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To paint that being to a grovelling mind Were like portraying pictures to tlie blind. 'Twas needful even infectiously to feel Her temper's fond and firm mid gladsome zeal, To share existence with her, and to gain Sparks from her love's electrifying chain, Of that pure pride, which less'ning to her

breast Life's ills, gave all its joys a treble zest, Before the mind completely understood That mighty truth—how happy are the

good!— Even when her light forsook him it

bequeathed Ennobling sorrow; and her memory breathed A sweetness that survived her living days As odorous scents outlast the censer's blaze. Or if a trouble dimmed their golden joy, 'Twas outward dross, and not infused alloy: Their home knew but affection's looks and

speech— A little Heaven, above dissension's reach. But 'midst her kindred there was strife and

gall; Save one congenial sister, tlu-y were all Such foils to her bright intellect and grace. As if she had engrossed the virtue of her

race. Her nature strove the unnatural feuds to

heal, Her wisdom made the weak to her appeal; And though the wounds she cured were

soon unclosed. Unwearied still her kindness interposed. Oft on those errands though she went, in

vain, And home, a blank without her, gave him

pain He bore her absence for its pious end.— But public grief his spirit came to bend; For war laid waste his native land once

more, And German honour bled at cv'ry pore. Oh! were he there, he thought, to rally

back One broken band, or perish in the wrark! Nor think that Constance sought to move

or melt His purpose: like herself she spoke and

felt:— Your fame is mine, and I will bear all woe Except its loss!—but with you let me go To arm you for, to embrace you from the

fight; Harm will not reach me — hazards will

delight !— He knew those hazards better; one campaign In England he conjured her to remain, And she expressed assent, although her heart In secret had resolved they should not part. How oft the wisest on misfortune's shelves Are wrecked by errors most unlike themselves! That little fault, thai fraud of love's romance. That plan's concealment, wrought their

whole mischance.

He knew it not preparing to embark,
But felt extinct his comfort's latest spark.
When, 'midst those numbered days she made

repair Again to kindred worthless of her care; Tis true she said the tidings she should

write Would make her absence on his heart sit

light; But, haplessly, revealed not yet her plan. And left him in his home a lonely man. Thus damped in thoughts, he mused upon

the past: 'Twas long since he had heard from Udolpb

last, And deep misgivings on his spirit fell. That all with Udolphv household was not

well. 'Twas that too true prophetic mood of fear That augurs griefs inevitably near, Yet makes them not less startling to the mind. When come. Least looked-for then of human

kind. His t inn,en ('twas, he thought at first, his

sprite) With mournful joy that morn surprised his


How changed was Udoiph! Scarce Tiieodric

durst Inquire his tidings,—he revealed the worst. At first, he said, as Julia bade me tell. She bore her fate high-mindedly and well. Resolved from common eyes her grief to hide. And from the world's compassion saved our

pride; But still her health gave way to secret woe, And long she pined—for broken hearts die

slow! Her reason went, but came returning, like The warning of her death-hour—soon to

strike; And all for which she now, poor sufferer!

sighs, Is once to see Theooric ere she dies. Why should I come to tell you this caprice? Forgive me! for my mind has lost its peace. I blame myself, and ne'er shall cease to

blame. That my insane ambition for the name Of brother to Tiieodkic founded all Those high-built hopes that crush'd her by

their fall. I made her slight a mother's counsel sage. But now my parents droop with grief and age; And though my sister's eyes mean no rebuke. They overwhelm me with their dying look. The journey's long, but you are full of ruth; And she who shares your heart, and knows

its truth. Has faith in your affection, far nbo^e The fear of a poor dying object's love.— She has, my Uoolph, he replied, 'tis true; And oft we talk of Julia—oft of you. Their converse came abruptly to a close; For scarce could each his troubled looks

compose. • When visitants, to Constance near akin, (In all but traits of soul) were ushered in. They brought not her,nor midst their kindred

band The Bister who alone, like her, was bland; But said—and smiled to see it gave him

pain— That Constance would a fortnight yet

remain. Vexed by their tidings, and the haughty view They cast on Udolph as the youth withdrew, Theodric blamed his Constance's intent.— The demons went, and left him as they went, To read, when they were gone beyond recall, A note from her loved hand, explaining all. She said, that with their house she only staid That parting peace might with them all be

made; But prayed for love to share his foreign life. And shun all future chance of kindred strife. He wrote with speed, his soul's consent to say: The letter miss'd her on her homeward way. In six hours Constance was within his arms: Moved, flushed, unlike her wonted calm of

charms, And breathless—with uplifted hand outspread— Burst into tears upon his neck, nnd said,— I knew that those who brough t your message

laughed. With poison of their own to point the shaft; And this my one kind sister thought, yet

loth Confessed she feared 'twas true you had

been wroth. Bat here you are, and smile on me: my pain Is gone, and Constance is herself again. His ecstney, it may be guessed, was much. Yet pain's extreme and pleasure's seemed

to touch. What pride! embracing beauty's perfect

mould; What terror! lest his few rash words, mistold, Had agonized her pulse to fever's heat

