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There in each breast each active power dilates !
So when forlorn, and lonesome at her gate,
"T was there, Oh, George! with thee I learn'd to join To yonder hill, whose sides, deform'd and steep, In Friendship's bands-in amity divine.
Just yield a scanty sust'nance to the sheep, Oh, mournful thought !-Where is thy spirit now?
With thee, my friend, I oftentimes have sped, As here I sit on fav'rite Logar's brow,
To see the sun rise from his healthy bed; And trace below each well-remember'd glade,
To watch the aspect of the summer morn, Where, arm in arm, erewhile with thee I stray'd.
Smiling upon the golden fields of corn, Where art thou laid-on what untrodden shore,
And taste delighted of superior joys, Where nought is heard save Ocean's sullen roar ?
Beheld through Sympathy's enchanted eyes : Dost thou in lowly, unlamented state,
With silent admiration oft we view'd At last repose from all the storms of fate?
The myriad hues o'er heaven's blue concave strew'd; Methinks I see thee struggling with the wave,
The fleecy clouds, of every tint and shade, Without one aiding hand stretch'd out to save;
Round which the silvery sunbeam glancing play'd, See thee, convulsed, thy looks to heaven bend,
And the round orb itself, in azure throne, And send thy parting sigh unto thy friend;
Just peeping o'er the blue hill's ridgy zone; Or where immeasurable wilds dismay,
We mark'd delighted, how with aspect gay, Forlorn and sad thou bend'st thy weary way,
Reviving Nature hail'd returning day; While sorrow and disease, with anguish rife,
Mark'd how the flowerets rear'd their drooping heads, Consume apace the ebbing springs of life.
And the wild lambkins bounded o'er the meads, Again I see his door against thee shut,
While from each tree, in tones of sweet delight, The unfeeling native turn thee from his hut:
The birds sung paans to the source of light: I see thee spent with toil and worn with grief,
Oft have we watch'd the speckled lark arise, Sit on the grass, and wish the long'd relief;
Leave his grass bed, and soar to kindred skies, Then lie thee down, the stormy struggle o'er,
And rise, and rise, till the pain'd sight no more Think on thy native land-and rise no more!
Could trace him in his high aërial tour;
Came wafted slow the wavy breeze along;
And we have thought how happy were our lot, Survey thy friend in life's dismaying road!
Bless'd with some sweet, some solitary cot, That thou couldst see him at this moment here,
Where. from the deep of day, till russet eve Embalm thy memory with a pious lear,
Began in every dell her forms to weave, And hover o'er him as he gazes round,
We might pursue our sports from day to day, Where all the scenes of infant joys surround!
And in each other's arms wear life away. Yes! yes! his spirit's near!—The whispering breeze, At sultry noon too, when our toils were done, Conveys his voice sad sighing on the trees;
We to the gloomy glen were wont to run: And lo! his form transparent I perceive,
There on the turf we lay, while at our feet Borne on the grey mist of the sullen eve:
The cooling rivulet rippled softly sweet: He hovers near, clad in the night's dim robe,
And mused on holy theme, and ancient lore, While deathly silence reigns upon the globe. Tof deeds, and days, and heroes now no more;
Heard, as his solemn harp Isaiah swept, Yet, ah! whence comes this visionary scene? Sung woe unto the wicked land—and wept: "T is Fancy's wild aërial dream, I ween ;
Or, fancy-led-saw Jeremiah moum By her inspired, when reason takes its flight, In solemn sorrow o'er Judea's urn. What fond illusions beam upon the sight!
Then to another shore perhaps would rove. She waves her hand, and lo! what forms appear! With Plato talk in his Illyssian grove; What magic sounds salute the wandering ear!
Or, wandering where the Thespian palace roso, Once more o'er distant regions do we tread, Weep once again o'er fair Jocasta's woes. And the cold grave yields up its cherish'd dead; While present sorrow's banish'd far away,
Sweet then to us was that romantic band, Unclouded azure gilds the placid day.
