

In glowing words his guilty suit she spurned,

Then with unfeigned abhorrence, stately turned,


Withdrew, with mien composed, across the moor,

Though sense of Insult all her bosom tore.

But Edgar still she found, to follow bent,

Kept closely in the wilder’d path she went,

Her speed grew quick, uncheck’d by rising fear

Of risk in paths where death was ever near.

For audience to his suit he seized her arm—

Edwina’s fired with rage! is wild with dread alarm!

N4v 184

—Now, with deep howl, towards them as they stood

A ravenous Wolf rush’d forth the bordering Wood,

The brindled hair rose stiff upon his chine,


Of ghastly deathly joy the dreadful sign,

His clinging sides declared his famish’d state,

And his deep howl proclaimed a Victim’s fate,

The Coward Fled!—My trembling hand forbear,

Nor with the shrieks of Terror rend the air!—

The Wolf’s fell teeth――but oh! I check the song,

Nor can the agonizing chord prolong!

The savage, starting from his bleeding prey,

Towards his haunt full fiercely sprang away,


The sounds approaching spoke swift Danger nigh,

And forced, too late! th’ unglutted beast to fly.

The voice was Henry’s! he first reach’d the spot,

The first to reach it was his dreadful lot!

Her form all blood, deep wounds upon her head,

Her eyes were closed—no breath—Edwina’s dead!

For ever dumb the mouth, whose honied speech

Beyond the Schoolman’s eloquence could reach;

Those lovely beauteous arms now nerveless hang

Ah! Henry’s tortures crave Death’s soothing pang!

His piercing cries that round the country scour,

Through Nature’s Sympathy possess such power

372 N5r 185

The notes of Agony strike terror more

Than the gaunt Wolf’s most desolating roar.

In vain th’ attempts to sooth! in vain they pray,

In grief convulsive he consumes the day,

Almost in Frenzy raging all around,

Till, spent and sunk exhausted on the ground,

His grief for vent in Utterance seeks range.

As Words and Sighs in struggle interchange


In moaning sounds he courts thus drear relief—

“Woe to this Bank! for ever source of Grief,

Woe to this Bank! ’tis dyed with purest blood

That e’er from woman’s heart discharged its flood!”

“Woe to the Bank!” th’ attendants echoed round,

The pitying Shepherds caught the grief-fraught sound;

Thus to this hour, through every changing stage

Of each successive ever varying age,

Where rocks of Buttermere mark out the ground

And grief seems Bassanthwaite to murmur round,

The Name is given, as Wotobank is seen


From every Mountain bleak and Valley green

That neighbours Skiddaw’s cloud-top’d monstrous

O’er which the Eagles view it in their flight.

Not Rocks, and Alps, and pensive Lakes alone

Mark out the spot, and make its sorrows known,

N5v 186

The neighbouring youths ne’er pass, nor gentle maid,

But the soft due of tender Thought is paid;

Each can the story to the Traveller tell,

And on the dread disaster lingering dwell,


Of Wotobank, amongst its Swains mourn’d long,

Now, mourn’d by Strangers—through a Stranger’s

N6r 187

To A Lady.

On the Death of Her Lover

A Short Time Before the Day Fixed For Their Nuptials.

Too true! that no more shall thy dark beaming eye

The dust of his coursers at distance descry,

When the Sun cheers the vallies so green.

No more shalt thou see him bound over the glades,

When Eve has spread broadly its slow gliding shades

And the Moon’s milder lustre is seen.

No more o’er thy Balcony shalt thou delight,

His whispers to list whilst conceal’d by the night,

All heard, though the Breeze whistle round!

No more on thy odorous rose-border’d walk,

To hold thee, a moment bewitching, in talk,

Shall his steps in the Morning be found.

N6v 188

No more shall he open the quick moving gate,

And, Hope in his glance, and with air all elate,

Spring towards thee midst May’s falling showers,

No more shalt thou watch whilst he lingers here, there,

To pluck from each shrub, to bedeck thy dark hair,

Groups of purple, and sweetly tinged, flowers.

No more shall the oval contour of thy face,

Where oft he perused thy Soul’s varying grace,

With delight fill his ever closed eye!

Ah! never again shall thy Harp’s dulcet string,

Whence perfectest skill bade the sweetest notes spring,

Force each care from his bosom to fly!

Yet, gentle loved Friend, though these blessings are

Soon sweet Consolations around thee shall pour,

And thy Sorrow no more heave its sighs.

Thy deep grief’s great Excess will itself soon destroy,

Though long must it be e’er thy voice owns a joy

By degrees will mild Patience arise.

N7r 189

When at night midst thy walk, as thy sweet pious mind

The Will of God bids thee bow to resigned,

Whilst thy eye marks the sky’s golden spheres,

Think that then he bends down from amidst their rich

The deep-graven troubles of Sorrow to raze,

And with Zephyrs disperses thy tears.

When the high Sun glides over the fields in full morn,

And pours fervid rays down by vapours unshorn,

And the universe glows in its pride,

Bethink thee thy Lover more lofty may be

Than yonder vast orb, yet thy beauties may see

And thy heavy repinings would chide!

Yet still would he have thee for ever be true,

And still would he ever be fixed in thy view,

Time making no lineament fade!

No Rival permitted th’ affection to share,

Awaked but by Him, thou wert wont to declare,

Be it hallowed to him—now a Shade!

N7v 190

That Shade will be raptur’d to see thee so true,

And ever on watch to keep thee in his view

The pure Spirit will wave guardian wing!

When Joy lightens thy Heart, and thy Prospects are

’Tis He wakes thy joy, ’tis He keeps far away

The griefs which misfortune would bring.

Not dead then thy Lover, not perish’d his Love,

His Frame breathes no more, yet, his Soul soars above

To live pure in eternal bright day!

Then greet this blest thought—and Oh! be it repose!

That, as Death’s burning fever through each vein

Love triumphed—secured from Decay!

N8r 191

Blank Verse.

Written on the Sea Shore.

Delicious Morning! how thy gentle beams

Glide through the veil of blue, which the mild air

Spreads out o’er all the Isle. The silver waves

Spring to thy soft caress, whilst on the Shore,

As the blithe Reapers bring the produce down,

Rich Ceres heaps her light bound yellow sheaves.

Soft press the Zephyrs on the huddled ears,

Whilst smiling Infant Gleaners prattle on

And gather Strength in gathering future bread.

The Sky-lark mounts, and fills the air aloft

With all the Music that melodious Nature

For its clear pipe composed. The Seaman’s note,

Gliding o’er watery plains, its Bass immingles

And the pleased listener owns the Concert sweet!

N8v 192

Beneath my roving eye blithe Ramsgate spreads

Her haunts alluring. There, awakening Beauties

Ponder the Victims of the last night’s Ball,

And smile at thought of recollected wounds

They gave insidious midst the lively dance.

Or future wily stratagems prepare,

Arrange the Robe, th’ attractive Feather place

In newer point of view.—Ah! little think

Incautious gazers that the floating Down,

That waves so graceful o’er Sabrina’s brow,

Heads a keen arrow levelled at the Heart!

I turn from scenes domestic, feast my thought

Again upon the view the placid Ocean

In beauteous breadth expands around the dome.

Ah! ’tis all Rapture! Whether glides the eye

O’er smooth acclivities with Harvest swelling,

Or rests upon the white receding Sails,

Which on th’ Horizon’s utmost verge appear

But flitting Butterflies escaped from shore,

Where’er my view doth glance, my mind is filled

With all the sweet sensations of the Muse.

All, all, around is bliss—the bliss of Taste!


The Siege of Acre.

In Four Books.

Vol. III. O O1v

Those who are but rising into the class of Readers
will require to be told, that immediately before the commencement
of this Century, the present Emperor of the
French (then only General Bonaparte) set out to add
conquests, in two other Quarters of the globe, to those
he had atchieved in Europe. And that, after taking
possession of Egypt, he proceeded through Syria, in
that Career of conquest with which it has been the fate
of Asia to be afflicted, once in a century or two, by­
some adventurer or other.

This would-be Alexander however found the English
at Acre—and was stopped. The memorable
struggle there is the subject of this Poem. It was opportunely
written at a time when France, in her supposed
improved state, pretended to affect military
superiority over England! and was daring enough
seriously to threaten Invasion!

By selecting events that had but just occurred, the
Author placed herself in a situtation of peculiar difficulty.
The usual licence from Parnassus to vary from
Truth could not be granted; on the contrary, the orders O2r
were (to a Poet so unusual) to glance every now
and then at the Gazette, to see how far she might go!
It will be perceived perhaps that her Muse is sometimes
checked back in its flight.

Still, however, the career that had been cut off portended
so much of Event to mankind, and the facts of
the siege (even as represented in the official dispatches)
were so romantic, that the Poet’s pen was in the Author’s
hand immediately on perusing them. And,
under all checks and restraints, there will be found
beauties enough in the poem to have made it impossible
for the Publishers to omit to inscribe it in the Record
of her Works.

To the Official Documents however the Author by
no means limited herself. Little either in the first or
the last of the Four Books of which the work consists,
or in the first half of the second, is founded on them.

Yet, she was not guilty of falsifying events that had so
recently occurred. She always takes care to make it
quite clear when she means to give them, that is, whenever
the real persons concerned in the Siege act, and
then, however extraordinary the events described may
appear to the Reader, they are the Facts of the siege;
not the Muse’s flights—but History. History however O2 O2v
enlarged from a mere Chronicle—by Episode Picture
Description and Illustration.

The whole forms a curious combination of Accuracy
where it was indispensible, of Imagination where restraint
was taken off; as will appear on reference to the
Gazette Letters of Sir S. Smith. They are prefixed
to the separate 8vo. edition of this poem by the same
publishers in 18101810. Or may be found in the Annual
for 17991799.


The Siege of Acre.

Book the First.

Weave the crimson web of War,

Let us go and let us fly,

Where our friends the conflict share,

Where they triumph where they die!

O3v O4r

The Siege of Acre.

Book the First.

I greet thee freely, whatsoe’er thou art

My Mind exciting as thou thrill’st my Heart!

Is it The Muse whose Influence I greet,

Whose cheering Influence makes lone hours so sweet?

Art Thou the Muse? Ah no! all Fiction she,

Celestial Truth! I seize the Theme from Thee!

Be thou the Guardian of my lay firm maid,

And through thy brilliant fields thy Votary aid!

Yet, Goddess, in thy train be found the Fair,

With brilliant pinions and refulgent hair—


Imagination! may She charm each View,

Aid, without changing, decorate the true!

Thus graced, amidst thy scenes detain me long,

Controul my verse! and vindicate my song!

O4v 200

Acre! how brilliant in the Eastern Clime,

Through Earth’s long hist’ry, thy Fate’s still sublime!

In elder time when Israel broke the Law,

Thy lofty Carmel’s frown struck guilt with Awe!

When Christian Light from Heaven illumed around,

The place whereon thou stand’st was Holy Ground!


E’en in dark ages thou art seen to shine,

As rapt Crusaders ’neath thy walls combine.

—Now! thou’rt The Chosen from the Nations round,

To gallic Rapine the allotted bound!

Here shalt thou stop, The Sacred Fiat said!

Th’ Apostate failed, his dreaded Legions bled.

Acre! ’twas thine to bid The Victor fear,

To turn him midst the flush of his Career!

He, who all Asia caused to view with Awe

Th’ approach of France’s Revolution War,


Back through the reeking country passed, in flight,

He lately marched o’er in triumphant fight;

Thine Acre was the check, the Deed was thine

Throughout this Hemisphere ordain’d to shine.

The means how small, when scann’d the mighty end!

Slight numbers back from thee whole Legions send,

But, these were English—they were English Tars,

Kings of the Sea, and Gods in Syria’s Wars!

O5r 201

The Conquerer of Italy! dread name

Bestowed upon the Chief by Gallic Fame,


Returned from Roman Tiber’s classic shores

To where the Seine its muddy confluence pours.

—The Tiber! what though, in poetic song,

It, Ages, rolled adazzling flood along,

Though Roman Minstrels struck the sounding Lyre,

And caught beneath its Sun poetic fire,

Yet will the turbid Seine obscure its name

Or roll an equal tide, and gain an equal Fame!

Wonders burst daily o’er its sluggish wave,

And fresh anomalies scared Reason brave,


Anterior lights assist no more her eye,

And modern Facts her grave Deductions fly;

Hist’ry, all Wonder! will the acts engrave,

That freed a Nation, and its Sons enslave!

From conquering plains, which Cæsar had acquired,

The Warrior Bonaparte to Gaul retired.

In the french Capital his arms were piled,

Whilst trophied Festivals the hours beguiled.

By the bright Glory he had gained inflamed,

New Bays, new Trophies, his rapt Fancy framed!


To fruitful Egypt flew rapacious thought,

Where Rome had conquer’d, and where Greece had

O5v 202

The Council caught the plan, a fleet decreed,

Quick to their station distant vessels speed

In cautious Flight! France, trembling at the helm,

Her ships intrudes on England’s buoyant Realm!

Whose Naval Cities belt Earth’s monstrous round,

And lift their Spires wherever Ocean’s found.

O England! give thy Science, Strength, to these,

The Earth is thine whilst Mistress of the Seas;


Bid floating forests seek thy mighty Docks,

Tear ductile metal from thy Native rocks,

From thy Waste Lands let all thy Cables grow,

And their rough sinews midst your Ocean throw,

Scorn France! their Wiles, their diplomatic Arts,

Thy Navy breaks their Spells, thy Navy daunts their

Not to be rash, success to render sure

The Chief resolved new Labours to endure.

The warrrior’s Haste he to the Sage could yield,

In Council slow—an Arrow in the Field!


To midnight lamps his anxious hours resigned,

Campaigns and battles share his active mind.

Whilst Paris danced, or in the Tribune roared,

He round him called a Literary Horde,

From breathing forms Philosophy he sought,

Nor deemed he could by Dead alone be taught,

O6r 203

Living or dead his judgment knew to prize,

The fops of learning and the really wise.

Ancients and moderns he alike perused,

Devouring all th’ o’erlabour’d press diffused,


On Syria’s Citadels, and Egypt’s plains,

The route of Philip’s Son, and Antony’s campaigns.

Thus, when towards the Sea his forces drew,

Bidding t’exhausted Europe cheered adieu,

Charts, Maps, and Travels, fate-fraught waggons bore,

And plans of Forts he doomed to threat no more!

Sçavans and Soldiers were filed off by Troops,

Here Printers marched, there volume-writing Groups!

What could impede a Scheme so wisely planned?

Soldiers Philosophers war’s flame together fann’d.


Historic Maid! descend not thou to smile!

Nor steal thy Sister’s light, sarcastic stile;

Resume thy air chastised! thy sober mien,

And move with serious dignity serene;

Let grave composure mark thy steady pace,

And glide around thee with a matron Grace.

Born midst a stranger race, a stranger tongue,

He guides not those to fight ’mongst whom he sprung,

Not kin with those, for whom he Empire claims,

No Patriot Flame gives Sanction to his aims,

110 O6v 204

Ambition solely in his heart doth rage

Ambition! known of late but in th’ historic page.

—The flower of every band the General chose,

Fresh from the flush of Victory they rose,

Their brows wore Triumph, Menace in their tread,

And all seem’d Conquerors—by a Conqueror led,

Fame for his Herald, by his troops adored,

He leads them at his Will, resistless Lord!

Forth from Toulon’s wide Bay the Pilots steer,

Their Fleet brings graceful out its lengthening rear.

Strait through the watery Empire to the East

They onward press, their fervid hopes encreased.

—Allured by Prey, the Spoiler’s squadron veer’d!

Ture to such signal, helms obedient steer’d;

Th’ horizon’s edge a doubtful Object gave,

Now almost clear, now hidden by the wave;

Too soon! rose Malta ’thwart the billowy storm,

Her Marble Cities and her beauteous form.

Fear many a breast with deepest terror smote,

As round the coast encreasing Pendants float.


Short though acute the struggle that ensued;

Her rocks of snowy hue, with blood imbued,

Soon saw pollute the ground the baneful Tree,

In mockery named—The Tree of Liberty!

O7r 205

Inbred the Enemies of Malta’s Land!

As the french prows approach’d her peaceful strand

In her mad towns Sedition raised its arm,

And Revolution sounded the alarm.

Less conquered than received the Island fell,

For now no more! her Knights with courage swell,


Afric’s stern sons, no more, their thunders tame,

Nor Asia bends before their awful name!

From Malta loos’d, the spoil-heap’d fleet proceeds,

To greater objects, to more daring deeds.

The favouring winds within their canvass play,

Their wishes winds and waves alike obey.

No hurricane deforms the Ocean’s glass,

It spreads its plain more level as they pass,

The softest Zephyrs through the cordage sing,

And flutter midst their flags with gentle wing,


Like those which heretofore on Egypt’s coast,

With the calm æther those still regions boast,

Swell’d Cleopatra’s sails, Circean Queen,

Whilst the lost Antony disgraced the scene.

A new Italian Hero parts the waves,

And Egypt’s coast his hostile vessel braves.

He springs upon her land with hasty feet,

Whilst her low shores his Soldiers’ voices greet.

O7v 206

His haughty War-horse, mounted on the strand,

As conscious of his burthen pawes the sand


In earnest Eagerness, as though by Fame

He too were touch’d, and felt a kindred flame.

With modern Afric Scipio rears his chest,

And, bearing Fate to Nations, shows his eager Zest.

Four times ten thousand did the ranks contain

Whose feet smote Egypt from the frothy Main.

—Ill fated Egypt! o’er thy hallowed land

Why ever hangs some grasping Tyrant’s hand?

