How long will ye round me be swelling, O ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea? Not always in caves was my dwelling, Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree. Thro' the high-sounding halls of Cathloma In the steps of my beauty I stray'd; The warriors beheld Ninathoma, And they blessed the white-bosomed maid! A ghost! by my cavern it darted! In moon-beams the spirit was drest-- For lovely appear the departed When they visit the dreams of my rest! But disturbed by the tempest's commotion Fleet the shadowy forms of delight-- Ah, cease, thou shrill blast of the ocean! To howl through my cavern by night.
The Devil's Thoughts
From his brimstone bed at break of day A walking the DEVIL is gone, To visit his little snug farm of the earth And see how his stock went on.
Over the hill and over the dale, And he went over the plain, And backward and forward he swished his long tail As a gentleman swishes his cane.
And how then was the Devil drest? Oh! he was in his Sunday's best: His jacket was red and his breeches were blue, And there was a hole where the tail came through.
He saw a LAWYER killing a Viper On a dung heap beside his stable, And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind Of Cain and _his_ brother, Abel.
A POTHECARY on a white horse Rode by on his vocations, And the Devil thought of his old Friend DEATH in the Revelations.
He saw a cottage with a double coach-house, A cottage of gentility! And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin Is pride that apes humility.
He went into a rich bookseller's shop, Quoth he! we are both of one college, For I myself sate like a cormorant once Fast by the tree of knowledge.
Down the river there plied, with wind and tide, A pig with vast celerity; And the Devil look'd wise as he saw how the while, It cut its own throat. 'There!' quoth he with a smile, 'Goes 'England's commercial prosperity.''
As he went through Cold-Bath Fields he saw A solitary cell; And the Devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint For improving his prisons in Hell.
* * * * * *
General ----------- burning face He saw with consternation, And back to hell his way did he take, For the Devil thought by a slight mistake It was general conflagration.
The Dungeon
And this place our forefathers made for man! This is the process of our Love and Wisdom, To each poor brother who offends against us-- Most innocent, perhaps--and what if guilty? Is this the only cure? Merciful God! Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up By Ignorance and parching Poverty, His energies roll back upon his heart, And stagnate and corrupt; till chang'd to poison, They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot; Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks-- And this is their best cure! uncomforted And friendless Solitude, Groaning and Tears, And savage Faces, at the clanking hour, Seen through the steams and vapour of his dungeon, By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies Circled with evil, till his very soul Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd By sights of ever more deformity!
With other ministrations thou, O Nature ! Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child : Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets, Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, Till he relent, and can no more endure To be a jarring and a dissonant thing, Amid this general dance and minstrelsy ; But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'd By the benignant touch of Love and Beauty.
The Eolian Harp
(Composed at Clevedon, Somersetshire)
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o'ergrown With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd Myrtle, (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light, Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve Serenely brilliant (such should Wisdom be) Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world so hushed! The stilly murmur of the distant Sea Tells us of silence. And that simplest Lute, Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark! How by the desultory breeze caress'd, Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, Such a soft floating witchery of sound As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land, Where Melodies round honey-dripping flowers, Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untam'd wing! O! the one Life within us and abroad, Which meets all motion and becomes its soul, A light in sound, a sound-like power in light, Rhythm in all thought, and joyance every where— Methinks, it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world so fill'd; Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air Is Music slumbering on her instrument.
And thus, my Love! as on the midway slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst through my half-clos'd eye-lids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main. And tranquil muse upon tranquillity; Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd, And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell and flutter on this subject Lute! And what if all of animated nature Be but organic Harps diversely fram'd, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of all?
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof Darts, O beloved Woman! nor such thoughts Dim and unhallow'd dost thou not reject, And biddest me walk humbly with my God. Meek Daughter in the family of Christ! Well hast thou said and holily disprais'd These shapings of the unregenerate mind; Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring. For never guiltless may I speak of him, The Incomprehensible! save when with awe I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels; Who with his saving mercies healed me, A sinful and most miserable man, Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honour'd Maid!
The Exchange
We pledged our hearts, my love and I, I in my arms the maiden clasping; I could not tell the reason why, But, O, I trembled like an aspen!
Her father's love she bade me gain; I went, and shook like any reed! I strove to act the man---in vain! We had exchanged our hearts indeed.
The Faded Flower
Ungrateful he, who pluck'd thee from thy stalk, Poor faded flow'ret! on his careless way; Inhal'd awhile thy odours on his walk, Then onward pass'd and left thee to decay. Ah! melancholy emblem! had I seen Thy modest beauties dew'd with Evening's gem, I had not rudely cropp'd thy parent stem, But left thee, blushing, 'mid the enliven'd green. And now I bend me o'er thy wither'd bloom, And drop the tear - as Fancy, at my side, Deep-sighing, points the fair frail Abra's tomb - 'Like thine, sad Flower, was that poor wanderer's pride! Oh! lost to Love and Truth, whose selfish joy Tasted her vernal sweets, but tasted to destroy!'
The Foster Mother's Tale. A Dramatic Fragment
Ter. But that entrance, Selma? Sel. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! Ter. No one. Sel. My husband's father told it me, Poor old Sesina -- angels rest his soul; He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel? Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, He found a baby wrapped in mosses, lined With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, And reared him at the then Lord Valdez' cost, And so the babe grew up a pretty boy, A pretty boy, but nost unteachable-- And never learn'd a prayer, nor told a bead, But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes, And whistled, as he were a bird himself. And all the autumn 'twas his only play To gather seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them With earth and water on the stumps of trees. A Friar, who gathered simples in the wood, A gray-haired man, he loved this little boy: The boy loved him, and, when the Friar taught him, He soon could write with the pen; and from that time Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle. So he became a rare and learned youth: But O! poor wretch! he read, and read, and read, Till his brain turned; and ere his twentieth year He had unlawful thoughts of many things: And though he prayed, he never loved to pray With holy men, nor in a holy place. But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, The late Lord Valdez ne'er was wearied with him. And once, as by the north side of the chapel They stood together chained in deep discourse, The earth heaved under them with such a groan, That the wall tottered, and had well nigh fallen Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened! A fever seized him, and he made confession Of all the heretical and lawless talk Which brought this judgement: so the youth was seized And cast into that hole. My husband's father Sobbed like a child -- it almost broke his heart: And once as he was working near this dungeon, He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's, Who sung a doleful song about green fields, How sweet it were on lake or wide savanna To hunt for food, and be a naked man, And wander up and down at liberty. He always doted on the youth, and now His love grew desperate; and defying death, He made that cunning entrance I described, And the young man escaped. Ter. 'Tis a sweet tale: Such as would lull a listening child to sleep, His rosy face besoiled with unwiped tears. And what became of him? Sel. He went on shipboard With those bold voyagers who made discovery Of golden lands. Sesina's younger brother Went likewise, and when he returned to Spain, He told Sesina, that the poor mad youth, Soon after they arrived in that new world, In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat, And all alone, set sail by silent moonlight Up a great river, great as any sea, And ne'er was heard of more: but 'tis supposed, He lived and died among the savage men.