But calmed again so soon it healthful bent, And such sweet tones were in her voice's

sound. Composed herself, she breathed composure

round. Fair being! with what sympathetic grace She heard, bewailed and pleaded Julia's case; Implored he would her dying wish attend, And go, she said, to-morrow with your

friend; I '11 wait for your return on England's shore, And then we '11 cross the deep and part no

more. To-morrow both his soul's compassion

drew To Jriji's call, and Constance urged anrw That riW to heed her now would be to bind A load of pain for life upon his mind. He went with Udolph—from his Constance

went— Stifling, alas! a dark presentiment.

Some ailment lurked, even whilst she smiled,

to mock His fears of" harm from yester-morning's

shock. Meanwhile a faithful page he singled out, To watch at home, and follow straight his

route, If aught of threatened change her health

should Aiow: —With Udolph then he reached the house

of^fce. That winter's eve how TnTrkly Nature's

brow Scowled on the scenes it lights so lovely

now! The tempest, raging o'er the realms of ice, Shook fragments from the rifted precipice; And whilst their falling echoed to the wind, The wolf's long howl in dismal discord joined, While white yon water's foam Was raised in

clouds That whirled like spirits wailing in their

shrouds: Without was Nature's elemental din— And beauty died, and friendship wept, within! Sweet Julia, though her fate was finished

half, Still knew him—smiled on him with feeble.

laugh— And blest him, till she drew her latest sigh! But lo! while Udolph's bursts of agony, And age's tremulous wni I ings.rou nd him rose, What accents pierced him deeper yet than

those! 'Twas tidings—by his English messenger Of Constance—brief and terrible they were. She still was living when the page set out From home, but whether now, was left in

doubt Poor Julia! saw he then thy death's relief— Stunned into stupor more than wrung with

grief? It was not strange; for in the human breast Two master-passions cannot co-exist, And that alarm which now usurped his brain Shut out not only peace, but other pain. 'Twas fancying Constance underneath the

shroud TUB covered Jinn made him first weep loud. And tear himself away from them that wept. Fast hurrying homeward, night nor day he

slept, Till, launched at sea, he dreamt that his

soul's, saint Clung to him on a bridge of ice, pale, faint, O'er cataracts of blood. Awake, he bless'd The shore; nor hope left utterly his breast, Till reaching home, terrific omen! there The straw-lnid street preluded his despair— The servant's look—the table that revealed His letter sent to Constance last, still sealed, Though speech and hearing left him, told

too clear That he had now to suffer—not to fear. He felt as if he ne'er should cease to feet— A wretch live-broken on misfortune's wheel: Her dentil's cause—he might make his peace

with Heaven, Absolved from guilt, hut never self-forgiven. The ocean has its ebbings—so has grief. 'Twas vent to anguish, if 'twas not relief, To lay his brow even on her death-cold cheek. Then first he heard her one kind sister speak: She bade him, in the name of Heaven, forbear With self-teproach to deepen his despair: 'Twas blame, she said, I shudder to relate, Bnt none of ySfcs. that caused our darling's

fate; Her mother (must I call her such?) foresaw, Should Constanck leave the land, she would

withdraw Our House's charm against the world's

neglect— The only gem that drew it some respect. Hence, when you went, she came and vainly

spoke To change her purpose—yew incensed, and

broke With execrations from her kneeling child. Start not! your angel from her knee rose

mild, Feared that she should not long the scene

outlive, JTet bade even you the unnatural one forgive. Til I then her ailment had been slight,or none; Hut fast she dropped, and fatal pains came on: Foreseeing their event, she dictated And signed these words for you. The letter ^ said—

'T'liHODRic, this is destiny above Our power to baffle; bear it then, my love! Rave not to learn the usage I have borne, For one trne sister left me not forlorn; And though you 're absent in another land, Sent from mc by my own well-meant

command, Yonr soul, I know, as firm is knit to mine As these clasped hands in blessing you now

join: Shape not imagined horrors in my fate— Even now my sufferings are not very great;