Primeval Source of Science and of Art,

Why thus, for ever, riots in thy heart


Some Ruffian’s dagger, or some Conqueror’s Lance,

Fierce hordes from Desarts fiercer hordes from France!

Queen of the South! thy cluster’d Mountains pour,

From forth thy Caverns, Floods in richest store,

Nile’s Sacred Stream they seek, whose magic lave

Bids Harvests travel in its spreading wave.

The sands drink deep, and blush with healthful glow,

As through thick slime sweet bowers and groves quick

The stranger streams each thirsty root embrace,

And to the Desart’s edge send Shade and Grace,


Mount up each russet stem, its buds unfold,

Its silver blossoms, and its Orbs of gold,

O8r 207

With dulcet acid swell the Lemon’s sides,

And through high Myrtles force the emerald tides,

Ascend with syphon powers the giant Palm,

To Roses otto give, and gum to Balm.

In vain fair Sheba! vain thy glutted Nile

Bade Egypt flourish, and her Delta smile,

Worse Pests than Locusts spread around thy fields,

Swarm o’er the fruits thy sultry climate yields;


Thy Orange-Woods, thy Citrons swell in vain,

Or swell, invading legions to sustain!

Thy humid fields of pearly rice thick sown,

By the fierce Sun and burning Dog Star grown,

The plunging hoofs of Cavalry surprise,

And as they pour along the Summer dies!

What Sieges stay’d them, and what Cities fell,

Of Arab Battles, triumphs, flights, you’ll tell

Poets of wider range! I leave to you

The noble meed of Nelson’s Victory too.


My Muse avoids the flight; for, one who saw

This hightest boast of England’s naval war

On th’ actual scene prepares to guide Truth’s beam,

Imagination ne’er had reach’d the Theme!

—The Towers of Ptolemais Ancient name of Acre. command my Muse,

Where peaceful vallies vainly War refuse,

O8v 208

Where the hoarse Trumpet’s blast is heard from far,

Compelling Syria to defensive war.

The Tigers of the war, blood flush’d, proceed,

And Syria’s conquest boldly is decreed;


In fury passing o’er the scorching land,

They risk each ill of deadly orient sand,

The Serpents of the Desart hiss in vain,

Nor red Simooms with Pestilence restrain.

But, ere they came—Recording Fame! the day

Is beam’d for ever with thy brightest ray!

Brave Sidney Smith the rescued Syrians saw,

Sent forth by England to resist the war.

With Floating Citadels to flank the Coast,

And give it Ramparts with his naval host.


From Heaven they seem’d, fraught with courageous

The Syrians, whom with ardour they inspire,

Rise into Heroes as the Britons tread

And in their paths th’ inciting Laurel spread!

Their holdings scarcely had the anchors found,

Within th’ unsteady Haven’s rocky ground,

Ere at Mount Carmel’s base, whose slope descends

Where Acre’s river with the wide sea blends,

The foe’s presumptuous Transports steady move

And fearless o’er the Syrian ocean rove!

230 P1r 209

With haughty stripes triumphantly unfurled,

They! flash defiance o’er the watery world.

Important moment! on the raptured glance

Of watchful Britons swiftly they advance.

Instant the Tigre weighs, her powerful guns

Arrest the veering fleet that prudent runs,

Seven captured vessels, in old Acre’s Bay,

Seem but a summer eve’s light sportive play.

But serious now was found their glorious freight,

Vast Mortars, Carronades of monstrous weight,


To batter Acre’s towers the vessels bore,

And implements of war profuse in store!

Whilst shouts of Welcome through the Fortress ring,

To Acre blindly its Defence they bring,

As slow ascended o’er Mount Carmel’s height

Deep shadows stealing on departing light.

Ah! Sacred Mists INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.1 Book of Kings, c. 18. did once the Mount surround,

To Israel proving—their True God was found!

Baal’s mad priests their Idol vainly prayed

For Fire to burn the sacrifice they made;


Elijah then, the Idol Priests disgraced,

His Sacrifice on Israel’s Altar placed,

Vol. III P P1v 210

Th’ attendants bade pour o’er each quivering part,

The frowning head and palpitating heart

The drenching water; “Pour again! he cried,

Be every vessel copiously supplied,

Fill yet your urns, let every space below

Drink the full tide, till every trench o’erflow!”

For fire from Heaven the Prophet breathed a prayer,

Down swiftly darting through the tranquil air


Pale sheets of light upon the Altar came

And all was instant wrapt in dazzling flame!

The burning water fed the sacred fire,

The pure flames nursed as fiercely they aspire.

The silvery vapours, which profusely flowed,

Spread o’er the mount and all its Groves enclosed,

Samaria’s King and warring chariots veil’d,

And trembling Israel’s awe-struck sons conceal’d!

As Baal’s priests, in dread of Judah’s God,

In vain sought flight from his avenging rod,


Its eyes to Heaven repenting Israel turn’d,

As still the vapours mount—The Holy Altar burn’d!

Now Constellations hung their chains of light,

Shedding o’er Acre’s towers sweet Eastern Night!

The air was hush’d as came the Lunar Queen,

The Silence giving Interest to the scene.

P2r 211

Fresh dews condensed to form her brilliant car,

And seemed a fabrick of pellucid spar,

As, gliding on in graceful sweep, she view’d

The beauteous gems that o’er her path were strewed!

The balmy slumbers that around her glide,


To Syrian pillows sent, now gently hied,

With sweet compulsion made each eye-lid close,

And spread around ths spells of deep repose.

Yet, sounds of Triumph seemed to tingle still,

And every ear, night’s sweet enchantment! fill,

Giving to Sleep itself a thrilling zest,

Cheering the Soul without suspending Rest.

Thus passed the hours Night’s soothing Queen bestowed,

Till through the air the tints of Morning flowed,


And, morning’s counterfeit though late she seemed,

The Moon that shone so sweetly scarcely gleamed.

The Warriors sprang to meet the florid ray,

And martial greetings hailed th’ approaching day.

From Syria’s mountains rush’d th’ impending foe,

And famine spread o’er ripen’d vales below.

Grown mad in massacre, with carnage red,

More than War’s horrors riot as they tread.

P2 P2v 212

The General civilized of Tuscan fields

Here scenes displayed barbarian warfare yields.

—Heroic, wicked, wondrous, gifted man!

We vainly Hist’ry for thy Equal scan.

Yet, still ungifted! Thetis flew to lave

Her Godlike Son in th’ indurating wave,

Yet fatal imperfection still was found

A peccant want t’ invite the mortal wound,

The fatal want made useless all she’d done

Almost immortal gifts were lost upon her son!

Thee Nature fail’d too when she formed thy soul,

Almost Perfection seems the lustrous whole,


Still thy great Powers and Passions but betray,

Religion, heaven-sent regent, is debarred her sway!

—Surrender’d Jaffa hoped war’s horror’s cease

Three days her sons had rest and all seem’d Peace,

But oh! their Foes they had opposed in fight—

Omnipotence itself bestowed the Right!

The Right to man to guard his Laws and Land

From fierce Invasion’s desolating hand,

The Charities of life to save from wreck,

The State from Chaos at a Stranger’s beck!


As Nations first were formed the Right began,

The loftiest Duty e’er imposed on man!

P3r 213

For this, in thousands, all unarmed, convened,

Surrounded, murder’d, every foe a Fiend,

Almost the Butcheries of Paris rise

Before astonish’d Asia’s tortured eyes!

Vaunting such acts! they sent dread threats before!

Blood-stain’d Report the tragic story bore,

On trembling wing, throughout the coast the vales,

All horror struck who hear the brutal tales!


Each human ill close crowding in their train,

They came! They swept across the arid plain,

And, winding up an insulated Mound,

Their Camp hung sudden on its rising ground.

The chosen hill had Ocean in its view,

Whose Zephyrs, o’er its slope, salubrious flew.

They here reposed t’escape the torrid glow,

Incautious of the Ills that lurked below!

They scarcely marked the Lines, and framed each

And saw the Hexagon in form complete,

Ere England’s ships wore round, with galling fire,

And made th’ astonished Corsican retire!

His vast Marquee, with long drawn suite, is down,

The Lines all lost as moves the Canvass Town,

P3v 214

Quick as from crowds who fill Messina’s Bay

Morgana’s air-drawn Cities flit away. By a rare coincidence, between the position of the Sun and the state of
the Tide, once in five or six years happening there, an appearance occurs in
some degree resembling, but on an immense scale, that produced by a Camera
. Cities, Ruins, &c. appear at a distance from the shore, and glide
away in succession. The vulgar, ignorant of the real cause, suppose these
appearances are created by the Fairy Morgana.

The Seamen, shouting, hail th’ Invaders’ Speed!

And Laugh, and Wit Marine, their rout succeed.

A hill more distant the Besiegers scale,

Which misty rose enormous o’er the dale,


Thence their high Camp attracts th’ uplifted eye,

To Acre seeming—threat’ning from the Sky!

The open’d Gates the Gallic Chief demands

He finds sutain’d, by firm and haughty bands!

Achmet Pashaw, though worn by oft told years,

Bore up, superior to an old man’s fears.

—The Siege begins, in all its horrid form,

War darts its lightnings and awakes the Storm.

Untir’d, the Echoes of its thunders roar,

Bound and rebound incessant round the shore;


Load the meek Zephyrs of the humid Vale,

Seize the strong pinions of the Mountain Gale

The tale of blood to peaceful regions bear,

And give e’en Safety’s couch the thrill of Fear!

P4r 215

Close to the Beach the captured boats were moor’d

And o’er the Foe their traitor Cannon roar’d.

Well aim’d, each bore upon the Gallic flank,

Destruction proving by a prostrate rank.

Thus on themselves their own dread thunders fall,

And France destroys her Sons at Acre’s Wall!


Now, skilful Engineers displayed the skill

They gained in Schools Vauban’s dread Volumes fill,

And, undermining, deep sunk path-ways formed

Whilst, o’er their heads, the Battlements were stormed;

Beneath the town they work’d a dreary way,

And threat’ning seeds of future earthquakes lay.

—If Gnomes there were, lulled in primeval rest

They but in dark Security were blest;

From the young hour in which their Earth arose,

From midst Confusion and chaotic throes,


Abhorred the Gaudy Dazzler of the Sky

Who bids his glaring beams through Æther fly.

The ray the Mole would only Twilight deem,

To them would mid-day bursts of Splendor seem,

Such Floods of Glory would o’erwhelm their Sight

Their nerves all deaden’d by Excess of Light!

But now, when real Twilight glimmer’d through,

Of flame so dread they must have fled the view,

P4v 216

The thick Earth pierced as swift as quick wing’d


And in her central domes her deepest shadows sought!

There, by the Diamond’s beam, their Sports indulged,

Or where the Ruby mellow gleams divulged,

Sigh’d o’er the wretched fate which Mortals know,

Condemn’d t’ endure the torturous Day-beam’s glow!

In Silence dread the Miners onwards lurk,

Now sinking deep, now horizont’ly work;

Still more remote, from faintest light they go,

Till, distant star! its scintillations flow—

When, unexpected Visions start around!


Still England’s Warriors! meet them midst the ground,

Burst with their glittering arms upon their sight,

And pour fierce Radiance through the realms of Night!

Thus, foil’d by Counterworks, th’ Invaders fly,

But many there, entombed for ever lie.

The shouting English through each turn pursue,

And trace the Labyrinth, their foes their clue.

The Labyrinth of Death it well were named,

For there the savage Battle raged untamed,

In a new scite its horrid rites were given,

Remote from man, and seen alone by Heaven!


In Darkness now, their swords dread duties know

And round and round their random edges flow,

P5r 217

Athwart the night they meet they hit they clash,

Thrust follows thrust and ruddy sparkles flash,

Till, British followers close upon their rear,

In forced retreat the French unearth’d appear.

Thus varying Battle filled each anxious day

Near the calm Ides of gently breathing May.

Sweet Month so mild, so young, so fair to view,

Full deck’d in Flowers, in Scents, and sparkling dew,

Why thus thy violated Groves prophaned,


Why hath the early year such wrongs sustained!

Th’ astonish’d Foes to Camp driven back each night,

Still each new morn wake raging for the fight!

With Nerves restored reseek the stubborn field

Which steady Bravery refused to yield,

Which yet presumptuously the arms withstands

That hurled Destruction o’er so many Lands.

Unnerved at length, their conquest they delay

And midst their camp inert and sullen stray,


Plan future means, and future Ruin swear

To those whose Crime is—Self-defence they dare!

Now, in the East, a furious Tempest grew

Whose force no power withstood, it raging flew,

Swiftly descended through the misty air,

Stripped in its passage every forest bare,

P5v 218

To Ocean fiercely onwards hurrying drives

And midst the mighty waters frantic dives,

Heaps up the billows to an Alpine height,

And instant sinks them with destructive might.


Unrudder’d ships are fiercely whirl’d around,

Now high they mount, now plunging sink profound,

In Acre’s rocky Bay no Anchor holds,

On deck each Cable’s coil’d, in hurried folds,

Far from the shore the English Captain’s driven!

To the fierce sea his fleet, undaunted, given.

The French return, hope now unmatch’d their

“Acre!” they cry, “thy Doom is seal’d at length

Whilst o’er The Deep thy bold Protectors go

We seize the moment for decisive blow!”


On, now elate, they rush towards the Towers,

Revived Revenge with doubled malice lours;

But, those within are now with Lessons fraught,

Acquired by courage, or which life has bought,

No Trophy’s lost, no haughty standards fall,

Still burnish’d Crescents gleam along the wall!

It seem’d that British fire, so well they fought,

Ran through their veins! for oft they boldly sought,

Without the Gate, the Gauls upon the plain,

And higher martial skill each added day attain.

460 P6r 219

Are War-stores driven to Sea? Meanwhile, in lieu,

Their active courage quickly finds out new.

By fury nerved, upraised aloft they throw

Huge ponderous masses to o’erwhelm the foe.

The neighbouring Mounts their marble contents yield,

The rough-hewn masses bound along the field,

Nor harmless bound, each wounding bursts along,

Nor falls unaim’d upon the shrinking throng

Through the cleft air, which hoarse and murmuring

And round the flying death-bolts sighing clings.


Why, Acre thus surround with blood drench’d plain!

Why France thus go the distant Globe to stain!

Misguided France! why not content to sway

Where Sciences and Arts their reign display?

Be satiate with thy share, so large, of rule,

No more Ambition’s ever ready tool,

Thy “Tiger Heart” subdue! Spare, spare, thy race

No longer Earth destroy—in future be its Grace!

P6v P7r

The Siege of Acre.

Book the Second.

Defend the Castle, guard the Gate!

A moment lost, Relief’s too late.

What if Ocean should bestow

Acts heroic, deeds that glow?

What if every glassy wave

Cast on shore a Warrior brave?

P7v P8r

The Siege of Acre.

Book the Second.

Spirit of War! with Attributes so dread,

Whence in thy train such generous Virtues led!

What Spell does Murder, to High Fame, translate,

And make men praise the crime that most they hate?

Whence comes thy hold e’en on those tender hearts

Forth which the generous sigh of Pity starts,

Midst whose fine nerves Affection Transport gives,

And all that’s gentle, all that’s Godlike, lives?

What Mixture complex is the human mind,

At times impure at others so refined,


Can Reasoners tell? If not—why Reason given

From the bright sources of Omniscient Heaven?

Can boasting Reason really trace Effect,

And, in its germ, a Consequence detect,

P8v 224

Or, in Effect, discover clearly Cause?

Say, whence then springs man’s tendency to Wars!

Reason’s scant flow but gives us thirst for more!

When arid Summers crave the clouds to pour,

The passing clouds, of moisture niggard, glide

And o’er the parch’d up earth too lofty ride;


If transient drops are scantily express’d

How vegetation’s cheer’d! where’er they rest.

But, when the earth requires more copious gifts

As the cleft soil its herbage scarcely lifts,

In vain it asks, though want its bosom rends,

No moisture comes, no wish’d for flood descends!

Reason’s as niggard, when we seek to scan

The complex Mysteries of the mind of man,

Man’s only known by Revelation’s Light!

Celestial Demon, Angel fallen from Right!


Say, who was He that like a castled Rock

Withstood the Battle’s most intemperate Shock?

Dark was his visage, and his Eye, all beam

Emitted round a soul appalling gleam!

No helmet’s strength his Scimetar withstood,

Each breast it struck gave forth its crimson flood.

Now up the Mount with winged speed he’d fly

And from its Summit glance his eagle eye

Q1r 225

Across the war; mark where the French gave way,

Or where seem’d shrunk the fortune of the day,


The post of risk the Hero swiftly sought,

And bore down all, whoe’er the foe he fought.

Say, Muse, whilst now in hours of rest and night

Lethargic quiet stills the rage of fight,

Say who the man that, in himself a host,

Opposed Invasion on the Syrian coast?

Osmyn who thus by Patriot love is roused,

The rich Abdallah’s lovely child espoused.

Three months a Bridegroom, lest his Country fall

The Bridegroom rush’d The Guardian of the wall.


In vain fond Ira’s tears, for Her he fought,

And when, in sympathy, the Father caught

The soft infection of his Daughter’s fears,

Vain were his prayers as lovely Ira’s tears.

Osmyn, all Soldier, in his lofty Soul

E’en Love could not the Patriot fire controul!

Each Eve, returning from the batter’d towers

As to their camp the foe led off their powers,

He smiled at all the Terrors she confess’d,

All Danger mocked, and half her fears suppress’d.


As bold her spoke of Death, and War, and Arms,

New Grace the subject gave his manly charms.