The ancient legends of our native landOr in the future's cloud-encircled face,
Chivalric Britomart and Una fair, Fair scenes of bliss to come we fondly trace, And courteous Constance, doom'd to dark despair, And draw minutely every little wile,
By turns our thoughts engaged; and oft we talk'd Which shall the feathery hours of time beguile. of times when monarch superstition stalk'd,
And when the blood-fraught galliots of Rome Yet grieve not I, that Fate did not decree
I look around me, where, on every side, While thus employ'd, to us how sad the bell
Extensive manors spread in wealthy pride; Which summon'd us to school! "Twas Fancy's knell. And could my sight be borne to either zone, And, sadly sounding on the sullen ear,
I should not find one foot of land my own. It spoke of study pale, and chilling fear.
But whither do I wander? shall the Muse, Yet even then, (for Oh! what chains can bind, What powers control, the energies of mind ?)
For golden baits, her simple theme refuse ! E'en then we soar'd to many a height sublime,
Oh, no! but while the weary spirit greets
The fading scenes of childhood's far-gone sweet, And many a day-dream charm'd the lazy time.
It catches all the infant's wandering tongue,
And prattles on in desultory song. At evening too, how pleasing was our walk,
That song must close--the gloomy mists of night Endear'd by Friendship's unrestrained talk!
Obscure the pale stars' visionary light, When to the upland heights we bent our way,
And ebon darkness, clad in vapory wet,
Steals on the welkin in primeval jet.
The song must close. Once more my adverse les But all was still, save when, with drowsy song, Leads me reluctant from this cherish'd spot; The grey-fly wound his sullen horn along;
Again compels to plunge in busy life, And save when, heard in soft, yet merry glee, And brave the hateful turbulence of strife. The distant church-bells' mellow harmony; The silver mirror of the lucid brook,
Scenes of my youth! ere my unwilling feet That 'mid the tufted broom its still course took ; Are turn'd for ever from this loved retreat, The rugged arch that clasp'd its silent tides, Ere on these fields, with plenty cover'd o'er, With moss and rank weeds hanging down its sides : My eyes are closed to ope on them no more, The craggy rock, that jutted on the sight;
Let me ejaculate, to feeling due, The shrieking bat, that took its heavy flight; One long, one last affectionate adieu. All, all was pregnant with divine delight.
Grant that, if ever Providence should please We loved to watch the swallow swimming high, To give me an old age of peace and ease, In the bright azure of the vaulted sky;
Grant that, in these sequester'd shades, my days Or gaze upon the clouds, whose color'd pride May wear away in gradual decays; Was scatter'd thinly o'er the welkin wide,
And oh! ye spirits, who unbodied play, And, tinged with such variety of shade,
Unseen, upon the pinions of the day,
Who were ****
THE FAIR MAID OF CLIFTON. Leading the embattled seraphim to war,
A NEW BALLAD IN THE OLD STYLE
The night it was dark, and the winds were high, Or saw, wide-stretching o'er the azure height,
And mournfully waved the wood, A ridge of glaciers in mural white,
As Bateman met his Margaret
By Trent's majestic flood.
He press'd the maiden to his breast,
And his heart it was rack'd with fear,
For he knew, that again, 't was a deadly chance The scene is o'er-still seasons onward roll,
If ever he press'd her there. And each revolve conducts me towards the goal;
"Oh! Margaret, wilt thou bear me true," Yet all is blank, without one soft relief,
He said, “ while I am far away, One endless continuity of grief;
For to-morrow I go to a foreign land, And the tired soul, now led to thoughts sublime,
And there I have long to stay." Looks but for rest beyond the bounds of time.
And the maid she vow'd she would bear him true, Toil on, toil on, ye busy crowds! that pant
And thereto she plighted her troth;
When she forgot her oath.
And the night-owl scream'd, as again she swore, In this short journey to the silent grave;
And the grove it did monrnfully moan,
And shortly he went with Clifton, his Lord,
To abide in a foreign land;
And she gave to another her hand.
And off the false one sigh'd,
She had broken her heart, and died.
And she begg'd they would sing the penitent hymn,
And pray with all their might;
And fetch me away this night.
With howls, the guests did hear;
And the singers they quaver'd with fear.
