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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
He knew it not preparing to embark,
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.
LOCHIEL'S WARNING. WIZARD.— LOCHIEL.
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
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;
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!
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
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
A NAVAL ODE.
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,
But Linden saw another sight.
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed.
Then shook the hills, with thunder riven.
Kut redder jet that light shall glow^jaM
'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Few, few, shall part where many meet!
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
A Chieftain, to the Highlands bound.
And I'll give thee a silver pound
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
For should he find us in the glen.
His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover. Then who will cheer my bonny bridr.
When they have slain her lover?