Vol. III. Q Q1v 226

Enamour’d Ira hung upon the sounds,

Like Roman Arria thought of painless wounds,

Till, grown at length familiar with the theme,

Oh! female feeling ever in extreme!

No more she shudder’d as the Cannon roar’d,

Nor shrunk in thought, e’en from th’ uplifted sword.

—The trembling Eaglet thus, from rocky height,

Stranger to Earth, and neighbour to the Light,


Beholds its Sire the liquid desart try

And with his broad expanse securely fly!

It shrinks, all Wonder, at the awful view,

Still, its keen eyes the hardy track pursue,

He wishes often, trembles oft’ner still,

To venture too prepares, yet, doubts its skill;

At length, ’twixt Emulation and Despair

Its pinion lifts, and plunges into air!

Day sprang, the Feigner bade her Lord adieu,

Then from a sandal Chest, impatient, drew


The flowing Robes and blossom tinctured vest

Which Osmyn’s youthful brother once had dressed,

Who now on wealth and fruitful travel bent

To distant Cashmire on adventures went.

Before the Mirror moved the war-robed Fair

Her Figure charm’d her, and her graceful air.

Q2r 227

The manly turban next, of crimson dye,

Flash’d a new Boldness o’er her radiant eye,

She, fearless, in her belt a dagger placed

By sanguine rubies thickly set embraced.


Again, her novel form distinct to view,

From room to room, from glass to glass, she flew.

Self-satisfied, more gravely now she strode

And acts a frown, and nods in stately mode.

Her Nurse, the nurse in Asia is through Life

Respected friend of Infant, Maiden, Wife,

Some time the Matron had the fair one sought

And, in her Strut, the startled Ira caught!

To bursts of Laughter each awhile gave way,

And moments passed in Mirth and blithe delay.


Serious the beauteous Ira sudden grew,

Impressions graver o’er each feature flew,

Her waken’d countenance with Meaning glowed,

Her front, of teeming Ventures seem’d th’ abode.

“Think not she said, with Dignity of port,

Thou see’st me Abra thus arrayed in Sport!

My Husband’s fate to share, and near his side,

Is the fixed Will of his devoted bride,

Nay, shriek not thus, your clamour now restrain,

In vain thy sorrow, thy remonstrance vain!”

110 Q2 Q2v 228

The timid heart of Ira Duty steels,

Love gives, like courage, Fortitude she feels.

“Duty is Passion, in a soul like mine,

No selfish Prudence doth its bounds define!

In grov’ling minds compress’d and slow its tide,

Through Life a humble and a placid guide.

Its Sway more grand in minds of higher Tone,

Content when reach’d its utmost bounds alone!

Oh! if thy heart, through age, is deaden’d now,

Youth swells in mine, and animates my brow,


The arm which threatens Osmyn with a blow

May feel what powers from female vengeance flow!

Let Men, let Heroes, for their Country fight,

The field tread proudly deathful Fame invite,

Let Patriots boast they, for a Nation, fall!

For Love I arm, and dare the fatal Wall.

My Husband bleed, and not his Ira by

To staunch the blood or catch his parting sigh!

Now, whilst I linger, may the sword descend

And Osmyn sink, unaided by a friend.”


On this thought! quickly she her Sabre drew

And through the streets with wilder’d air she flew.

The beauteous seeming Youth small notice caught

Each bosom with its own deep interests fraught,

Q3r 229

If variant Agony her features show’d

In every face the same expression flowed,

For showers of bullets on the ramparts fall

And wounded townsmen stagger from the wall.

Almost to frenzy was her horror wrought

As she her Osmyn each way vainly sought!


Distinguish’d freely, wheresoe’er his stand,

In height still lofty midst the tallest band,

Still, still, his graceful port ne’er met her eye!

From post to post they saw the Trembler fly,

Nor wonder’d that a boy, so young, so fair,

Should rush from danger with distracted air.

At length, amidst her hurried frenzied flight

One spot she mark’d, where thickest seem’d the fight,

“Ah, there!” she cried, “if Osmyn breathes, he’s there!”

And onward darted the courageous Fair,


Nor vain—his towering port she raptured knew,

And soon his graceful prowess caught her view.

Now, backward stepping, safe from view she staid,

To catch her Osmyn’s tender glance afraid,

Lest he should, anxious, force her from the breach

Where stood himself, within each danger’s reach

From the bold foe she saw, in thousands strong,

With fearless valour to the bulwarks throng.

Q3v 230

Where’er he moved she kept him in her view,

Now forward stept—now gently she withdrew.


As haughty war with thundering force came on,

She proudly saw that First her Osmyn shone,

That from his conquering troop th’ invaders fled,

Much of whose haughtiest blood that hour was shed.

At length the frenchmen, forced to be discreet,

Their cannon silenced and commenced retreat.

Ira beheld her Osmyn safe descend,

And to their homes th’ elated townsmen tend,

By shorter route she swiftly flew before,

And anxious Abra clasp’d her at the door!


The lovely Soldier to her toilette ran

And, in few minutes, was no longer man!

When her loved Lord appear’d, her sprightly eye,

Full oft at Abra glancing meaning sly,

Darted her Joy that safely he return’d,

Concealed her feat, and with her Secret burn’d.

A splendid feast attendant slaves prepare,

Her Sire and Husband in her transports share.

And Music, ardent, rapid, lent its strain

To raise Defiance to the hostile plain!


Ira’s soft Maids with wreaths of flowers advance,

And glide, to sweeter notes, in varied dance,

Q4r 231

Bound, as though air the element they trod,

Vanish, as formed of air, at Ira’s nod.

Again, symphonious music swells its notes,

And round the dome Sublimer Cadence floats!

New nerves the Soul, calls up its fiercest tone,

And turns man’s melting heart t’unyielding stone.

—Such were the strains in Asia taught to rise

When youthful Ammon, urged by Lais’ eyes,


Rush’d from his throne Persepolis to flame,

And by the fire he rais’d immortalized her Shame!

Her secret charms her! The succeeding day

The Bride resumed her masculine array.

Now, lest the nurse should grave advice enforce,

And fill with hated Prudence vain discourse,

Successive tasks she gave her anxious mind,

To other rooms the busy Dame confined.

The Mirror’s oft repeated min’stry past,

And each review found sweeter than the last,


The hardy Bride resought the martial towers,

For these abandon’d all her peaceful bowers.

Osmyn the star her darting glances sought,

They soon explored the station where he fought,

Then, as before, she varying distance kept

And quick as light from place to place oft stept.

Q4v 232

Long, from the Walls and Towers was urged the fight,

So long, her Husband safe cheer’d Ira’s sight,

She scarcely felt the Danger of the scene,

And saw balls bound almost with air serene,


No wound being felt, she never dreamt of pain,

Her Husband safe! her thoughts no fears retain.

A bold Sortie at length the warriors crave,

On through the Gate the spirited and brave

Rush like impetuous waves, and thence expand

Th’ invaders driving o’er the death strew’d strand.

—Unhappy Ira! in the rush she’s borne

Her feet unwilling from the Rampart torn,

In vain her Struggles—through the gate she’s press’d,

In vain she speaks, her tones no step arrest,


All, all Confusion, Horror, Anguish, Death,

Her Senses gone though still retain’d her breath.

The French now turned and closer grew the fight,

Not once has Osmyn cheer’d her far strained sight!

Around her sink the dying and the dead,

She, frantic, tears the turban from her head,

Her falling tresses caught no warrior’s eye,

They only lived to bleed, to kill, to die.

Her vaunted Courage false with Death so near

She’s almost Mad with soul distracting fear!

230 Q5r 233

At length an Opening’s made, through which she darts,

Skims o’er the sanguine field, here pants, there starts;

Her shining Sabre in her right hand grasp’d,

The left her ringlet-hair unconscious clasp’d,

A frenchman saw—“Safe aim! for me he cried,

And seized his pistol quickly from his side,

Expert enough, my Youth, art thou to fly,

Your speed to check with level aim I try.”

He’d scarcely spoken e’er the bullet flew

Her bosom pierced, and forth its life stream drew.

She tottering fell, then, turned her fading eye


On him who seem’d almost himself to die,

His Looks and Action blamed his forward zeal,

For murder’d Beauty—made a Frenchman feel!

She—faintly—“Osmyn!” cried, her only word,

But, oft repeated, fainter—fainter—heard—

Lo! Osmyn!—thither Battle’s eddying tide

Bore the fierce combat――ah! fond Ira died!

Towards the spot he saw the warriors tend,

In earnest posture o’er one fallen bend,


“Beauty” and “Female” were the sounds that flew,

As near, with rapid step, the Hero drew,

The beck’ning Youths still quicker speed invite,

And heightening Curiosity excite,

Q5v 234

He ran—he madden’d! deadly pale she lay,

Unveil’d her lifeless features to the day!

No mind, unaided by inspiring Power,

Could e’er convey the feelings of the hour!

Ira was dead! Thy pencil Science seize,

Sublimed to agony thy feelings raise,


Whate’er is horrible, or deep, compel

To give their Shades and in thy Fancy dwell.

Ah! throw thy trifling failing Pencil by,

For eager Frenzy wears a Cherub’s eye

Compared to that which in the glance should roll

Of him who’d hope to picture Osmyn’s soul.

His Heart would stricken, as his canvass glowed,

And grief too fierce awake as Science flowed,

Cold trem’lous Sorrow steal his powers away,

His lines imperfect rise, Ideas all decay!


As wan as Ira, Rome’s Virginia seemed,

As, Tyrant’s victim, her last eye-beam gleamed.

But, roused to Vengeance by expiring Charms,

Rome rush’d against its palaces in arms,

Her dying voice was Nature’s Great Decree!

With her last sigh, She made her Country free!

—The heart of Osmyn every Solace spurn’d,

His frantic grief to desperate Fury turn’d,

Q6r 235

The War! the War! his mad’ning thoughts require,

Ah! there, ’tis there, his Misery will expire,


And there, once more, for Ira Osmyn fought

His arm She nerved, and fill’d his every thought.

He utter’d Ira! as his Sabre rose,

The frenchmen faulter’d, Ira gave the blows.

The Syrian Youth in his Revenge engage,

Assume his feelings, emulate his Rage,

Undaunted follow to partake his chance,

One Beauty’s death a thousand deaths cost France.

Ah, search thou Reasoner! when Armies bleed

Thy vain Stores search, to tell whence sprang the deed!

Not, always, Patriot fire in Heroes dwells,


Not always Loyalty their courage swells.

Ambition’s self not always fires their Souls,

Though so put down in grave Historic Rolls!

Envy, Revenge, and Love, take each their part,

Inflame the Man, excite the Warrior’s heart.

Oft, public Lustre has been gain’d by Chiefs

But urged in part, like him, by private griefs,

And e’en in breasts where Self alone abode,

Romance, call’d History, says pure Virtue glowed!

Or, as it chance! these Reasoners filch all Fame


From him, whose Motives merit deathless name!

Q6v 236

The English absent, Acre could not hope

Long with that army’s conquering bands to cope

Whose skill so great such numerous states had found,

Whose arms Successes had inspired and crown’d,

Who, now retired, their Strength renewed by rest,

Refreshing slumbers soothing every breast,

Whilst sunk in sleep, in Acre, none were found

But all were harass’d on the nightly round.


To fill the Breaches which the day had made

Kept all upon the walls, the peaceful shade

Should spread unbroken through the reign of night

The gleaming Torches streak with flitting light,

As harass’d soldiers flash them to and fro

To aid their comrades in their work of woe.

Still the firm Ghezar, waving claims of Age,

Quite dauntless, dared the siege’s hottest rage.

This is the Man, who scorning to be beat,

Before whose Towers baulk’d Gallia learn’d Retreat,

Insatiate Malice stirred in those he fought—


’Twas low revenge the valiant Generals sought!

They seized the Pen, since vanquish’d was the Sword,

And on his Name malicious Slanders poured,

Of Cruelties french hearts alone conceive,

And minds less savage learn not to believe.

Q7r 237

From charges framed—by those who’ve done such

The faith of Britons scornfully recedes.

As from Morn’s rays the waning night withdrew

His wither’d army met sad Achmet’s view!


Where now the Youths the opening siege beheld,

Whose lofty minds with genuine valour swelled?

For ever vanish’d, trodden in the dust,

And England absent, Syria’s firmest Trust!

But Courage still inspired his aged breast,

Sustain’d his sinking mind, his fears repress’d.

Throughout the city each man’s heart he tries,

Where’er he moves new hopes new Courage rise,

A view of him whom palsying age can’t lull

Warms the cold spirit and awakes the dull,


Alone the fabled Promethean ray

Could Achmet’s all-enlivening power display!

Ah! through a Postern at whose feet the Mole

At safer distance makes the wild Deep roll

Elcanor comes! and in lengthening rear

A gallant troop of armed Youth appear,

Up to the walls with buoyant hearts they throng,

Not proud in Numbers, but in Valour strong;

Achmet beheld them with elate Surprise,

Full Welcome darted from his martial eyes.

350 Q7v 238

In Syria’s blooming forests, ever wreathed,

Not unobservant, faithful Christians breathed

In federate Towns. Where Lebanon’s high front

Preserves amidst its Shades the Hallow’d Font,

Elcanor, of his pious sect the boast,

Around him summon’d a determined host!

“This night” he cried “to Acre let us fly,

Nor here in Indolence disgraceful lie.

Oh let us emulate what reach’d our Ear,

Now England’s force to aid them is not near


Its Fame shall acts approximate inspire,

We’ll catch a ray from their immortal fire,

A Deed we’ll enter in that glowing page

Which Asia will record from Age to Age!”

When Revolution broke the Earth’s repose,

The World has heard that Britain boldly rose,

Her Sons and Brothers wore the martial vest,

Her Husbands, Fathers, bore the plumed crest,

Embodied by Themselves, they proudly stood

Their Country guarding from th’impending flood.


Invasion, foil’d thus, now reverted runs

O’er other realms, and reaches Asia’s sons!

But, Christian England, generous, follows here

The foe she turned! How ought we to revere

Q8r 239

The Christian Rule, our Brothers thus exceed,

Who ask no aid Themselves, and yet for Others bleed!

See, near the Sycamores on yonder Rise,

The misty moon sinks, sullen, from our eyes,

When lately thence her rays the darkeness drove

Our women wander’d safely through the grove,


Whilst Mothers, Sisters, loiter’d in the shades,

Sweet lisping Cherubs played through moonlight

Now, struck with fear, they shun the lunar sky,

Invasion! ’tis from thee the tremblers fly!

At thy name scared the timid Infant shrieks

As its griev’d mother secret Caverns seeks,

There, midst the gloom, her chill’d babe lulls to rest,

Whilst sleepless terror vibrates through her breast.

And shall not we from midst our Groves come forth

To dive th’Invaders homeward to their North?


They all obey his long respected voice,

His Will at once became the general Choice,

They blush that slumbers had approach’d their lids

They arm and follow as Elcanor bids;

And where groves waving cool the passing air

At the Town’s verge, they for descent repair.

Now forth the Gates two Maidens fleetly rush’d,

From whose eyes glittering tears full swiftly gush’d,

Q8v 240

In him who goes thus trembling for their Sire,

The beauteous maidens deepest sighs suspire.


Eudosia, like a graceful Palm appeared

In some young grove by skilful culture rear’d,

Her face was Grecian, and her silky hair,

Dark as the Raven’s when, in midway air,

His plumage intercepts the radiant day,

And throws it back a sable shining ray.

Rich strings of pearl contrasted beauty gave,

As ’midst her braided locks they loosely wave.

Her Form was shaded by a thin Caftan,

Her less’ning waist bright silver girdles span.


The Elder this. The gay Saphira’s mien

Appear’d caught from ideal Beauty’s Queen.

Her hair, which seem’d bright streams of yellow light,

Not deep as Amber, and yet more than white,

Was turned beneath her turban’s fleecy round,

O’er which rich various jewelry was bound.

Though now in Sorrow sinks her lovely head,

And now her foot forgets its graceful tread,

Her dazzling glances still yield vivid fire

Though the sweet circlets mournfully retire—


The magic circlets! that can transport dart,

Or strike with withering ray the shrinking heart,

R1r 241

Speak, in inspiring language, to the Soul,

Or all its powers by rigid beams controul,

How vainly Words in power to equal try

The more efficient Rhetoric of the Eye!

Elcanor chid th’ exuberance of their fears,

Thus awed their murmurs and repress’d their tears—

“If other Christians here stretch forth their hands

Against these recreant invading bands,


Shall fear stay Us! whose fathers Heaven led

By Guiding Star to our Messiah’s bed?

Shall he says ‘Mahomet is Prophet true’

From midst his camp, the Blasphemy ne’er rue?

Rely, though victories he elsewhere found

He ne’er will Victory know—on Holy Ground!”

His Daughters bend, and struck with awe retire

In trust that Heaven will go forth with their Sire.

Elcanor turns and leads his bands again,

Who swiftly now descended to the plain


Which erst say Gideon INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Judges, c. 6, 7, 8. fearlessly proceed,

And but three hundred o’er the valley lead

’Gainst Midian’s troops, who numberless were found

Consuming Earth’s encrease ’till Famine raged

Vol. III. R R1v 242

Not higher Faith, nor scarcely Zeal, inspired

Those Gideon led, than those Elcanor fired;

Each band in emulative firmness shone,

Each Chief, each Soldier, fearless darted on,

All bent on Glory, Vengeance, Triumph, Fame,

Unfailing Courage, and immortal Name!


To make stern Acre pass beneath the yoke

The gallic foe in firm resolve awoke.

All bright with Arms, the Vale reflects the ray,

Pour’d from the Source that gives the hours of day.