And when your griefs first transports shall

subside, I call upon your strength of soul nnd pride To pay my memory, if 'tis worth the sfebt, Love's glorying tribute—not forlorn regret: I charge my name with power to conjure up Reflection's balmy, not its bitter cup. My pard'ning angel, at the gates of Heaven, Shall look not more regard than you have

given To me; and our life's union has been clad In smiles of bliss as sweet as life e'er had. Shall gloom be from such bright remembrance cast ¥ Shall bitterness outflow from sweetness past? No! imaged in the sanctuary of your breast, There let me smile, amidst high thoughts

at rest; And let contentment on your spirit shine, As if its peace were still a part of mine: For if you war not proudly with your pain. For you I shall have worse than lived in tain. But 1 conjure your manliness to hear My loss with noble spirit—not despair; I ask you by our love to promise this, And kiss these words, where I have left a kiss. The latest from my living lips for yonrs."— Words that will solace him while Ufa

endures: For though his spirit from affliction's surge Could ne'er to life, as life had been, emerge, Yet still that mind whose harmony elate Rang sweetness, even beneath the crush of

fate,— That mind in whose regard all things were

placed In views that softened them, or lights that

graced,— That soul's example could not but dispense A portion of its own blessed influence; Invoking him to peace, and that self-away Which Fortune cannot give, nor take away: And though he mourned her long, 'twas with

such woe. As if her spirit watched him still hclow.



Lociiiki,! LocniBL, beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battlearray! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clous of Cullodsn are scattered in fight.

They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown;

Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down!

Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the

> slain,

And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. W

But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war.

What steed to the desart flies frantic and far?

'TU thine, oh Glenullin! whose bridfe shall

await, TM Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at

41 the gate.

A steed romes at morning: no>rider is there;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep Albin! to death and captivity led!
Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the

dead: For a merciless sword on Culloden shall

wave, Cnllodcn! that reeks with the blood of the


Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling

seer! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering

sight This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.

Ha! laughst thou, Lochiel, my vision to

scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall

be torn? Say, rushed the bold eagle cxultingly forth, From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds

of the north? l,o! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding,

he rode Corapanionless, bearing destruction abroad; But down let him stoop from his havoc on

high! Ah! home let him speed—for the spoiler is

nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to

the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament

cast? '1'is the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully

driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness

of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements'

height, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and

to burn; Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where

it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing


Fake Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan;

Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms arc one!

They are true to the last of their blood and

their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of

death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the

shock! Let him dash his proud foam, like a wave

on the rock! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory

crowd— Clamanald the dauntless, and Moray the

proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan-array—

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day!
For dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God would reveal:
'tin the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, CuIIoden's dread echoes shall ring
With the blood-hounds that bark for thy

fugitive king. Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of

wrath, Behold where he flics on his desolate path! Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from

my sight: Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his

flight! 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on

the moors: Cull6den is lost, and my country deplores. But where is the iron-bound prisoner?

Where? For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished,

forlorn, Like a limb from his country cast bleeding

and torn I Ah no! for a darker departure is near: The war-drum is muffled, and black is the

bier; His death-bell is tolling: oh! mercy, dispel Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, And his blood-streaming nostril in agony

swims. Accursed be the faggots that blaze at his

feet. Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it

ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashTM to poison the


Down, 80othlcss insulter! I trust not

the tale: For never shall Albin a destiny meet, So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be

strewed in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten

shore, Lochicl, untainted by flight or by chnins. While the kindling of life in his bosom

remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to

the foe! And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed

of fame.



Ye Mariners of England!

That guard our native seas;

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,

The battle and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again

To match another foe,

And sweep through the deep,

While the stormy tempests blow;

While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy tempests blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave;

For the deck it was their field of fame,

And ocean was their grave:

Where Ulake and mighty Nelson fell,

Your manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy tempests blow;

While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy tempests blow.

Britannia needs no bulwark,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,

Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak,

She quells the flood below;

As they roar on the shore.

When the stormy tempests blow;

When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor flag of England

Shall yet terrific burn;

Till danger's troufekri night depart,

And the star of prJlcc return.

Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!

Our song and feast shnll flow

To the fame of your name.

When the storm has rensed to blow;

When the fiery fight is heard no more.

And the storm has ceased to blow.


On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless ray the untrodden Kiiow.
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight.
When the drum beat, at dead of night.
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of tho scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed.
Each horseman drew his battle-blade.
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills, with thunder riven.
Then rushed the steed, to battle driven.
And louder than the bolts of heaven.
Far flashed the red artillery.

Kut redder jet that light shall glow^jaM
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling- dun.
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few, shall part where many meet!
The Kiiow shall be their winding-sheet.
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.


A Chieftain, to the Highlands bound.
Cries, Boatman, do not tarry;

And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry.

Now who be ye would cross Lnrhgylr.

This dark and stormy water? O I'm the chief of Clva's isle,

And this Lord I llin's daughter.

And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together;

For should he find us in the glen.
My blood would stain the heather.

His horsemen hard behind us ride;

Should they our steps discover. Then who will cheer my bonny bridr.

When they have slain her lover?

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