Spent in sweet slumbers; till the miner's spade No tuneful echoes, ambush'd at my gate, When Christmas revels in a world of snow, And her wild music triumphs on the gale, Thus, in this calm recess, so richly fraught So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night, Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play, Caught through St. James's groves a blush of day; Ere its full voice the choral anthem flings Through trophied tombs of heroes and of kings. Haste to the tranquil shade of learned ease, Though skill'd alike to dazzle and to please; Though each gay scene be search'd with anxiouseye, Nor thy shut door be pass'd without a sigh. If, when this roof shall know thy friend no more, Some, form'd like thee, should once, like thee, explore; Invoke the Lares of this loved retreat, ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. MAN is born to suffer. On the door Sickness has set her mark; and now no more Laughter within we hear, or wood-notes wild As of a mother singing to her child; All now in anguish from that room retire, Where a young cheek glows with consuming fire, And innocence breathes contagion-all but one, But she who gave it birth-from her alone The medicine cup is taken. Through the night, And through the day, that with its dreary light Comes unregarded, she sits silent by, Watching the changes with her anxious eye: While they without, listening below, above, (Who but in sorrow know how much they love?) From every little noise catch hope and fear, Exchanging still. still as they turn to hear, Whispers and sighs, and smiles all tenderness That would in vain the starting tear repress. Such grief was ours-it seems but yesterdayWhen in thy prime, wishing so much to stay, "Twas thine, Maria, thine without a sigh At midnight in a sister's arms to die! Oh thou wert lovely-lovely was thy frame, And pure thy spirit as from Heaven it came? And, when recall'd to join the blest above, Thou died'st a victim to exceeding love, Nursing the young to health. In happier hours, When idle fancy wove luxuriant flowers, Once in thy mirth thou bad'st me write on thee; And now I write-what thou shalt never see! THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. TWILIGHT'S Soft dews steal o'er the village-green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Still'd is the hum that through the hamlet broke, When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flock'd to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day. Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more With treasured tales, and legendary lore. All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music flows To chase the dreams of innocent repose. All, all are fled; yet still I linger here! What secret charms this silent spot endear? Mark yon old mansion frowning through the trees, Whose hollow turret woos the whistling breeze. That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest shade First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd. The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown court, Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; See, through the fractured pediment revealed, Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptured shield, The martin's old, hereditary nest. Long may the ruin spare its hallow'd guest! As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! Oh, haste, unfold the hospitable hall! That hall, where once, in antiquated state, The chair of justice held the grave debate. [hung, Now stain'd with dews, with cobwebs darkly Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; When round yon ample board, in due degree, We sweeten'd every meal with social glee, The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest ; And all was sunshine in each little breast. 'Twas here we chased the slipper by the sound; And turn'd the blindfold hero round and round. 'T was here, at eve, we form'd our fairy ring; And fancy flutter'd on her wildest wing. Giants and genii chain'd each wondering ear; And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear. Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood, Or view'd the forest-feats of Robin Hood: Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour, With startling step we scaled the lonely tower; O'er infant innocence to hang and weep, Murder'd by ruffian hands when smiling in its sleep. Ye Household Deities! whose guardian eye Mark'd each pure thought, ere register'd on high; Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground, And breathe the soul of inspiration round. As o'er the dusky furniture I bend, Each chair awakes the feeling of a friend. The storied arras, source of fond delight, With old achievement charms the wilder'd sight! And still, with heraldry's rich hues imprest, On the dim window glows the pictured crest. The screen unfolds its many-colour'd chart. The clock still points its moral to the heart. That faithful monitor 't was heaven to hear, When soft it spoke a promised pleasure near; And has its sober hand, its simple chime, Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of Time! That massive beam, with curious carvings wrought, Whence the caged linnet soothed my pensive thought; Those muskets, cased with venerable rust; Still, from the frame in mould gigantic cast, As through the garden's desert paths I rove, Childhood's loved group revisits every scene; The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green! Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live! Clothed with far softer hues than light can give. Thou first, best friend that heaven assigns below To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know; Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm, When nature fades, and life forgets to charm; Thee would the muse invoke!-to thee belong The sage's precept and the poet's song. What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals, When o'er the landscape Time's meek twilightsteals! As when in ocean sinks the orb of day, Long on the wave reflected lustres play; Thy temper'd gleams of happiness resign'd Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind. [gray, The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn; Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, Some little friendship form'd and cherish'd here; And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems With golden visions, and romantic dreams! [shade, Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed The gipsy's fagot-there we stood and gazed; Gazed on her sun-burnt face with silent awe, Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw; Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, Imps, in the barn with mousing owlets bred, From rifled roost at nightly revel fed! Whose dark eyes flash'd through locks of blackest When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bay'd:And heroes fled the Sibyl's mutter'd call, Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard-wall. As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew, And traced the line of life with searching view, How throbb'd my fluttering pulse with hopes and fears, To learn the colour of my future years! Ah, then, what honest triumph flush'd my breast; This truth once known-To bless is to be blest! We led the bending beggar on his way, "Twas all he gave, 't was all he had to give. Angels, when mercy's mandate wing'd their flight, Had stopt to dwell with pleasure on the sight. But hark! through those old firs, with sullen swell, The church-clock strikes! ye tender scenes, farewell! It calls me hence, beneath their shade, to trace The few fond lines that Time may soon efface. On yon gray stone, that fronts the chancel-door, Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more, Each eve we shot the marble through the ring, When the heart danced, and life was in its spring; Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth, That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth. The glow-worm loves her emerald-light to shed, Where now the sexton rests his hoary head. Oft, as he turn'd the greensward with his spade, He lectured every youth that round him play'd; And, calmly pointing where our fathers lay, Roused us to rival each, the hero of his day. Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush! while here alone I search the records of each mouldering stone. Guides of my life! Instructors of my youth! Who first unveil'd the hallow'd form of truth; Whose every word enlighten'd and endear'd; In age beloved, in poverty revered; In friendship's silent register ye live, Nor ask the vain memorial art can give. But when the sons of peace, of pleasure sleep, When only sorrow wakes, and wakes to weep, What spells entrance my visionary mind With sighs so sweet, with transports so refined! Ethereal Power! who at the noon of night Recall'st the far-fled spirit of delight; From whom that musing, melancholy mood Which charms the wise, and elevates the good! Blest Memory, hail! Oh grant the grateful muse, Her pencil dipt in Nature's living hues, To pass the clouds that round thy empire roll, And trace its airy precincts in the soul. Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred source At once illumined when the cloud is past. LOCH-LONG. BLUE was the loch, the clouds were gone, Ben-Lomond in his glory shone, When, Luss, I left thee; when the breeze Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees, The fairy isles fled far away; Tarbat, thy shore I climb'd at last; Night fell; and dark and darker grew The shatter'd fortress, whence the Dane Glad sign and sure! for now we hail GINEVRA. If ever you should come to Modena, "Tis of a lady in her earliest youth, As though she said "Beware!" her vest of gold A coronet of pearls. But then her face, So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth, It haunts me still, though many a year has fled, Along it hangs Over a mouldering heir-loom, its companion, An oaken-chest, half-eaten by the worm, But richly carved by Antony of Trent, With scripture-stories from the Life of Christ; A chest that came from Venice, and had held The ducal robes of some old ancestorThat, by the way-it may be true or falseBut don't forget the picture; and you will not, When you have heard the tale they told me there. She was an only child-her name Ginevra ; The joy, the pride of an indulgent father; And in her fifteenth year became a bride, Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. Just as she looks there in her bridal dress, She was all gentleness, all gayety, Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue. But now the day was come, the day, the hour; Now, frowning, smiling for the hundredth time, The nurse, that ancient lady, preach'd decorum ; And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco. Great was the joy; but at the nuptial feast, When all sate down, the bride herself was wanting. Nor was she to be found! Her father cried, "Tis but to make a trial of our love!" And fill'd his glass to all; but his hand shook, And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. "T was but that instant she had left Francesco, Laughing and looking back and flying still, Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. But now, alas! she was not to be found; Nor from that hour could any thing be guess'd, But that she was not! Flung it away in battle with the Turk. Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, 66 That mouldering chest was noticed; and 't was said There then had she found a grave! Within that chest had she conceal'd herself, Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy; When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there, Fastened her down for ever! THE FOUR ERAS. THE lark has sung his carol in the sky; [hail A few short years-and then these sounds shall The day again, and gladness fill the vale; So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, Eager to run the race his fathers ran. Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sir-loin; The ale, now brew'd, in floods of amber shine: And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze, Mid many a tale told of his boyish days, The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled, ""T was on these knees he sate so oft and smiled." And soon again shall music swell the breeze; Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees Vestures of nuptial white; and hymns be sung, And violets scatter'd round; and old and young, In every cottage porch, with garlands green, Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene; While, her dark eyes declining, by his side Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride. And once, alas, nor in a distant hour, Another voice shall come from yonder tower; When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen, And weepings heard where only joy has been; When by his children borne, and from his door Slowly departing to return no more, He rests in holy earth with them that went before. DON GARZIA. AMONG the awful forms that stand assembled In the great square of Florence, may be seen That Cosmo, not the father of his country, Not he so styled, but he who play'd the tyrant. Clad in rich armour like a paladin, But with his helmet off, in kingly state, Aloft he sits upon his horse of brass; And they who read the legend underneath Go and pronounce him happy. Yet there is A chamber at Grosseto, that, if walls Could speak and tell of what is done within, Would turn your admiration into pity. Half of what pass'd died with him; but the rest, All he discover'd when the fit was on, All that, by those who listen'd, could be glean'd From broken sentences, and starts in sleep, Is told, and by an honest chronicler. Two of his sons, Giovanni and Garzia, (The eldest had not seen his sixteenth summer,) Went to the chase; but one of them, Giovanni, His best beloved, the glory of his house, Return'd not; and at close of day was found Bathed in his innocent blood. Too well, alas, The trembling Cosmo guess'd the deed, the doer; And, having caused the body to be borne In secret to that chamber, at an hour When all slept sound, save the disconsolate mother, Who little thought of what was yet to come, And lived but to be told-he bade Garzia Arise and follow him. Holding in one hand A winking lamp, and in the other a key Massive and dungeon-like, thither he led; And, having entered in and lock'd the door, The father fix'd his eyes upon the son, And closely question'd him. No change betray'd Or guilt or fear. Then Cosmo lifted up The bloody sheet. "Look there! Look there!" he cried, "Blood calls for blood-and from a father's hand! Unless thyself wilt save him that sad office. "What!" he exclaim'd, when, shuddering at the sight, The boy breathed out, "I stood but on my guard." "Dar'st thou then blacken one who never wrong'd thee, Who would not set his foot upon a worm? "Grant me the strength to do an act of justice, Well might De Thou, When in his youth he came to Cosmo's court, Well might he heave a sigh THE FOUNTAIN. It was a well The sun was down, a distant convent-bell At length there came the loveliest of them all, Then, hadst thou seen them as they stood, Canova, Thou hadst endow'd them with immortal youth; And they had evermore lived undivided, Winning all hearts of all thy works the fairest. |