New streams of Brightness spring from each recess,

With dreadful glimmer all the uplands dress,

And, as the changed manœuvres lines impelled,

New floods of splendor forth each inlet swelled

Now, the big war with all its Grandeur teems,

A Mine is sprung, whose mischief sure he deems,


Though a deep fissure the explosion makes,

And earth convulsed in lengthened tremors shakes,

And Bastions strong and injured turrets rock,

Ill measured distance half defeats the shock.

So Ætna trembles from concussive fires

Though still it stands, and still to Heaven aspires.

Th’ Assault they urge with utmost rage, in vain,

Throng they the Fosse the half-made Breach to gain?

R2r 243

The Turks with ponderous rock assail each head

And fill the ditch with wounded and with dead,


Vast fiery brands in all directions throw

And scalding liquids on each wretch below,

Whole sheets of flame descend and boiling streams,

War, waged for Conquest, with such effort teems.

But these Elcanor and his troops disclaim,

They distant deaths inflict, with general aim,

With the firm Infantry their post they chose,

Whose double line upon the Rampart rose.

Mischief impends! be guarded ’gainst Despair!

Yon Mortar’s glowing arch that curves in air,


’Tis cowering now! fate’s Messenger it flies,

Its victim—Osmyn! in an instant dies.

“Osmyn is dead!” in piercing accents flew,

The French receive the sound, their Hopes renew!

Up to the Gates the sanguine Soldiers press,

Their Spirits rising with assured success.

But as the Lion on his chasers turns,

His rage, awakening courage, fiercer burns,

So turn the Syrians on th’ advancing foe,


And heighten’d fervors through their bosoms glow.

Osmyn’s freed soul seems hovering o’er their heads,

Still on the walls, unseen, the Hero treads,

R2 R2v 244

His Zeal inspires, his Vengeance lives, in all,

Th’ invaders feel it in their soldiers’ fall.

They vary their approach, each angle try,

Attack full oft, and full as often fly,

As due to Justice pouring o’er the land

The stream of life from every chosen band.

Their Generals, midst the carnage, scour’d the field,

Undaunted moved and round the warriors wheel’d.

To cheer their men they fly from rank to rank,


Rally the Van, invigorate the Flank.

Their ardent efforts are not wholly vain,

With utmost struggle, scarcely now maintain

The brave besieged the Fort against their foes,

Though courage urged by Danger fiercely glows.

—But, midst the toughest struggle of the fight,

Sudden, like summer evening streams of light,

When the warm regions of the air enfold,

Electric flakes and shoot phosphoric gold,


The English ships returning to the Mole

Their cheering Lightnings flash, their grateful
Thunders roll!

To favoring winds they had unfurled their sails,

And chained the vagrant Genius of the gales,

R3r 245

With the first breeze—they thought too slowly! flew,

The Fate of Acre ever in their view.

Her Spires at length spring up, her Domes arise,

Her green-roof’d Palm Grovess glad their eager Eyes,

And, as they grandly ride upon the wave,

They shout—“We come! We come again to save!”


The Joy of Acre’s heard where Leb’non towers,

And Carmel hears it in her lofty bowers,

The Way of Nazareth receives the sound,

“They come! They come! we’re safe!” the Echoes
breathe around.

All crowd the decks, with high Emotions glow!

From every eye inspiring ardors flow,

From prow to stern the emanations dart,

In each look flame and throb in every heart.

—I will not show the dazzling Naiad train

Guiding the barks across the foamy Main,


Poetic Images—away from Sight!

Nor Nymph nor Sea-God shall my pen invite.

No aiding Tritons with their azure hair

Nor pearl-deck’d guardian Deesses were there,

The Sons of Britain! on the surges rode,

From whom abash’d dives down each Watery God.

The french Approaches to the Wall came near,

The wants peculiar of the hour were clear.

R3v 246

The Plan’s resolved, two Ravelins soon advance

Their bold half-moons against encroaching France,

One on each side th’ approach that nearest came

In swift progression rose, midst loud acclaim.


The boats meanwhile a floating Battery form,

The Labourers cover, and the french Lines storm,

Their dread Artillery firing on the foe

From every point, as variously they row.

For Sortie now th’ assured besieged prepare,

And spring with new strung nerves each risk to dare.

Throughout the day they rage o’er all the plain,

Havock and swift Destruction in their train.


As still, at eve, the carnage they pursue

The heaps of dead encrease upon their view,

On Chiefs, on numerous Ranks, The Victors trod,

The ardent Mailly died upon the sod,

Both by one sword, Cardan, Lecouvre, died,

Their Hearts’ blood flowing in a common tide.

Full oft Lescalle’s aim’d Sabre reach’d the heart

Of turban’d warrior, when his eye’s clear dart

Ere singled from a troop an active foe

His glance was scarcely herald to the blow.


Helmet nor Sabre could the Hero save

Three foes at once assign him to his grave,

R4r 247

Half-rais’d at one he aim’d a dying thrust,

His aim was short, he rose not from the dust!

—The Shrieks of Youth, the Groans of Manhood, tear

The shrinking organs e’en of distant ear,

As fall by turns the man, the hoary Sire,

Or he whose freezing veins own’d life’s first fire.

With untired rage they fought till Light withdrew,

Each Army shelter’d from the other’s view.


Dark shadows roll in heavy to the west,

Deep sigh the winds, all Nature seems oppressed.

Strange hollow Murmurs float the troubled air,

The moaning Spirits of the dead seem there!

In moody thought the different powers withdraw,

All deeply pondering the ills of war!

Now, midst the Chiefs, in Council in his tent,

The General Bonaparte his mind unbent,

Whilst the french circle, with respectful air,

Their mute attention by their looks declare.


Of flowing thought no brilliant periods roll

To wake thick sense and captivate the soul,

No mellow language glides on from his tongue

In clear deductions gradually unstrung,

Interrogation boisterous Order breaks,

Or words imperative he fiercely speaks!

R4v 248

“Can I forget that he, whose haughty prow

Rides so triumphant in the harbour now,

Is he, in France, who lately prisoner caught

Of me asked Freedom, all my Influence sought!


Had I not fail’d him , Honour, his Parole,

Had kept his busy genius in controul—

Beaten by him whose Fate was at my will

And see his laurell’d sailors conquer still!

Shall thus this Seaman’s fame so lofty soar,

The conquering Trident reach us—on the Shore!

Success gain’d now, it may not be the least,

More numerous troops may seek us in the East,

Demand Capitulation—hated word

It ne’er shall mar the Glories of my sword!”

The Leader pausing, as o’er torturous thought,

In Fury mutter’d, lowly lest ’twere caught—

“First will I fly—steal from th’ Egyptian shore,

Run from the army who my name adore,

Forsake my Station, risk Deserter’s fate,

But, ne’er capitulate with those I hate!

Mark Generals! small his force, whilst Hassan Bey

At sea, with Transports, still prolongs his stay;

But, ere these distant succours can arrive,

Acre itself no longer shall survive,

610 R5r 249

Her walls but dust, her Towers shall strew the plain,

Her ruin’d Turrets toppled to the Main!”

The martial circle or approved aloud,

Or veiling discontent assentive bow’d.

He paused, he ponder’d as if Means he sought,

But quickly utter’d the result of thought—

“To Eastward sent, towards the Jordan’s fords,

Bold Kleber’s hardy troops with conquering swords

To capture rich Damascus now aspire,

But, from her yielding walls he must retire!


To aid, if wanted here, his glory yield,

And quit with all his bands the prosperous field—

Retire from conquest, and be beaten here!

Ah! brand me rather with the guilt of fear—

Beaten by him whose Fate was at my feet,

Compared to this, each other ruin’s sweet!”

He rose, as in his cheeks excited red

Disdain and Joy were seen, and Hope and Dread.

The Generals rush’d through night to rouse the band

Destined to summon Kleber o’er the land.


Not seen, though heard, their scour across the plain,

Whilst ears attentive sounding hoofs retain,

As neighing steeds, inhaling dewy air,

Athwart the gloom their drowsy riders bear.

R5v R6r

The Siege of Acre.

Book the Third.

Glittering Lances are the Loom

Where the dusky Warp we strain

Weaving many a soldier’s doom!

Soldiers who have Soul and Nerve,

Record well their deeds deserve!

R6v R7r

The Siege of Acre.

Book the Third.

How exquisite a task to Bards is given

When Truth inspires them from its native Heaven,

When actual deeds are subjects for the song,

When Living Beings to the Theme belong,

When mighty Nations down the foreground stand,

And real Heroes range on either hand!

Seize Bards your harps, a Theme on each side springs,

Let wonder’s transports vibrate midst the strings,

Awake! Mark Empires all around you burst,

Events gigantic in each hour are nursed.


Your harps seize now, for You enjoy the boon

That with events so vast their tones attune,

Then, shall these trembling notes no more aspire

Nor float discordant through your sacred Quire,

With blushes then withdrawn this humble Lute

By Admiration awed, with sentient Pleasure mute.

R7v 254

Wide flew the Gates of Heaven. The God of Day

Now lofty rose above the paths of May,

To gild a new month with brighter rays

As northward during added hours he strays,


Creating landscapes in June’s warmer glow

As variant blooms in richer colours flow.

Salubrious breezes charged with Odours fly,

Wafting the sweets of Earth towards the sky,

Or midst the cordage of the Vessels play,

Or o’er the emerald waves indenting stray.

As, from the lethargy of calm repose,

The Tigre’s Captain animated rose,

No waking thought fixed terror in his mind,

On him who rules the sea his thought reclined!


The deck received him, where his gallant Crew

With sturdy Spirits met the Hero’s view.

He knew to touch their hearts’ remotest string,

And to high deeds their every Wish to bring!

The Raleighs, Drakes, of Centuries past seem’d there,

Flash’d in his eye, made England’s navy dare,

Marines and Seamen shout transporting cries,

As to the wish’d for pitch their souls arise,

Which gain’d, he stopt and waved them to their boats,

And Britain’s Genius o’er the billows floats.

40 R8r 255

On shore they boldly leap with loud Huzzas,

The shore resounds with Acre’s rapturous praise,

The English Leader quickly heads his band,

To snatch, though Sailor, Laurels on the Land.

With practised skill a valorous troop he chose

O’er whose high fervor Self-possession rose,

Whose courage firm assumes a placid air,

And seems most tranquil when the most they dare!

Dark rose the Tower. Beneath, with latent twine

Insidious crept a fresh formed threat’ning Mine;


Crowding its avenue, a deep wrought trench,

Stood a bright Panoply of guardian french,

Whose clustering bayonets appeared above,

Thick set and menacing, an iron grove.

The Tower through long Tradition is endeared,

And will be, though to distant Ages rear’d.

Its sacred, interesting, pensive air

Brings sweet remembrance! never prospect rare

E’er touch’d the soul with pleasure more refined,

E’er gave so sweet a languor to the mind.


There, seems our Richard’s Richard the First, Cœur de Lion, displayed the utmost
degree of Heroism at the Siege of Acre by the Crusaders, in
the year 11911191.
battle axe aloft,

Its Lightning flashing o’er the foe he scoffed,

R8v 256

Its Lustre gleams on through each added age,

And cheers dull History’s laborious page,

On heavy periods throws extrinsic light,

And brings forth times remote upon the sight.

Prince Edward’s Afterwards Edward the First. His valour struck such
terror into the Saracens, that they employed an Assassin to destroy
him, who wounded him in the arm with a poisoned weapon.
Some Historians relate that his Wife, in the dreadful
Necessity of the moment, and Crisis of his fate, saved his life,
by extracting with her lips the Venom from the wound.
glories here too blazed around,

Here tower’d his Helmet on heroic ground,

His Elinor—ah! still her sainted sigh

Breathes in the Zephyrs, still her radiant eye


Beams purest Rapture o’er her wounded Lord,

Snatch’d from the tomb, by venturous Love restored!

When the rank poison from his wound she drew

Untarnish’d was her lip’s carnation hue,

Its stimulus new influence seemed t’impart

To heal his wound, reanimate his heart—

As touched the Prophet’s lip the livid coal

Strong inspiration filled at once his soul,

No Pain he suffered, Gift he had acquired,

With new found power perceived himself inspired!

80 S1r 257

Midst coming dangers of th’ advancing hour

Ruin seem’d threat’ning Acre’s haughty Tower.

Fate there took Station. Saved, it guards the land,

O’erthrown, destruction riots o’er the strand.

The Mine to verify, its Course to know,

Went forth the chosen Britons on the foe.

The naval warriors o’er each Trench descry

The clustering Bayonets with dauntless eye.

The Turks, to right and left, on either Trench

Advance to aid them and expel the French.


Marines and Sailors boldly force their way

Towards the Mine, no Risk creates delay,

Whilst Glory’s tint upon their cheeks is spread

And blooms and glows with bright diffusing red.

The entrance gain’d they quickly sink from view,

They court the Danger and the work pursue.

Part guard the opening, part are sunk from sight,

And deeds atchieve well worthy of the light,

O’erpower the Miners, hew the props away,

And, as they’re fell’d, withdraw towards the day.


Quick from the Camp came forth impatient France,

The Order passes and her sons advance.

Transporting valour stirs th’ excited Gauls,

As with new ardour they attack the walls.

Vol. III. S S1v 258

Whilst a bold band Rombaud the General chose

To flank the Mine as th’ enemy arose,

The Britons, steady in their work profound,

Though trem’lous motion o’er them rocks the ground,

Sink the last prop. Their dreadful duty done

They quit the cavern, view again the sun,


And, now emerging, see Battalions there

To hail them issuing upwards to the air.

As forth they come quick flashes round them shine

Midst flames arise The Victors of the Mine!

They’ve learnt its course, their counterworks are sure!

The Tower France came to sap remains secure,

Still loftily o’erlooks the neighbouring deep,

Still its long shadows o’er the billows sweep,

Amidst the day send forth unreal night,

Its vastness stretching on the distant sight.


As, glorious though in flight, they sought the Main

The valiant Wright sunk wounded on the plain.

Between this World and Death, the misty line

Placed as Life’s Barrier by the hand divine

His soul had touch’d! when cordial pity flew

And back to Earth his wavering Spirit drew.

Douglas its minister, to whose high heart

Feeling and Courage equal warmth impart,

S2r 259

Defying danger caught him from the foe,


And, saved from death, his cheeks with health soon

The Ravelin’s progress gallic arms oppose,

Yet midst attacks their crescents boldly rose.

Their sturdy aid contribute venturous Turks,

Who seize materials from th’ invaders works!

Each side the foe’s approach the cannon roar,

Incessant thunders die along the shore,

That their own cannon thus their ranks laid low

Encreased their fury, heavier made the blow!

The fleet of Hassan, Turkish Admiral. long delayed, appear’d,

Towards the Mole the throng’d Corvettes were steer’d,

To gain the Town before the Bey could land


Was the high point, for numerous was his band.

Battalions of Reserve the Camp now leave

Distinguish’d glory hoping to atchieve,

Thier eyes dart hope, sure Victory declare

As gaudy ensigns hurry through the air.

Whilst Hassan’s Troops are still of winds the sport

The Troops of France spring forward to the Fort!

Now Victory seems impartially employed,

Each side is beaten, each side half destroyed.

150 S2 S2v 260

Here, conquest on the bulwarks seems to reign,

There, the bold Sortie riots o’er the plain,

If, rashly, cries of Triumph Syrians shout,

Their foes as rashly deem commenced the rout!

For Victory sports now on capricious wings,

O’er Syria bends, or aid to Gallia brings.

Here, flurried troops confuse their mingled arms

As shifting files are urged by new alarms,

There, steady musketry in Vollies roars,

Or from a Line unbroken ceaseless pours.


All less fear’s lost, in greater that appals

As England’s ravelins fire their deadly balls

From Guns that, level to the Gallic flank,

Annihilation shot along the rank.

Soft Twilight’s gentle mission came in vain,

No more the Signal now to quit the plain,

And soon the Night her shades more thickly threw

And hid creation from the tortured view.

But, raging Battle gives its own dread light!

From Roofs on fire flames flash upon the sight,


Amidst the vast of sable æther soar

The dismal dirges of the cannon’s roar,

In flames sent forth in curving flight Shells glow,

And Death’s own beams his frequent murders show!

S3r 261

The Sea’s black surges catch the lurid ray,

And every billow foams with fiery spray,

Here Waves terrific drown the cannon’s roar,

Sinuous roll along and sparkle up the shore,

There, mounts of aqueous flame arrest the sight,

And Ocean heaves its Hecklas on the night,


Now, on their points the vessels seem to burn,

Or down Abysses dark to overturn,

Unquench’d the glowing masts again aspire,

The men ascending ropes of tortuous fire.

On shore, the Palms deception lift in air

And brancy Sycamores unhurtful glare.

Quick floods of flame bring out each darken’d hill,

Their rough contours with transient radience fill,

And gleam down every slope point every line,

And each sharp ridge with pencil’d fire define.


They pierce the Gloom which hover’d o’er the slain,

Revealing those who writhe convulsed with pain,

Here showing men who heave with doubtful Life,

There—where last Agonies have closed the strife!

The moans of pain are floating through the air,

The shrieks of Torture, groans of deep Despair!

That scene excites too torturous a sigh,

Where, as men kill, they’re slain—by others who must

S3v 262

Yet midst these Horrors, England coolly brave

Fought as triumphantly as on the wave!


The Sons of Albion glow amidst the fight,

And seek their foes out shrouded in the night,

Pursue, as forest lions do, by Ear,

Each, like the Lion, knowing not a fear!