And now return'd, her Bateman came
And Marg'ret pray'd the Almighty's aid, To demand his betrothed bride;
For louder the tempest grew; But soon he learn'd that she had sought
And every guest, his soul he bless'd, A wealthier lover's side.
As the tapers burned blue. And when he heard the dreadful news,
And the fair again, she pray'd of the men
To sing with all their might;
And louder they sung for affright.
But now their song, it died on their tongue, She dreamed hideous dreams;
For sleep it was seizing their sense ; And oft upon the moaning wind
And Marg’ret scream'd, and bid them not sleep, Were heard her frightful screams.
Or the fiends would bear her thence.
On her brow stood the clammy dew,
THE ROBIN RED-BREAST. A VERY EARLY COMPOSITION. But the Lord he is just, and the guilty alone Have to fear of his vengeance the lash,
WHEN the winter wind whistles around my lone cot, The thunderbolt harms not the innocent head,
And my holiday friends have my mansion forgot, While the criminal dies 'neath the flash.
Though a lonely poor being, still do not I pine,
While my poor Robin Red-breast forsakes not my His justice, she knew, would spare her awhile
shrine. For the child that she bare in her womb; But she felt, that when it was born therefrom
He comes with the morning, he hops on my arm, She must instantly go to her tomb.
For he knows 't is too gentle to do him a harm:
And in gratitude ever beguiles with a lay
As the date of her earthly time;
What, though he may leave me, when spring again To expiate her crime.
To waste the sweet summer in love's little wiles, And she begg'd her relations would come at the day. Yet will he remember his fosterer long, And the parson would pray at her side ;
And greet her each morning with one little song. And the clerk would sing a penitent hymn, With all the singers beside.
And when the rude blast shall again strip the trees,
And plenty no longer shall fly on the breeze, And she begg'd they would bar the windows so strong,
Oh! then he'll return to his Helena kind, And put a new lock to the door;
And repose in her breast from the rude northern wind. And sprinkle with holy water the house,
My sweet little Robin 's no holiday guest, And over her chamber-floor.
He'll never forget his poor Helena's breast;
But will strive to repay, by his generous song, And they barr'd with iron the windows so strong,
Her love, and her cares, in the winter day long. And they put a new lock on the door; And the parson he came, and he carefully strew'd With holy water the floor.
WINTER SONG. And her kindred came to see the dame,
ROUSE the blazing midnight fire, And the clerk, and the singers beside;
Heap the crackling fagots higher ; And they did sing a penitent hymn,
Stern December reigns without, And with her did abide.
With old Winter's blust'ring rout. And midnight came, and shortly the dame
Let the jocund timbrels sound, Did give to her child the light;
Push the jolly goblet round; And then she did pray, that they would stay,
Care avaint, with all thy crew, And pass with her the night.
Goblins dire, and devils blue.
FRAGMENT OF AN ECCENTRIC DRAMA
WRITTEN AT A VERY EARLY AGE.
Hark! without the tempest growls :
In a little volume which the author had copied out, apparent
for the press, before the publication of Clifton Grove, the song with which this fragment commences was inserted, noder tie title of “The Dance of the Consumptives, in imitation d Shakspeare, taken from an eccentric Drama, written bg . K. W. when very young." The rest was discovered mang his loose papers, in the first rude draught, having, to all pearance, never been transcribed. The song was extractul when he was sixteen, and must have been written about year before, probably more, by the band writing. There » something strikingly wild and original in the fragment
Now repeat the freezing story,
Tell, too, how his ghost, all bloody, Frighten'd once a neighb'ring goody; And how, still at twelve he stalks, Groaning o'er the wild-wood walks. Then, when fear usurps her sway, Let us creep to bed away; Each for ghosts, but little bolder, Fearfully peeping o'er his shoulder.
THE DANCE OF THE CONSUMPTIVES
"Swinging slow with sullen roar." Dance, dance away the jocund roundelay! Ding-dong, ding-dong, calls us away.
That lovely cheek divine;
'That rising breast to mine. Sweet Jessy! I with passion burn
Thy soft blue eyes to see; Sweet Jessy, I would die to turn
Those melting eyes on me.