As now the broken gloom of yielding night

Through inlets gave uncertain rays of light,

They saw above a battr’d Tower displayed

A Flag with conquest’s hated colours ray’d!

The Flag of France wide o’er the ramparts flew,

Insulting stream’d upon the Britons’ view!


—Dear-purchased Trophy! O, to place thee there

What gallant Spirits float now on the air!

Frindship, Ambition, Love, extinguish’d all

As from thy staff the stricken Warriors fall!

Throughout the night the Tower was fiercely storm’d,

Across the Ditch dread Traverses were formed,

To shield their passage, Traverses wherein

The Corses of their dead the French built in!

Thus far their hopes atchieved and labours crown’d,

War’s Transports fill’d their breasts on conquer’d

At distance rowing through the boisterious Bay,

The Boats of Hassan slowly made their way,

222 S4r 263

Surcharged with Troops. The hour was that of Fate,

All might be lost, the succour come too late!

The Tower half fallen bridged the neighbouring trench,

And made a sloping path-way for the French!

The English Leader with commanding eye

Sees where the Danger where the Hazards lie

And leads his Sailors quickly to the Mole,

A glorious Rivalship swells each man’s soul,


They pass the Postern, where the Syrians throng,

All hail’d Preservers as they rush along!

Prompt to the shatter’d tower the English fly

Whilst loud Huzzas of Victory pierce the sky!

The French resign the conquest of the hour

As the bold Sailors mount the shatter’d Tower,

Seize and reverse the haughty Flag that France

As proof of capture had presumed t’advance!

Though awed, th’ assaulters struggle up the Breach,

But, all who come within a Sailor’s reach


Feel the strong purchase of his ready Pike

Within the Breast or through the Helmet strike.

Nor do the Syrians’ weighty missiles fail,

With which the rising warriors they assail,

Who reel, and tumbling down the slope impel

The next advancing on the last who fell!

S4v 264

The Plain below sends upwards fresh supplies,

Successions, doom’d to fall, with boldness rise.

Thus, when in boisterous storms the Seas awake,

And billows sinking billows overtake,


With curling tops the frothy monsters storm

The jutting Rock’s impending craggy form,

The Rock, unstir’d amidst the raging foam,

Strikes wave on wave, and sinks them to their Tomb.

Smoothly majestic, full upon the Sight

Of those maintaining on the walls the fight,

Mount Cœur de Lion boldly rose, the hill

Its name, in Ages past, continues still.


There Bonaparte was station’d. On the Breach

Stood Sidney Smith.—Oh! whose the mental reach

To shew how flowed the Thoughts in either brain

As glance met glance athwart the martial plain,

The Form of either pressing on the view

As each the other’s stern Attention drew!

Thus stood two men, in Courage, Zeal, the same

But! each as anxious of a different Fame

As the two Seraphs, heading each their host,

To Milton vision’d on the heavenly coast!

The honest generous courage of his bands

Directing from the Tower, brave Sidney stands.

270 S5r 265

Aloof from friends, who range in crescent form,

Stands Bonaparte, the Regent of the storm,

On Richard’s Mount; but, not as Richard stood,

To Heaven pouring tributary blood,

To serve the Holy Faith, whose glorious sun

First rising here o’er all the Earth hath run!

No! but t’insult it in its native bed,

Where still its rays, in gleams obtuse, are shed.

His actions Vehemence and Wrath declare,

Your toil he cries, nor life, ye frenchmen spare,


Speed to the Camp, be all its engines rolled

Towards the Wall a Portal to unfold.

The British Chief upon the Tower remained,

His lofty mind to utmost Effort strain’d,

His eye excursive all the field embraced,

His sword the Sceptre of the bleeding waste!

Where’er it pointed, there the battle burst,

New strength it gave, reviving courage nursed.

On Sidney’s safety Acre’s weal depends,

The time-blanch’d Ghezar to the breach ascends,


Anxious from terror on his arm he hung

And round the Warrior obstinately clung.

“Forbear”, he cried, “from further risk abstain,

Retire and greet our Transports from the Main,

S5v 266

At you alone now whole Battalions aim,

To Achmet listen and to Syria’s claim!”

Soon as their eyes these generous contests reach

A rush of eager Turks secured the breach.

The Veteran guides now to the busy bay

Where crouded vessels fill the watery way.


O’er the full tide along the curving shore

The boats of Hassan spread, the eager oar

Its silver flashes up the shelving sands,

And fresh’ning wind each swelling sail expands.

Heroic valour beaming in his face

Sidney advances, and, with martial grace,

Receives the soldiers as they spring to land,

And hails and welcomes each advancing band.

His Eye inspires them, as the shores they reach

And hail him Guardian Genius of the Beach!


His figure new, but long revered his name

Beholding him the Turks catch martial flame,

The voice that hail’d them animated too,

The hand that touch’d them emulation threw

From its own nerve to every torpid heart,

They greet th’inspiring power his welcomes thus

Meanwhile, the slow french battering trains arrive.

The ponderous engines heavily they drive,

S6r 267

Half the sunk frames th’absorbing sand conceals,

All nearly motionless the stubborn wheels.


Tough sinew’d horses, struggling with the road,

To panting efforts, with their arms, they goad.

Brought up at length, before the Ditch they stand,

With each dread engine an attendant Band

Who guide them, drag them, force them, to the part

Where weakness yields and splinter’d fractures start.

These thunder at the Walls, those reach the Tower,

One aims aloft, one sends the mischief lower,

This an Ellipsis makes, that darts a line

True as the Telescope’s whose aim divine


For Herschell searches somes discover’d sun

Or finds where planets their Aphelion run.

The Catapults, the Battering Rams, of Rome,

Whose blows made very hostile town a Tomb,

Exciting terror at Earth’s utmost bound,

All their great powers in force mechanic found;

But their Celebrity from memory fades,

Howitzers, Cannons, Mortars, Carronades,

Their Strength, by chemic energy, surpass,

And, in their Swiftness, greater powers amass.


Ere the hot Sun with strait and downward ray

Had reach’d the scorching hours of middle day,

S6v 268

The Wall’s whole front corroding balls deformed,

North of the Tower so long so vainly stormed.

Broad ope’d the Chasm, loud the rumbling fall,

The Fortress trembled as rush’d down the wall,

With sudden Crash the Bulwark toppling came,

All lost in dust, in thundering roar, and flame!

A Pause, an aweful, silent, pause succeeds,

The Gauls, so long delayed, distrust their deeds!


Then, length’ning shouts of Triumph roll around,

The neighbouring Mountains every shout rebound,

To fill the cry each vies with loudest note,

An Army’s Triumphs in the concave float!

As the thick clouds of dust their veil withdrew

The Town was slowly open’d to their view!

The Streets, the Mosques, the Palaces, arise

And glad the rapt besiegers searching eyes.

The Britons there with Turks and Syrians stand,

And wait th’approach of the successful Band.


On the Pleine terre, by blooming gardens bound,

Their ranks extended guard the verdant ground,

On the Defensive they’re prepared to fight,

Nor march’d to charge, nor shunn’d th’invaders sight.

Continued Battle had exhausted all,

For pause, till Eve, the troops on both sides call,

S7r 269

The foe resolved to rest, the breach atchieved

Of rest will now no longer be bereaved!

When, all around, a threat’ning whirlwind dread

Prepares its ruin o’er the land to spread,


An aweful Stillness lulls the Region round

O’er structures Fate will level with the ground!

All creatures near with prescience cringe to Earth

All, in deep terror, wait the whirlwind’s birth!

Such seem’d the Silence that hush’d all the plain

That lately witness’d Battle’s boist’rous reign,

All Calm terrific! still and aweful pause

Destruction’s prelude oft by nature’s laws.

The Sun’s vast caverns, as it sunk below,

With lurid threat’ning flames appear’d to glow,


And Rock-work, fretted o’er with blood-red dies,

In heated glowing masses seem’d to rise.

Midst these the Source of Light pursued its way,

Earth sadly pensive at departing day!

Now, from a deep Defile, to Acre’s Gate

A Column moved in military state.

The issuing pomp majestically rose,

And thwart the noiseless plain its shadow throws.

S7v 270

The Sun behind advanced them on the gaze,

Relieved and taller from its level rays,


In growing darkness it pursued its route,

Sublimely aweful lengthening came out!

No Brightness to the pendent gorgets clung,

No sheets of Radiance o’er the armour hung,

Yet twinkling lights the shifting spear heads caught,

And with short Gleams the Bayonets were fraught.

The beams a thousand ways shot cross and cross,

And quivering stars from point to point they toss.

In Arab Desarts thus, on anxious eyes

Vast sandy Pillars luminous arise,


No steady flame upon their fronts they bear,

But, midst their gloom, quick Lights capricious glare,

Wild Lustres through their stalking columns glide,

As on, the bright Destructions slowly ride.

The Caravan uneasy wait their fate,

For Death to many brings the Beauteous State!

In numerous bosoms dread foreboding chills

They know too well th’ advancing Splendor kills!

Now Bonaparte the Breach compleated shows,

“I know,” exclaimed, “each heart to reach it glows

Frenchmen! where Britons move expend your rage

Till extirpation shall its thirst assuage!

S8r 271

Obtain The Garden, Conquerors obtain,

Or ne’er behold again your native plain!”

The French seek slaughter with incentive joy

Vengeance their bliss, their Rapture to destroy!

Whilst anxious Acre, not exempt from dread,

Their firm March watches, as they swifter tread.

They wait an army, proud, revengeful, brave,

Which comes with hope to make the Fort a grave,


But, British Tars advance! the mass inspire,

Their lowering rage to steady valour fire.

Their Fortitude returns, they dare the view,

In firm resolve, all that man may, they’ll do.

The Garden of the fort was doom’d the spot

To hold in dread Suspension Syria’s lot!

Asia and Gallia, met within that pale,

Must tempt their Fate till one of them shall fail.

Ghezar resolved that some might pass the Breach,

The Garden, vainly hoping capture, reach,


That there, by Turkish modes of warfare met,

They might to storm be taught no more to threat.

With prescience dread War’s Fiends ascend the air!

And hovering high, midst Evening’s glories flare,

Thence downward in a sanguine vapour shot,

They sink unseen around the destined spot,

S8v 272

The scent of Blood approaching there they quaff,

And clap their blood-shot wings, and big with horror

The Massive Column now had passed the Plain,

Close to the town advanced the shouting train,


There the fallen Bulwarks spacious entrance show’d,

O’er their late living friends their dreadful road!

Uncheck’d, they pass the wall they lately storm’d,

And see the English in the Garden formed.

With them alone, at first, the foes engage,

Who, by distinction pleas’d, soon turn their rage.

They dart upon the Turk, wind round the trees,

The shelter’d Turk his sanguine hunter sees

And springs to meet him! either hand is arm’d,

His foe by double weapons is alarmed.


He who avoids the tranchant Sabre’s blow

Aim’d by the parried Right hand of his foe,

Feels the prompt dagger of his practised Left

And thus, unguarded, is of life bereft!

As thick’ning Shades the eager eyes confound

By dubious vision, grow mistakes around.

The difference of garb unskill’d to trace,

As much of variance deep’ning glooms efface,

The turban’d warriors Friends mistake for Foes,

And aim, at those they’d worship, deadly blows.

460 T1r 273

Where Sidney’s Sabre falls, they think they know

The gallic General’s quick descending blow.

“’Tis our dread Enemy himself”, they cry!

Rush through the shades, and at the Briton fly.

All speech were useless, he’s compell’d to force

The mad’ning Islams to retrace their course.

Through Courage cool, his Aim was always just,

He parried all, yet spared a deadly thrust.

Where winged choristers were used to dwell,

The ear delighting by melodious swell,


Now tones of Anguish fill the leafy Quires,

As man, destroyed by fellow man, expires.

The Fountains which their rainbow jewels threw

Lustrous and sparkling on the morning’s view,

Resplendent jewels now bestow no more,

With foul streams taint the alabaster floor.

Defiled the myrtle haunts, there horror roves,

Danger reigns here, Fate riots in the Groves.

Now, faint and staggering from a deadly wound,

Some on the beds of snowy Lillies swoon’d,


The streaming life imparting crimson hue

The Lillies blush’d as pale the heroes grew.

There, midst the roses, others fall to die,

Breathing, in fragrant air, their latest sigh,

Vol. III. T T1v 274

As round a Victim streams of incense rise

Whilst on the Altar, bound with flowers, he lies.

Long had endured the tumults of the fight

E’er burst conviction on th’ assaulter’s sight.

In paths no longer trod the heap’d up slain

The contest’s issue dreadfully explain!


They saw that all was lost! they saw and fled,

The earth left loaded with deserted dead.

Strait up th’ ascent they spring, in dreadful throng,

And life, by rushing on the plain, prolong.

’Twas here two Generals own’d War’s equal hand,

Both fighting fell, Rombaud made fatal stand,

And sunk a Corse where late he towering trod,

And Lasne was borne half living from the sod.

The Troops that conquer’d elsewhere, beaten here,

When met by England own the reign of fear,


Escape in straggling parties o’er the plain,

Glad to reach shelter in their camp again.

Thus did The Battle of the Garden close,

And thus fled Bonaparte before his foes.


The Siege of Acre.

Book the Fourth.

Fate hath stretch’d its net to day

And it shall be drawn at night!

The Torch of Truth shall lend its Ray,

He who’s vanquish’d was not right!

T2 T2v T3r

The Siege of Acre.

Book the Fourth.

With early dawn all meet in full Divan,

The means of future self defence to plan,

In Asiatic Pomp to Council go

Their Senses wildering midst Gaud and Show.

External objects seizing on the mind

When abstract judgment calmly aims to find

In mental stores thoughts meet for Crisis high,

All fit Ideas chased by others through the Eye!

Here silken Net-works tinge the rays of day,

There perfumed Fountains round th’ apartment play.

The open Colonnades wide Gardens face,


Between each Interstice, each cooling space,

Tall fragrant shrubs their vivid scents pour out,

More rich than those the copious fountains spout.

T3v 278

The Amacanth and clustering Cusso twine,

Their Fragrance mingle and their hues combine.

Thus spring, whilst idly Eye and Ear they feast,

The vain State Counsels of th’ enervate East.

With Cedar heavy and intrinsic gold

The doors for Ghezar gradually unfold,


And, as the sounding valves are forced apart,

On the caught vision beauteous Vistas dart.

As bright Arcades diverge in different lines,

In graceful curves their mellow brightness shines.

Strain’d through pelucid walls come floods of light,

The beauteous Spar all Sun-beam to the sight,

Of neighbouring Syrian Fossil sweetly framed,

Half Marble, and half Gem, Phengites named.

Though slight Pilasters hung with flowrets rose

To break at intervals the eye’s repose,


No added tint the flowers the shafts display,

All was Phengites all inherent ray!

No part whose gloom requires the window’s aid,

Or Aperture is anywhere displayed,

Yet means of access close set tubes conceal,

Through which air’s healthful breezes freely steal.

Fortune’s famed Temple, rais’d in ancient Rome,

Thus built, thus dazzled those who sought their doom.

T4r 279

Before the town, and near the lofty scite

Whence the Camp’s glitter seized upon the sight,


A cord of minor mountains edge the plain

And form with blushing vines a purple chain.

Their surfaces all animate appear

Whilst dwell the Council on their Hope or Fear.

Beduines and Copts, and Druzes, Arabs, stand

To see whom Fate makes Masters of the land,

To mark which beaten foe submits to flight,

That there the fury of their arms may light.

Then will their shining Sabres quickly start,

And Daggers merciless seek each a heart.


Fierce on the fainting troops they’ll downward fly,

To purchase credit in the Victor’s eye,

Swell the proud triumph of his conquering name,

Partake the booty and enhance his fame!

An Arab Dervis Bonaparte now sent

To ask that War its horrors might relent!

Without the walls in rank corruption lay

The gallic dead of many an added day.

Column on Column still unburied there

Made rife with Pestilence th’ infectious air,


And Bonaparte demanded of the Chief

To grant, t’immure the dead, a short relief.

T4v 280

Enamour’d of themselves, each strove to shine,

With flimsy art weak arguments they twine,

The Yes the No in every light was placed,

By Reason tortured, or by Brilliance graced.

At length was summon’d to the gorgeous Hall

The English Leader, prompt t’obey a call

When deeds of Mercy were to be resolved,

And generous actions in debate revolved.


Anger had pause, wild Altercation rest,

Silence on every lip his finger pressed.

Amidst an Islam’s prince’s stern Divan

He, first instructed how the current ran,

Found means t’impart rules from another law

Of Faith than their’s that sprang by cruel War.

Wonder’d, where Duties were so clear and plain

Debate a moment could its wiles maintain,

Enforced that, all prepared, due time be given

For acts becoming man, approved by Heaven.


Each thought was cogent, for his Feelings glowed

As mercy’s Policy he clearly showed,

For those within Infection had not spared,

In numerous eyes delirious fever glared.

The Syrians yield, for none are so obtuse

His reasons move not, they decree the Truce.

T5r 281

Lo! whilst the Dervis stood in the Divan,

There summon’d to receive th’ adjusted plan,

E’en whilst the peaceful Flag of Truce he bore!

Th’ astonish’d Council hear the Cannon’s roar,


Feel falling Shells the flat roofs o’er them shake,

And Syria’s welfare is again at stake,

As those, who wish’d war’s Horrors might relent!

Athwart the Breach in strengthen’d numbers went,

In hopes their Vengeance they, at length, might sate,

Whilst held the turban’d senate their debate!

The French Commander had resolved at length

By Art to win, what paralysed his Strength,

To gain by Feint, to capture by Surprise,

The town where, unredeemed, french honor lies.


Name must be his, by any means obtained,

Means graced by virtue, or by Vices stain’d!

The Band dispatch’d had borne across the land

To Kleber’s wish’d for troops the late command,

The hardy troops that had encounter’d death

Between Mount Tabor and famed Nazareth;

Drawn in that form where Valour Death derides,

Firm in the hollow-square’s impervious sides

Had forced Ten Thousand Turks aloof to stand

Whilst rose the sun and set upon the land.

110 T5v 282

They hear, with martial promptitude obey,

Their camp break up, arrive at Acre’s bay.

Their smile but ill suppress’d, when heard the tale

Of the long Wonders of the martial vale,

How oft the brave Republicans had fled

How oft, in vain, their choicest Heroes bled.

Swiftly descending from the tented height,

Resolved to shew how Heroes ought to fight,

New aid, new fire, new courage, they bestow


And thus are bright again the hopes of Acre’s foe!

“Frenchmen! high acts,” said Bonaparte, “invite,

’Tis England dares ye to the final fight!

For, the great moment is at length at hand

When Victory must elect its favorite band,

Lead on its front with her resistless car,

And crush at once the tumults of the war.

See where the British Standard blurs the air!

Let all the vigour of your wrath point there.

The Roman Eagle scarcely equal rose

To the deep terror of barbarian foes.


As their bold Standard on the high wind flies,

Its Lions seem ascending to the skies!”

The Shot and Shells in Vollies pour’d around,

The aim to take by Storm, but soon they found,

T6r 283

In turn astonish’d, Treachery was foiled,

Their Leader, e’en in Guile! had vainly toiled.

Both Turks and Syrians steadily receive

A foe known prompt at all times to deceive,

The English quite prepared to urge the fight

The contest destined to decide ere Night!


In aid of Justice, Valour is aroused,

And all the Furies of Revenge unhoused!

The British Chief at every point is found,

Support to give as Fate breaks Lines around.

He guides, he governs, he controuls the hour,

The wings of France beneath his Genius cower!

The Reinforcements share the common fate

Meet the same Prowess sink to equal state.

Yes! at these walls the lofty Kleber’s band

Own’d the proud prowess of a naval hand.


Again exhausted, beaten, and undone,

From forth the breach the French, all panic, run.

Close to their steps they feel their noblest foe,

And but to Swiftness partial safety owe.

The English, rapid as o’erwhelming waves,

As wild, as e’er the fiercest tempest raves,

O’ertake the rear, before them swiftly dart,

And facing, turn them, back th’ invaders start,

T6v 284

Start back in vain! Turks, Syrians, advance

Again drive on the vanquish’d troops of France!


With Eyes where reign’d Despair, with furious

The French Chief saw them in Retreat distress’d.

—How Asia dreads the spring the Tiger makes,

As from his stretch the prey he crouch’d for breaks!

With frame no less inflamed by fiercest rage,

His thirst of Vengeance hoping to assuage,

Thus Bonaparte, terrific in his might,

Recover’d here, now there, the faultering fight!

The french all loudly cheer’d where’er he came,

And filled th’ horizon with their Hero’s name.


And where He stirr’d, again Battalions fought,

Yet Victory’s Car, which thus untired he sought,

Eludes his grasp, as the Mimosa sinks,

And from unhallow’d touch retreating shrinks.

By him unaw’d, brave Syria kept her way,

Her’s now the Battle, her’s the glorious day!

Britannia’s seamen, upon Syrian ground,

His Masters in the war he mad’ning found!

—Where wert thou, Genius of dishonor’d France?

What other wrack employ’d thy distant glance,


That thus Syria thy forsaken bands

Sink unprotected under Victor’s hands?

T7r 285

In vain they rally, or in vain recede,

Their General’s humbled, his Battalions bleed,

As new fall’n thousands all around are slain,

War’s Demons raging sated o’er the plain!

Heroic fire in every bosom burned,

As from pursuit the conquerors returned.

To meet each fraud nocturnal of the foe,

And start at day-break to pursue the blow,


No sleep is suffer’d to recruit their powers,

The anxious night is passed upon the Towers,

Each searching eye, creative thought, awake,

So deep the interest, so immense the stake!

—Who can contemn if, glowing from the fight,

Illustrious actions they discourse through night,

And each relates the story of his deeds,

Whom he withstood, or by what Chance he bleeds?

Night’s shades that lingering o’er earth had hung,

Fled down the Mountain, and bright dawn was sprung,

Stood on the lofty rock with timid beam,


Then pour’d more copiously day’s vivid stream.

As objects open with the crescent light,

What thrilling view enchants the Syrians’ sight!

Each thought sought Heaven, and each bosom swelled,

As Acre this triumphant scene beheld,

T7v 286

Beheld the foe abandoning the plain!

Where, torturous months, had raged their savage reign,

Viewed the last stragglers of the desperate host

Full swiftly winding round th’ incumber’d coast.


The French, more easily themselves to save,

Their Mortars, Cannon, to the Ocean gave.

Their works forsaken and encampment prone

Their next atchievement—in the night they’re flown!

The British Gunboats winding with the flood,

Marked all their harrass’d path of flight with blood,

Round every angle dreadful slaughter sent

As round each angle chased Battalions went.

Whilst British wrath pursued them as they fled,

Copts, Druzes, Arabs, track’d them by their dead.


Egypt they sought, the future hapless stage

For fruitless enterprise and gallic rage.

From rescued Asia thus the french chief flies,

His Afric Laurel thus in Asia dies!

All chance of sanguine march through which is

The Path of Alexander! thus is barr’d,

’Gainst him who hoped to march to India’s plains,

To every Court where Eastern Britain reigns,

To every Mart her Commerce makes its own

Beneath proud traders reigning from a Throne!

230 T8r 287

—As, pierced remotely in a fruitful limb,

The purple jewels of the vine are dim,

Its clusters shrink, its ruddy drops exude,

And, through its branch, the trunk itself’s subdued,

So Britain’s strength, though shunn’d on Britain’s

Inflicting distant wounds his daring thoughts would

Whilst Rocks and Oceans borne on æther fly,

Roll their huge forms and glide amidst the sky,

If Bright Celestials e’er the Earth pursue,


Gazing! as man’s unsanction’d schemes catch view,

Smile, as the Wisdom of the mighty fails,

And mark grave Error as he haughty sails,

Ne’er fail’d a wilder purpose to their view,

Since midst the air the stranger Earth first flew,

Curved by Attraction into circling race,

As forth it sprang amidst th’ Abyss of space,

Ne’er known a vaster project melt away

Than this great scheme of many a frenzied day!

Sidney! with Bonaparte’s expiring sigh,

On Thee will still be fixed his mental eye!


For none before e’er stain’d his martial fame

By flight inglorious coupled with his name.

T8v 288

Thus, these famed Troops, with all their vaunted

’Gainst British Tars on shore! were Frenchmen still.

Ah!—why not english tactics always plann’d

For either warfare, that of Sea or Land?

The dress, a mingled Uniform, might show

On Land or Sea they meet their country’s foe!

Their Realm high water mark on every strand,

O’erleapt when Justice summons to the land.


Can warlike prowess, shown, midst Ocean’s roar,

Desert the Hero on descent on shore!

In skilful Slander french finesse is shown,

England take rank as naval power alone!

That, Land or Sea, alike she beats her foes

The Tale Of England’s Warlike Spirit shows:

Whilst War raged solely o’er the Continent,

And, in highways to Forts, its fury spent,

How then fought England? Cressy! Poictiers! say,

And Agincourt!—high Themes for Poet’s Lay.


What Victories these! They not, as Gallia’s, shine

By double numbers to refresh the Line!

England’s victorious fighting treble foes,

Not strength of Number, force of Valour, shows.

When, in the constant changes of the World,

To Colonies all nations sails unfurled,

U1r 289

To war’s new objects Seas were now highways,

That England’s naval now—is loftiest praise!

Her Soldiers, quickly gliding o’er the seas,

With Genius versatile The Trident seize,


French narrow genius from th’ adventure shrinks,

Tries the new Element, at length, and sinks!

To Land the Battle shifts, Mars rules once more,

Our Heroes blithly spring again on Shore!

Their Military Genius mean time waned?

How’s this? Has Sloth their antient prowess stain’d!

Does modern history show degenerate race—

The Sons, not even to their Sires! give place.

Through Europe, widely Marlborough’s praises roam,

Wolfe’s in America for France driven home!


They’re driven from Egypt! Afric sounds our fame,

In Asia major India joins th’ acclaim.

Shouts for our Victories, from each Quarter rise,

In Asia minor—list! How Acre’s reach the Skies!

Delight and Gratitude the bosoms swell

Of all that o’er the rescued regions dwell,

Peace soothing Sovereign now again is their’s,

With all her Joys and interesting cares.

No more the dreaded Camp morn’s streaks disclose,

Or thwart the night the mutter’d Watch-word flows,

Vol. III. U U1v 290

No pickets hid in sombre shades relieve,

No foreign accent challenges—qui vive?

The distant hum, the clang of Arms, are past,

And Morn and Eve have varied calls at last.

Damascus gratefully the sceptre own’d

Of Peace by England thus again enthroned.

No more towards them Kleber’s troops will wind,

Along Abana’s streams by Balm-Groves lined,

Or Pharphar’s waves which swiftly dart along,

Through borders Art’s and Nature’s gifts enthrong,

As rich Cadambras, marble Cones, arise

And glimpse their features as the water flies.

The Sacred Regions! where rapt beings trod,

Who held entranced communion with their God,

Where, awed and thrill’d with heaven’s immediate fire,

The Prophet-Poets struck the hallow’d Lyre,

Where, rapt in Vision, years in moments flew,

Whilst unborn Ages passed for their review;

Thrones, not yet raised! decaying in their sight,

Great Empires blazing, glimmering into Night!


The Syrian troops at leisure journey home,

In Spice-woods loiter, and midst Cedars roam,

Where scents of Amra trees their sweets exhale,

Imparting perfume to the passing gale.

U2r 291

Now through a Citron-grove delighted march,

Or fragrant aisles which Myrtles overarch,

Whose Flowers hang o’er the Sabre’s dreadful edge,

As Mars and Flora peaceful marriage pledge.

He, who his Daughter’s agonies withstood,

Elcanor, pious, valorous, and good,


By safe return awakes again their bliss

As once more greeted with a Parent’s kiss.

In joyful cheeks the smiling dimples rise,

And blithesome pleasure future Care defies!

With them he yields his mind to placid joy,

And tranquil graceful cares their lives employ.

Danger no more, they rove through prostrate Dells,

Up Slopes of Palm, or o’er the verdant swells,

Whence Christian Towns and Monastries around

Enrich the view and consecrate the ground!


From their deep Shades are heard, at midnight hours,

Rising from forth the tall aspiring Towers,

the Hymns slow notes, as heaven-ward they ascend,

And sweet Enchantment to the Scenery lend.

The scoffing Turk is awed as round he treads,

And to disturb the holy concert dreads.

The following night, again he steals along,

And lists to catch the soul-inspiring song,

U2 U2v 292

The wish’d for tones awake, sublime and clear,

He bends his head and every sense is ear.


At length, o’ercome, the rapturous tears effuse,

And glitter on his cheek like Hermon’s dews.

A Proselyte half formed he moves away,

But, oft returns, and greets the closing day,

Which leads him ever to the hallow’d bounds

Where all his Soul’s absorbed in sacred sounds!

The British Chief departs now from the plain,

His Fleet, midst Acre’s shouts, glides o’er the Main.

To view the glowing sails all still attend,

As, by the Sun illumin’d, they descend,


Incessant Blessings greet him from the shore—

Acre’s all grief when seen the mast no more!

Still, still, they search his course with straining eyes,

And shout their grateful praise across the skies.

—With fond regret his footsteps oft they tread,

Invoking Joys on their deliverer’s head,

Point out where first he moor’d, where first he stood,

The greeted messenger of every good,

Speak to their children of his air his voice,

And shew the Home dinstinguish’d by his choice.


Thus, when pale Pestilence afflicts the Earth,

And every breeze gives fresh Distemper birth,

U3r 293

Health’s Angel, sent from Heaven, with balmy wings

Elastic through the Empyrean springs.

His healing pinions fan the boundless way,

Pass bordering Systems, brilliant midst the day,

Until o’er Earth the beauteous Vision shines,

Sails through the air—and as it moves refines!

As glowing vapours all around him sail,

His form, all beam, illumined web-works veil,


Conceal’d midst these, on gold-fret clouds he rides,

And o’er the regions of Contagion glides,

On suffering Provinces his vial drains,

Supplies new strength, and mitigates their pains.

—His task performed, the Heaven-sent darts away,

To other realms he bears his healing ray,

But, though he thus recedes, a shining train

Of lingering precious lights will long behind remain!

U3v U4r


Written on Returning From a Party,
in Which It Was Spoken Lightly of
As a Study For a Gentleman.

That Chemic Labours studious hours beguile

Who shall contemn? or hear, with haughty smile,

That forth retorts and tubes new matter flies,

Rests in Receivers, or ascends the Skies!

Though ne’er personified were Chemic Powers,

In Heathen Temples, or in Druid Bowers,

Though ne’er on Altars were inscribed their name,

To them ne’er Column rose, nor Sacred Flame,

Though Greece and Egypt, bending e’en to clods,

Gave them no niche amidst their myriad gods,

Nor even Poetry hath Tablet given

To speak them, as they are, chief ministers of Heaven!

U4v 296

Yet, Chemic Powers, to you I raise my song,

My Numbers dedicate that pour along.

Second Creators! ’tis your mighty sway

Gives Ætna’s terrors, and its splendid ray,

Blanches the Polar scenes, imparts the glare

Of Northern Light that trembles through the air!

Beneath the Earth, its ponderous Strata too,

Its Gold, its Diamonds, are illumed by you.

But, you yet teem with Themes of higher worth,

Still greater Wonders owe to you their birth!

The Universal Menstruum’s piercing beam,

Of which wan Sages read, discourse, and dream,

Is only you! you the pervading Ens

Whose subtile fluid with all Nature blends.

On Earth, no Plant but by your influence rose,

From loftiest Palms, to lowliest Herb that grows,

The herb, thus rais’d, sustains with fragrant juice

The creatures Heaven destined for our use.

Thus Man’s at length sustain’d! with blood supplied

To swell his veins and through each artery glide.

From various orders, Form, and Tastes, it came,

Concocted and sublimed by Chemic Flame,

And o’er the frame extends its balmy course,

The form enlarges, gives each sinew force,

U5r 297

Mounts upward to the Brain, the Nerves attains,

Refines as flowing, and each Sense sustains,

The beams bestows that gleam in Woman’s eye,

And tints the blushes that arrive and fly!

The Chemic agency I still pursue!

And in its last, sublimest, office view.

The human frame, improved thus every hour,

Sustains now flights of Intellectual power!

Supports the Mind, that dares the starry way

Illumed and guided by the Problem’s ray,

His mind sustain’d, who saw conceived the whole,

Retain’d, for all men’s weal, a Newton’s Soul!

Its highest Office! Rich Potosi’s Mines,

The Wealth the vast volcanic Globe confines,

The clearing Whirlwind’s roar, the Earthquake’s throe,

The Wonders midst the troublous Deep below,

Each Grandeur, Beauty, which o’er Earth we find,

How far inferior all—to fostering Newton’s Mind!



Regrets, and Consolations, at Its Approach.

On Removing From a Summer Room
With a View Towards a Garden,
to a Winter Room, With a View Towards the

The Poet’s wand can make interesting the most trifling incident.
It is a Creator; it touches an Atom, a World springs forth!

Sweet Laurels, Poplars, Shrubs, Adieu!

The Season bids—I’m lost to you!

To sooth the thought we part so soon,

And chear my mind, I’ll instant tune

My pendant Lyre, which, long unstrung,

With drowsy Poppies hath been hung.

The Wreath Lethean off I pluck,

The Measure seize—the Chord is struck!

U6r 299

Our union fondly I’ll retrace,

Ah! as you wave with leafless grace,

Your rustling branches prompt my song,

The shrill winds but each note prolong,

Wild Minstrelsy the winds rehearse,

As wild, unshackled, be my Verse!

At my command ye hither came

From vulgar grounds without a name,

I planted, water’d, watch’d your youth,

And loved you with incessant truth.

Not as those love, who teach their eye

To glance a flattering treacherous lie,

Ah no! by all the powers of Rhyme,

I loved ye e’en beyond your prime,

Your waning charms, your sallow boughs,

Attached my cares, obtained my vows.

Poplars! I marked your spiral form,

Still lofty midst the louring storm,

Now, graceful o’er the tempest tower,

Now, bending, shed in gems the shower,

Then, rising, with the Moon-beam shine,

As set with Emeralds from the mine,

The Moon, whose Splendor clear and bright

With golden rays prevail’d o’er Night.

U6v 300

From cheering dreams, and sweet repose,

Each lustrous morn when I arose

If, hasty, o’er the stairs I flew,

It was, sweet trees, to look at you!

To see you on my windows play,

And o’er the Room your Shadows stray.

When Breakfast’s fragrant stream was pour’d,

In vain with News were Papers stored,

That Bonaparte strode over France,

And Europe led in fickle dance,

Forcing to hey, change sides, or set,

Monarchs who ne’er till then had met!

’Twas all, like—Paris Modes—passed by,

Nor half a minute caught my eye.

I ceased to read, forgot to sip,

Scarce Tea or Roll approach’d my lip

From frequent Pause, to look at you

All bright with bloom and morning dew.

Sweet Shrubs! each vernal month that passed

Beheld ye fairer than the last.