Thy form and face appear,
To buy them with a tear.
Round the oak, and round the elm,
Merrily foot it o'er the ground !
The sentry ghost,
It keeps its post, And soon, and soon, our sports must fail: But let us trip the nightly ground, While the merry, merry bells ring round.
Hark! hark! the death-watch ticks;
Our dance is done,
Our race is run,
Merry, merry, go the bells, Swinging o'er the weltering wave!
And we must seek
Our death-beds bleak, Where the green sod grows upon the grave.
SONG. Oh, that I were the fragrant flower that kisses
My Arabella's breast that heaves on high ; Pleased should I be to taste the transient blisses,
And on the melting throne to faint, and die.
Oh, that I were the robe that loosely covers
Her taper limbs, and Grecian form divine; Or the entwisted zones, like meeting lovers,
That clasp her waist in many an aëry twine.
Oh, that my soul might take its lasting station
In her waved hair, her perfumed breath to sip; Or catch, by chance, her blue eyes' fascination !
Or meet, by stealth, her soft vermilion lip.
They vanish.—The GODDESS OF CONSUMPTION de
scends, habited in a sky-blue robe, attended by mours
Cold the dews, and chill the night!
We'll ride at ease,
On the tainted breeze,
But chain'd to this dull being, I must ever
Lament the door by which I'm hither placed ; Must pant for moments I must meet with never,
And dream of beauties I must never taste.
The GODDESS OF MELANCHOLY advances out of a deep Dost thou, wan Moon! upon thy way advance
Glen, in the rear, habiled in black, and covered with in the blue welkin's vault - Pale wanderer!
Hast thou too felt the pangs of hopeless love,
That thus, with such a melancholy grace,
Thou dost pursue thy solitary course ?
Has thy Endymion, smooth-faced boy, forsook
Thy widow'd breast on which the spoiler oft
Has nestled fondly, while the silver clouds
Fantastic pillow'd thee, and the dim night,
Obsequious to thy will, encurtain'd round
With its thick fringe thy couch ?—Wan traveller,
How like thy fate to mine !-yet I have still
One heavenly hope remaining, which thou lack'st;
My woes will soon be buried in the grave
Of kind forgetfulness.—My journey here,
Though it be darksome, joyless and forlorn,
Is yet but short, and soon my weary feet
Will greet the peaceful inn of lasting rest.
But thou, unhappy Queen! art doom'd to trace
Thy lonely walk in the drear realms of night, And the grass shall wave
While many a lagging age shall sweep beneath
The leaden pinions of unshaken Time;
Though not a hope shall spread its glittering hue
To cheat thy steps along the weary way.
O that the sum of human happiness
Should be so trifling, and so frail withal,
That, when possess'd, it is but lessen'd grief!
And even then there's scarce a sudden gust
That blows across the dismal waste of life,
But bears it from the view.-0! who would shun
The hour that cuts from earth, and fear to press
The calm and peaceful pillows of the grave,
And yet endure the various ills of life,
issitudes !-Soon, I hope, I feel,
And am assured, that I shall lay my head,
My weary aching head, on its last rest,
And on my lowly bed the grass-green sod
Will flourish sweetly. And then they will weep
That one so young, and what they're pleased to call
So beautiful, should die so soon--and tell
How painful Disappointment's canker'd fang
Wither'd the rose upon my maiden cheek:
Laid in my darksome grave, that they themselves
Might envy me my rest !-And as for them,
Who, on the score of former intimacy,
May thus remembrance me—they must themselves
Around the winter fire
(When out-a-doors the biting frost congeals,
And shrill the skater's irons on the pool
Of early youth, but silent, one by one,
Shall drop into their shrouds.-Some, in their age,
Ripe for the sickle ; others young like me,
[They vanish. And falling green beneath th' untimely stroke. While CONSUMPTION speaks, ANGELINA enters Thus, in short time, in the church-yard forlom, ANGELINA.
Where I shall lie, my friends will lay them down, With' what a silent and dejected pace
| And dwell with me, a happy family.
Who now hast left me hopeless here to mourn, 1 With how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies,
Do thou but shed one tear upon my corse,