To tend you was my Summer’s toil,

As Suns drew juices from the soil

And made them rise within your rind

Leaving their coarser dregs behind;

U7r 301

Bestowing Organs, breathing pores,

By Breezes nurtur’d from the shores

Whose strong vibrations quick propel

The mounting sap from cell to cell.

’Twas thus you rose to lofty height,

Imbibing sustenance from Light,

Celestial food bestowed on plants,

To give the hue which all enchants.

When first the Nymph of Eden’s bowers,

Awoke to Life, and bloom’d midst Flowers,

As she surveyed her blest abode,

Each nerve with thrilling pleasure glowed!

She rose, and graceful trod the earth

Thus gifted with a second birth.

Beauty on beauty charmed her eye.

The mount far off, the River nigh,

The morning Sun ascending slow,

The hues above, the tints below.

As Aloes, Sycamores, she found,

And Myrtles shedding Odours round,

Beheld Palmettos dart so high

They seem’d ascending to the sky,

Groves pendent with unfading Flowers,

Unknown but in fair Eden’s bowers,

U7v 302

She felt She was with keener zest,

And stood entranced, entranced and blest,

Rapture succeeded Wonder’s place,

And fervent Transport beam’d her face!

—Near half the bliss of Eve divine,

Ye Poplars, Laurels, hath been mine,

Nay, I had joys, to her unknown,

A Planter’s joys were all my own!

But, now!—to dull December street

I lingering move, with wavering feet—

December street! but how endure

Your filthy state, your air impure,

Your Patten’s clink, your Gutter’s rush,

Whilst from the roofs vile torrents gush?

Horrid――But, see! to chear the hours,

Whilst spring no mists, whilst fall no showers,

The streets are graced with many a Belle—

Tis dull no longer here to dwell!

The Sisters Walker glide along,

Round whom such varied graces throng,

Distinct each Character, and Mind,

To no one Model all confined.

The Carews like Geranium glow,

Immingled with the Lilly’s snow,

U8r 303

Revive the graces of the Dame Lady Carew, of Tiverton Castle.

From whom the lovely Damsels came,

Deck unsun’d streets with Beauty’s ray,

And render blithe the wintery way!

See Owen too before me move,

The widow’d Fair with eye of Dove!

And Strong, whose soft transparent frame,

Made Hymen rouse, his torches flame.

When Forms, like these, delight the view,

Ye Laurels, Poplars, what are you!

No longer now, sweet trees, I grieve

Your shaded room your haunts to leave!

Whilst falls no hail, or driving sleets,

I welcome deck’d December’s Streets!


A Charity Hymn.

What formed the Globe? what bade the Sun,

Whilst rapid Planets round him run,

In Splendor o’er them shine?

What sent the Spring to clothe the Earth?

What gave the Bounteous Autumn birth?

’Twas Charity Divine!

What gave to man Immortal Soul?

To whose wing’d Thought forms no controul

Creation’s boundary Line!

What sent a God, that soul to gain,

And save it from Eternal Pain,

But Charity Divine?

X1r 305

Ah! Ye who now these Mercies own,

And, grateful, bend before His Throne

Who lets not You repine,

Extend your mercy to our prayers,

Save us from Want’s too powerful snares!

By Charity Divine!

Such deeds will please beyond the Skies,

Such acts will e’en to Heaven arise,

If you, with Hearts benign,

And aiding hands, and ardent zeal,

Your proof of Love to Heaven seal

By Charity Divine!

Vol. III. X X1v 306

The Lame Youth. The Gentleman alluded to in this Poem, who is now no
more, had been subject to acute pains and lameness from early
life. The Poem is said to have been intended as a gentle corrective
of the ruffled Temper which sometimes thence ensued.

A Fairy Tale.

Faint rose o’er yonder hoary Tower

The silver crescent of the moon,

Not reaching yet her brilliant noon

For scarce had Day resigned the hour.

It threw its beams across the Vale,

Since that mild eve more moons have rolled

Than six and twenty years e’er told,

But, let us hasten to the Tale!

X2r 307

Queen Mab from forth her gold-cup bed

Leapt lightly on the scented earth;

Her fresh waked Spirits teem’d with Mirth,

And troops of sportive Fais she led.

On beauteous Insects quick they sat,

And chased Ephem’ri o’er the banks,

Then gravely march’d through Barley ranks,

Or drove to rest the drowsy Gnat.

When lo! on his paternal Lawn

The loveliest Child her Greatness spied!

In sportive circles, charmed, they glide,

And bounding like the woodland Fawn.

“Behold”, she said, “this charming Boy!

View his beauteous ringlet Hair;

This rose-dew shall confirm him fair,

I give him Taste, I grant him Joy!”

The Princely Oberon stole near;

Too much like mortal Husbands, he,

Too much like mortal Ladies, she,

It was not always Dove! and Dear!

X2 X2v 308

“So Princess! thus, at rising Night,

You ever quit your day retreat,

Mere Mortal’s infant sure to meet,

And torture my offended sight.

Perverse one, see! he gruffly cried,

Your bounteous Gifts I thus destroy;

I touch his frame—behold your Boy!

Dare not a Husband’s power deride.”

At the stern Angel’s strong arrest

The Patriarch’s firm sinew shrunk

In torturous pain the muscles sunk

Of him the Fairy Queen had blessed!

She wept! she scream’d! she tore her locks,

The Echoes seized her rending sighs,

And quickly sent them to the skies,

Or bore them ’gainst resounding rocks.

“Monster! she cried in fiercest screech,

That deed malicious I thus meet,

I give him Smiles, and Features sweet,

And Wit, and fascinating Speech.”

X3r 309

Contempt fierce Oberon expressed;

“Yet still”, he said, “my power thou’lt own,

Thou Vixen partner of my throne,

And feel my Anger is not Jest!”

The Smiles, and Wit, and Speech, thou’st given,

I powerless make. His Heart shall swell,

And there reserved Hauteur shall dwell,

Shifting Caprice, and will uneven.

“Ah!” sobbed the Queen, “Barbarian! Wretch!

Thy Power, alas! I long have known,

Always to thwart me is it shown,

To grieve me ever on the stretch.”

Her Tears—what Favorite weeps in vain!

Subdued the Elfin monarch’s ire,

Assuaged was all his wrathful fire,

And thus he sooth’d the royal pain.

Queen of my Heart! suppress those sighs

Spite of marr’d Symmetry I swear,

Spite of Caprice, and haughty air,

This urchin, Age and Youth shall prize.

X3v 310

My peach-lip’d Mab ’tis wrong to vex!

And, malgré all the Ills I gave,

This chosen, gifted, child shall have

More claims to please than half his sex.

When thy gifts reign, he’ll always please,

When Wit, Smiles, Sweetness light his face,

And eloquence unfolds its grace.

Should he to my reign yield, and teaze,

If he’s capricious, if he’s vain,

A frowning Sprite shall start to sight,

Whom Gnomes and Pigmies taught to write,

Ne’er vaunted Muse bestowed her Strain!

Sans Mercy, she shall goad his mind,

And gabble forth her words in haste,

By no smooth pause, no cadence, braced,

Wild as her walk, and unconfined.

Such sprites are mission’d to restrain

The smaller crimes of savage man,

That still elude the Law’s wide span,

Though giving wounds, inflicting pain!

X4r 311

With utmost rage she’ll swiftly dash

In Aconite her eager quill,

Abuse him with her utmost skill,

Prepare for every fault a lash.

A lovely Maid, of high descent,

Not yet divulged to Earth and day,

Shall guard, and make him con, the Lay,

Till of his sin he shall repent.

Carew, ’mongst mortals she’ll be named,

And Heralds shall her Grand-sires trace,

From english Belles of distant race,

And noble Knights for courage famed.

The ancient Castle of her Sire,

Shall many a filial Damsel boast,

Each Sister see a Rival Toast,

And each her Rival shall admire!

There too, where brilliant Virtues shine,

The Matron Beauty shall preside,

The Mansion’s star, the Master’s Bride,

A Model to her future Line!

X4v 312

When firm in manhood, if the child

Shall cherish only thy rich boon,

And all, I gave, assiduous prune,

They’ll hail him—bless’d of Mab the mild!

But, when he turns, sweet Mab! from thee,

And yields him to the mental foe

He forth his soul should strive to throw,

He then fierce Oberon’s shall be!

Nor shall the Castle Sylphs display

Whilst thus he yields, one chearing Smile!

No glance his gloomy hours shall guile,

But frowns corrective shall dismay!

The Queen ceased pouting, grew more calm,

Again caress’d th’ unconscious child,

Then, darted to a distant wild,

To bathe in soothing lunar balm.

But, every year she once returns,

To watch her object through a day,

To lure him from her husband’s sway,

And oft her eye with Pleasure burns!

X5r 313

But, when she finds he sinks to be

The Being Oberon designed,

Her little Fais, with pains refined

His Ankle grasp, invest his knee!

His bed in ardent pain is press’d

In many a torturous turn-about!

His Servants say he has the Gout,

But little Fais enjoy the Jest!

X5v 314

A Summons to Painting.

Think Charles The Reverend Charles Strong, Fellow of Wad: Coll:
now Rector of Broughton Gifford Wilts.
how seriously you vowed

Amongst Cassino’s anxious crowd,

Midst Boys, and Girls, and Matron-Belles,

And youths from grim collegiate cells,

That you’d oblige me, without feint,

And come, my Cabinet to paint.

Now should your indolence or pleasure

Waste moments Oxford gives for leisure,

Should you refuse me and declare

That you mean nothing when you swear,

May College-Warden call you hence

In spite of every fair Pretence!

X6r 315

Whilst here, staid Belles shall shut their doors,

And Whist, Cassino, ne’er be your’s.

Or may’st thou, dull through festive night,

But beat the Tambourine, and slight

Each deign’d request, each sweet advance,

To lure you to the buoyant Dance!

Though Lardner, our Del Caro toe,

Though Wood, smooth bounding like the roe,

Nay Duntze, with steps and air all Grace,

And Dennys with her smiling face,

Should these all beckon, thou shalt sit,

Midst Beauty yawning, deaf to Wit,

And rub, and jingle, twirl, and thumb,

With arm fatigued, and finger numb!

Culprit! my malediction shun,

Or fiercer threats your ear shall stun,

To my spoiled Cabinet repair,

Obliterate its vulgar glare!

Each vile compartment, at your thought,

Shall fade, and sink again to naught.

Then, in charmed circle take your stand,

Sketch with Taste’s selecting hand;

Copy the timid modest Flowers

With which Spring first decks Maia’s bowers,

X6v 316

Or trace a Goldfinch, let his bill

Seem opening with his Matin trill,

To float, midst Jasmines, warbling song,

Or where some pensile Willows throng,

Whose sweeping and attractive Shade

Seems for soft tears and pensive sorrow made.

Or, in your rage for the Antique,

Give us some Ruin, grey and sleek,

Each angle picturesqued by Time,

As tinted mosses each way climb.

Give us some Tower’s eternal Shade!

Or some drear Abbey’s ghost-trod glade,

Some Bridge, that grasps opposing shores,

Some Rock, o’er which a Cataract pours!

Or, show how Rhine its fierce waves drags,

Midst piled, o’erhanging, frowning, crags,

O’er which th’ Oak’s massy pillar heaves

Sublime the region of its leaves.

Sketch one that, deeply wounded, cracks

Though long withstood the ponderous axe,

And, Monarch of the centuried Wood,

O’er Rocks now plunges to the flood,

To drive swoln waves against the shore

In deepning murmurs long to roar.

X7r 317

From distant skies, with grandeur due,

Wild Scenery rushing on the view,

Attempt a solemn Evening sky,

Where forky deaths on Missions fly!

Pile massy clouds, all tempest driven

Athwart the mighty map of Heaven.

Let vivid breaks of blueish fire

Rush where the clouds from clouds retire,

And show, upon the Heath below,

Some touching scene of human woe!

Or from some Rock impel a Sire,

Whilst flames, that form his funeral pyre,

Display above some Mother wild

Grasping her lightning-stricken Child!

Let Drapery, all illumined, float,

Her arm, forth stretch’d, Despair denote,

And let her fixed and frenzied eye

Glance, almost, anger to the sky.

Are these too serious? Please your Will,

Obey its whims, awake your skill!

Nature and Art’s before you spread,

And midst their Miracles you tread!

Then give Imagination rein,

Nor any Flight of her’s restrain,

X7v 318

Oh! how I love her boldest flights,

In all she frames my Soul delights!

Imagination erst fulfilled

The vast Creation the Almighty will’d!

Formed from dim Chaos all we know,

The heavenly heights, the deeps below,

Bade the swift Planets upwards spring,

And glide within the Solar ring,

With Worlds strewed o’er the Milky Road,

And gave a Universe abode!

With milder beam, with gentler rays,

Within our little Orb it plays.

Trim Logic only hates its light,

And Demonstration, surly Wight!

Imagination chiefly gives

The Charm which in each Beauty lives.

But this, what gives to Senates glow,

To Pitt his Period’s vivid flow?

But this, what aids the Hero’s fire,

And makes sublime his deathful ire?

This is the Spell which life adorns,

And pleasures mingles with its thorns,

This the distinction Heaven bestows

On flaming Seraphs, this that glows

X8r 319

And makes the difference, vast to scan!

’Twixt them, and earthly sordid Man.

The Theme, so fruitful, asks the Muse,

A time the waning hours refuse,

Its Attributes would Pages swell—

Enough! to them, and you, farewell!

X8v 320

To A Friend The Lady of the Reverend John West Carew, of Bickleigh
; first married to the Reverend John Newte,, of Tidcombe

After Her Second Marriage.

In measure flowing, bold, or terse,

To hitch you in the Spells of Verse,

I’ve tried, Eliza, oft at Morn,

And when the Stars the eve adorn,

When from the North chill Winter fell,

With loud, continuous, horrid yell,

And when in silver tones the Spring

Bade joy arise, and nature sing—

Some fatal Charm was doubtless in it,

I ne’er could catch you for a minute!

Y1r 321

And will my pen then only pay

To giddy Youth the frolic lay?

And will my hand delay a strain

To one whose youth’s triumphant reign

Was felt by every swain around

Who all in Beauty’s Charm were bound!

On what new Trifle will it waste,

Imputed skill, imputed taste?

Alas! my stubborn, wayward, quill

Is ne’er obedient to my Will!

Conscience will stir! it stirs my hand,

To scribble Truth!—it cant withstand!—

“Impetuous, ardent, is your mind,

Almost to Agony refined

By cherish’d Feeling. In your spite

Your pen thus, conscience-stirred, will write!

If, Poet weak! you fail your Theme,

If through the verse no sparkling gleam

Of Wit and Fancy can be found,

No well turned phrase, no thought profound,

If Reason fail, if Numbers halt,

Why to your Pen impute the fault!

All, you directed, it hath done,

And, in the track you prompted, run.

Vol. III. Y Y1v 322

Tyrant! it longs to quit thy yoke—

Yet come! some sing-song Sprite invoke,

Look upwards to the golden air,

And breathe a fond invoking prayer;

Poetic Genii may descend,

O’er you their brilliant pinions bend,

New inspiration may impart,

Awake your Mind, excite your Heart,

Aid you due praises to bestow,

With Truth’s firm hand, with Friendship’s glow,

On her whose youth by Love was crown’d,

In whom sweet Beauty’s Lines were found.”

Ah! surely I have known you fair,

As though your food were lucid air,

Have seen your kindled spirits fly,

Dart in blue flames from either eye,

Nor vainly did the lightnings fly

Shot without aim from either eye,

To every glance was Worship paid,

Ere veil’d beneath its fringed shade.

Enchantment lived where’er you trod,

The pleasures waited on your nod,

The Virtues too your track pursued,

And in your acts their Influence viewed!

Y2r 323

Thus did your early Lustres glide

Ere came the year that hail’d you Bride!

And thus you led your married life,

A blest, adored, adoring, Wife.

How little prized all I could say!

You fired a Classic Husband’s Lay!

Who filled a Volume to your name,

And gave each separate Grace its fame.

My verse can little charm your ear,

Will cause no thrill, will swell no tear,

Ah! to a Married Lover’s Lyre,

Faint is each other’s Harp and cold its fire!

But, Heaven at length to you decreed

Its highest boon, a trying meed;

Assay’d with Sorrow! bade the dart

Wound, deeply wound, your widow’d Heart.

Grief so intense, still, but refined

The heart thus tried! and gave your mind

A softer shade, more tender tone,

As flowed for him the pensive moan,

Who greater Joy could never find

Than, pleasing task! t’enrich your mind

With every added charm and grace

For which there yet remained a place.

If the first Artist of the day

In full Perfection to array

Y2v 324

A favorite Portrait of the age

With necromantic art engage,

He blends his tints, his hues he spreads,

And, rapt, before the Beauty treads,

Excited by a fire divine

Gives Sense in every added line!

In all the splendor he conceives

The colours stand; he next believes

A mellowed shade hung o’er the whole

Would bring it nearer to the Soul,

The shade is given, the work is done,

Immortal as the rolling Sun.

Such finish Newte bestowed on you,

Watch’d the sweet progress as it grew,

Then, left the blessing to Carew!

Again doth Hymen grace your life,

Again you live an honour’d Wife.

Serenest days, the filial kiss,

With sweet domestic chearful bliss,

Enliven each succeeding morn

No longer pensive and forlorn.

Again a Husband’s taste you prove,

With Learning soften’d down by Love,

No purer joy can e’er arise

To being favoured from the Skies!

Y3r “325

An Epistle Remonstrative.

To a Lady. Miss Walker. Now the Lady of the Reverend John
of Tiverton.

Last night, when hurrying up the hill

The Chairmen at your nod stood still,

Like Statues fixed were they erect,

And doff’d their hats in mute respect—

What now? thought I—what’s all this state?

Why must I linger here so late?

Whist and Cassino, I not there,

Now all their Mysteries prepare.

As your fair face approached the glass!

Presto! my angry feelings pass.

After short chat, you promised, smiling,

(Nor thought I once you were beguiling!)

Y3v 326

That on next morn you’d pass an hour

With me embosomed in my bower.

A mind so pure, chastised, and nice,

Should ne’er indulge that petty vice

In sordid bosoms often found;

Where those fine feelings ne’er abound

Bestowed on you by Nature’s hand,

And Education’s wizard wand.

—Thee Education! I adore

Fountain of Morals and of Lore;

Heaven’s own hand-maid, ’tis thy throne

That rules the prostrate world alone.

“Good night”, we cry, “Adieu—Adieu!”

And off again the Chairmen flew.

Up stairs I ran, and there, behold,

Oh! such a scene I could unfold

Of gew-gaw cards, without one Beau,

And Ladies seated in a row,

Composed of married Belles and single

Whose tongues and pursed join’d in jingle!

“Five Points I pay, you owe me Seven,”

“There’s one for you, which makes us even.”

“We’ll cut again.” “’Tis all the same

Whoe’er cuts me her Luck will blame!”

Y4r 327

But why the Order pass’d to close

The doors that night against the Beaus?

All fine-spun snares were thrown away,

The Bonnets, Caps, and Draperies gay,

The richest Work, the lengthen’d train

Were plann’d, and shaped, and worn, in vain!

No matter! we’d what pleased us more,

Rich Orangeade in plenteous store,

Which Juno midst her Stars might drink,

And richer than her Nectar think.

Had Circe owned the precious cup,

Wise Ithacus had drunk it up,

Nor fear’d to be the Swineherds’ prey,

Nor turned his trembling lip away!

Next morn to gardening I went,

With man and maids; Morn’s oft thus spent.

Towards me thinking you might roam

And start at finding none at home,

I said—“Oh no! I will not shock her,

I’ll place a Ticket ’neath the knocker,

To say—‘Pray ope the door and enter;’

Message more plain I could not venture.”

Of Ills unconscious me awaiting

E’en from the trap that I’d been baiting!

Y4v 328

I, eager, to the Garden fly,

Enjoying the benignant Sky,

Which gave my Spirits lofty flight,

And made our labours seem so light!

Now, all my succours pleased I lend

To teach the stranger walk to bend,

The Gard’ner’s labour I confine

To form its course in curving line,

Where Pinks Carnation’s glories share

And shake their fragrance on the air,

Now praise his skill, and now decry—

When, sudden on my wondering eye

Rush half the Town within my wicket,

Attracted by my dubious Ticket!

Labour’s suspended, Work is o’er

And oh! what mischiefs I deplore!

Some over hills of gravel stumble,

Others amidst the fresh mold tumble.

Here they smile, and there they shriek,

This one looks grave, that aids some freak,

Crash go the Trees, Acacias fall,

Young Mountain-ashes, Syc’mores, all!

Moss-rose shrubs, Lychnis, Jess’mines mix—

I wish’d th’ intruders on the Styx,

Y5r 329

Yet laugh, and curtsey, and declare

They never were so welcome there!

But You! oh, false one! never came!

But Luck, to shelter you from blame,

Had placed your Mother in the Van—

’Twas well for you, Miss Mary Anne!

Your Mother’s soothing form I glanced,

All anger fled as She advanced!

Her voice of Harmony to hear

I’d close my eyes and blind appear,

No! harmony is in her face,

Where glides, midst dimples, matron grace.

It is that air, that voice, those smiles,

That lured back health, by sweetest wiles!

To him who, dearer than his life,

Owns her, with joy, his matchless wife.

Still may that dulcet voice, those smiles,

Secure him health by sweetest wiles!

Her Form be o’er him still inclined,

Conveying Comfort to his mind!

Now, that these sheets of flirt so full

May not all trifling seem and dull,

A Golden Rule shall close the last,

Anne! let your Memory grasp it fast—

Y5v 330

Your Word, once given’s a hallowed pact,

Dare not forget it, or retract;

It is a Bond in Virtue’s mart,

That pledges Sentiment and Heart!

Y6r 331

To a Lady.

Who Said “You only flatter me” “You would not put your Name to what you say.”

When from the lip a glowing Thought

In rapid words would burst away,

Why should a torpid Pen be sought,

To keep it, wavering, through the day!

Warm from the Heart, Thought dreads no test

Of critic ear that sifts the sound,

The Eye, the Manner, give it Zest,

The Language need not be profound.

But to the Pen the thought resigned,

How flat, how poor, the Language crawls!

Your search in vain a Glow to find,

Each word is cold, each period drawls.

Y6v 332

I only said that, when with You,

Improved, amused, the moments stole,

That you had Mind, and that you drew

From Nature’s bank within your soul.

What did I say that should compel

My Pen to fix it for the Eye?

Why on clear Truth for ever dwell?

As well write—“Stars are in the Sky!”

To pen such Truisms I hate,

For I a Poet was decreed,

And the firm voice of Sovereign Fate

Bade Fiction crown me with its Meed.

One Truth my pen shall still attest,

Though jealous Fiction frown the while,

That those who know you prize the best,

And all invoke your friendly smile!

H. Cowley.



The House of Braganza.

Written on the Departure of the Royal Family of Portugal
South America.


The following Poem is one of those found amongst
the Author’s papers. It is clear, from the Event it
celebrates, that it was written but a short time before
her Decease. In a Note the Authoer states, that is was
commenced instantly on receiving a Poem on the Death
of Lord Nelson, published two years after the decease
of the Hero—to this the commencement alludes.

The Papers of the day were announcing the Departure
of the Queen, the Prince, and the rest of the
Braganza Family for South America, and that the
Fleet was dispersed in a Storm.

Liveliness dictated the Measure of the earlier lines.
It is clear that the very serious turn the Poem would
take was not foreseen. It will be observed that, at
Line 33, the measure abruptly changes to the Heroic.
On this the Author made the following Note—

I know not what to say about the altered Measure
of the Verse, into which my pen slipt without giving me
the least notice. If it is not an actual Beauty, it is a
serious Fault. I can only say that the Measure was
governed by the Subject, and it was its swelling Interest
that led me into the Error, I was unconscious of it.

In the first sketches of her Poems, she not infrequently
fell into such Errors, accepting the licence so
to call them. The Author in this Note was writing
Prose; had she been writing Poetry she would have
called it Inspiration!



What! Lines on Nelson’s ghost again!

Why not run back to Blenheim’s plain,

And dig a Hero from its Turf?

Or call brave Hosier from the surf,

Or John O’Gaunt raise up once more,

Or Cæsar, who on Tiber’s shore

Made such a crash that every Muse

Sprung up at once, and all the Crews

Of Bards and Bardlings round their Hill

Sung he out-did the Son of Phil!

Why the oft beaten track pursue?

And slowly twine a withering Yew

For one by every Witling sung,

By Maids and Widows, Old, and Young,

Y8v 336

For one whose trite, oft-chaunted, ditty

At length annoys both dull and witty!

’Tis but a new-born Theme sublime

Can e’er inspire the mystic Rhyme,

That starts the latent prison’d tear,

Bids ardors flame, or chills with fear,

Gains empire o’er the tranced Soul,

And holds the Passions in controul!

The true Bard doth, with lightning ray,

Point out, the Object for the day,

Rushes before the voice of Fame,

Lifting on high some chosen name,

Which must be honoured must be proud,

Because the Poet so hath vow’d!

Some Bard inspired! look forth and see

A lofty Thesis start to thee!

Mark with thine eye the boisterous surge,

Where Royal Squadrons cautious urge

Their awful flight! Oh, trace their foamy course,

And all thy Genius to the subject force.

Nor fear thou’rt tasked but with a darkling theme,

To Time’s last Wonders will its Splendors stream!

Not harrass’d thus sailed Egypt’s guilty Queen!

With silken sails She skim’d the seas serene,

Z1r 337

Lisbon’s pale Queen toils on by Tempest tost,

Of Crown bereft, and e’en her Country lost.

His Sire, from Tyrant power, Æneas bore,

Her Son transports her to a safer shore—

Ah! in fell rage did Grecian Powers employ

Their savage wiles to desolate proud Troy?

Still doth a Greek descendent scourge the World,

O’er half Earth’s ramparts are his Flags unfurled,

Empires beneath them bow, with mutter’d groans,

As he seats Murderers on their ancient Thrones!

But, Lusitanians breathe not to complain,

They launch their Fleets, and dare the boisterous

The boisterous Main, in all its horrors drest,

Receives the victims on its turbid breast,

Who strain their eyes to Lisbon’s beauteous bay,

Till height’ning billows intercept each ray,

And, skreen’d by liquid sand, and thick’ning ooze,

Its beauteous Amphitheatre they lose.

In the mind’s eye the Fleet darts on, they land,

Where thundering Forts salute along the strand.

The Regal Wanderer, unsubdued by Toil,

Springs a new Sovereign on a loyal soil,

Sees Cities, Provinces, the Presence greet,

Sees a formed Nation at their Monarch’s feet,

Vol. III. Z Z1v 338

Whilst glow heroic, and tumultuous joy,

Inspire their Hearts, and every fear destroy.

Pass o’er the Noons to fresh enchantments given,

Nor dwell on midnight splendors, almost Heaven.

Stop not to paint gay Months, nay years pass by,

Dart o’er a Century a prescient eye.

Perceive to every European Art

Th’ enchanting Climate added Zest impart,

The Daughter graceful in her deck’d attire,

The Son instructed by his polish’d Sire.

See Europe’s Forms with Tropic whim combine,

In fond alliance through their desarts shine,

The graceful Union wake a local taste,

As Architecture decks each sandy waste.

Pilasters pierced festoons of carved-work fling

Round beauteous Villas as from earth they spring.

Polish’d, and tinted with cerulean dyes,

Pavilions roof’d with Cocoa-shells arise,

Whose Convex Forms such lovely Lightness know

As ne’er from strait-lined slopes was taught to flow.

Upwards through Chrystal tubes cold Fountains start,

And multiformed, as ever daring Art

Can new Ideas, wild or classic, frame,

Shapes rise which yet can boast nor life nor name.

Z2r 339

Through late dry voids behold the riv’lets creep,

Or o’er the crag the living streamlets leap,

Dash down the Dell, quick from the shiver’d rock,

Or glide around and quench the red fleeced flock,

Whose fibry shag, filled by the sun’s strait beams,

Through the thick hour of zenith’d darkness gleams.

But ah! how much, how far beyond all these,

How far transcending Taste, and powers to please,

Is the blest gift th’ expatriate Soveriegn bears,

To Salvador’s rich coasts, and Rio’s heirs,

Oh! my Nerves thrill! all trembling, I refrain,

And my receding hand denies the strain!

Seize, Bard inspired! the Theme, and boldly show,

Whilst thy rapt mind is filled with pious glow,

The Hills where future holy Fanes will stand,

And fill with songs of Praise the Christian Land!

Altars, at which the Sacrifice is Prayer,

A Creed, which stamps lost man Heaven’s hallowed

To raise Devotion to its noblest glow,

Grant every grandeur feeling can bestow.

The pealing Organ, swelling to the wind,

Will all its Stores of Harmony unbind,

Whilst Voices rich its Diapasons aid

In shades of matchless Melody arrayed,

Z2 Z2v 340

And stranger-music to the Southern Pole,

In vollied streams, its airs sublime will roll!

And as the long benighted wake in Light,

All their coarse Orgies in eternal flight,

Point out their worship’d Sun assigned its place,

No more a Godhead, fill a Creature’s space,

Whilst bursts an Uncreated Sun around,

To pierce, with rays divine, the dark profound!

To show, on High, how sinners freed can pray,

Will rapid Seraphs wing their fragrant way;

On every Morn’s attenuated gale

Cherubic Messengers will bear the tale,

And to the raptured haunts of peopled Heaven

Recount triumphantly the bounties given.

Proclaim that Gentile Nations fast are won,

And wide established The Redeemer’s throne,

That the faint Indian, in the central Mine,

Is cheer’d by sacred writ and Hope divine,

Darts in his thoughts beyond his dreary home,

And, ruminates on bliss, amidst a breathing tomb.

For, even there, Angelic Harps may sound,

And heavenly music fill the Caverns round.

There, where the Diamond gains its restless Ray,

And chemic glow-worms shed refracted day,

Z3r 341

Celestial Shades e’en thither may have hied,

And o’er the tesselated gems may glide,

Sweet Consolations breathing as they go

Imparting transports to the sons of woe!

Where through its regions can earth’s Surface boast

A Dome, like theirs, to lure th’ immortal host?

Whose buried labyrinths their wiles unfold,

Silver’d in viens, or corrugant with Gold.

Where doth one Palace, raised by Human Powers,

Own Ruby colonnades, or Emerald Bowers?

Are sparkling Roofs that nurture living Gems

Built near the Ganges? or the wealthier Thames?

Some teach Bright Beings glide in Upper Air,

Doth fixed Necessity confine them there?

Ah, no! through all the works of God they rove,

Fresh Wisdom gathering here, beneath, above,

Each Element Celestials claim and know,

In cold Glaciers dilate, and midst Vesuvius glow.

Thus may in Mines where Slaves pour forth the sigh

Descending Hosts of pitying Angels fly,

With Visions cheer them, soothing their distress,

And, with sweet Hopes, their hurried slumbers bless.

’Tis happiness on Earth, such bliss to hope,

And give exhilarating Prescience scope,

Z3v 342

As the whole Soul is charged with Sacred Lore,

And Meditation heaven-ward makes us soar

To scan the vast events by Prophets told,

In time obscure bound up, in Ages roll’d.

They now, e’en now, unfold before our eyes,

Braganza with the glorious burthen flies!

They fly, unconscious of the heavenly load,

Nor feel impelled by Bethlehem’s Mighty God.

In vain the winds contend, the Tempests rave,

Through Bethlehem’s God! they triumph o’er the

Braganza’s bark shall on the breakers sleep,

Though Satan stir the demons of the deep.

For as Th’ Incarnate spake in days of old,

He now begins to form his mighty Fold,

Whilst Hallelujahs through Heaven’s concave rise

Midst Systems hung successive through the skies

In Mercy guides his creatures to their Heaven,

Their Souls by faith sustain’d, their trespasses forgiven!

Z4r 343


After Thaw-Flood. This Poem (the Author’s last!) was written after
a great flood in Devon, a few weeks before her decease.
She sent for the man whose loss it was designed to
remedy, and who would not have directly begged, and
prefixed this Poem to a Subscription Paper which she
commenced. It procured him, for reading, from particular
persons to whom he was sent, all the relief he

Give Grief and Age relief! a bed

That sorrow may repose its head!

The sportive winds sprang up on high,

With feathery snow played through the sky,

The earth was cloathed, the hills grew white,

The shrinking Vales gave gelid light,

Z4v 344

The blanch’d Oak waved his hoary crown,

And shook his silver garland down.

Green wheat, just piercing through the ground

With tender blade from root profound,

A chilling element found there,

That check’d its rise to live in air.

That Spirit of dread Storms awoke,

The roaring winds their magic spoke,

Transformed to Torrents settled snow

And bade the dark brow’d tempests grow.

O’er Devon’s hills fierce waters gush’d,

And boisterous on the meadows rush’d,

They drench’d the Woodlands, choak’d the Plain,

Till all appeared one billowy Main.

Black clouds shot on in dread array,

And chased the last remains of day.

No spangled vault relieved the sight,

No soothing Moonlight graced the night,

But there the Pleiades were seen

Triumphant glittering and keen.

Old Thomas had some Goods, a Home,

Blest Charity uprear’d the dome!

His walls were bare, his floor was cold,

His food was scant, his garments old,

Z5r 345

Yet, he complained not, he’d a Bed,

On which his weary limbs he spread,

To which consoling slumbers stole

To whisper Heaven to his Soul.

Now he was absent, and the Flood

By nothing earthly was withstood.

In billows vast and uncontrouled

Strait to his Cot it furious rolled;

Through boisterous waves he struggled sore,

But could not reach his lowly door,

Yet, near the spot he trembling stood,

To watch the mischiefs of the flood.

Nine hours his chilly post he kept,

Whilst round and round the whirlwind swept,

A watery death about was sprung

And to his aged figure clung,

Embraced him close, his bosom froze,

And higher higher still it rose.

All trembling, yet his ground he stood

To watch the mischiefs of the flood.

At Morn, the Spirit broke his Spell,

The winds grew calm, the deluge fell.

Close to his Cot Tom near’d his feet,

’Twas high delight, ’twas comfort sweet!

Z5v 346

With Joy poor Thomas ope’d his door,

When lo! the pent up waters pour,

His hope to save his bed was foiled,

His Goods, his little stores, were spoiled!

Ye Rich! attend to Thomas’ Prayer,

Beauty! the old man’s loss repair,

Learning! be to his Miseries kind,

And Commerce! treasured stores unbind;

So shall each future fall of snow

Make your Minds thrill with chearful glow!

When lurid Norway’s blasts cause dread,

And mischiefs through the Island spread,

Each vulture wind’s most hideous yell

In your ears will prized Secrets tell!

And be as Music’s sweetest note,

Borne in the chearful Blackbird’s throat.

Then all restore! give Age a bed,

That sorrow may repose its head!

And here, closely on the very verge of her Life, and
with this act, ended this Author’s works.—The following
Tale could not with propriety be introduced in its chronological
order amidst her other productions.