Presume not to bright crowns of thy entwining, Yet in my mind I bear

Gifts nobler and more rare

Than the kingdoms thou canst lavish,
Gifts thou canst nor give nor ravish:

And though my spirit may not comprehend
Thy chances bright and fair,

Yet neither doth her sight offend

The aspect pale of miserable care:
Horror to her is not

Of this coarse raiment, and this humble cot;
She with the golden Muses doth abide,
And oh the darling children of thy pride
Shall then be truly glorified,
When they may merit to be wrapt around
With my Poesy's eternal sound."

She kindled at my words and flamed, as when
A cruel star hath wide dispread

Its locks of bloody red,
She burst in wrathful menace then:
"Me fears the Dacian, the band

Of wandering Scythians fears,

Me the rough mothers of Barbaric kings;
In woe and dread amid the rings

Of their encircling spears

The purple tyrants stand;
And a shepherd here forlorn

Treats my proffer'd boons with scorn.
And fears he not my wrath?

And knows he not my works of scathe;
Nor how with angry foot I went,
Of every province in the Orient,
Branding the bosom with deep tracks of death?
From three Empresses I rent

The tresses and imperial wreath,

And bared them to the pitiless element. Well I remember when his armed grasp

From Asia stretch'd, rash Xerxes took his stand Upon the formidable bridge to clasp

And manacle sad Europe's trembling hand:

In the great day of battle there was I,

Busy with myriads of the Persian slaughter, The Salaminian sea's fair face to dye,

That yet admires its dark and bloody water; Full vengeance wreak'd I for the affront Done Neptune at the fetter'd Hellespont.

"To the Nile then did I go,

The fatal collar wound

The fair neck of the Egyptian Queen around;
And I the merciless poison made to flow
Into her breast of snow.

Ere that within the mined cave,

I forced dark Afric's valour stoop

Confounded, and its dauntless spirit droop,

When to the Carthaginian brave,

With mine own hand, the hemlock draught I gave.

Her mighty enemy at last

A shape of mockery was made:
Then miserably pleased,

Her fierce and ancient vengeance she appeased;
And even drew a sigh

Over the ruins vast

Of the deep-hated Latin majesty.

I will not call to mind the horrid sword
Upon the Memphian shore,

Steep'd treasonously in great Pompey's gore; Nor that for rigid Cato's death abhorr'd;

Nor that which in the hand of Brutus wore The first deep colouring of a Cæsar's blood. Nor will I honour thee with thy high mood Of wrath, that kingdoms doth exterminate; Incapable art thou of my great hate,

As my great glories. Therefore shall be thine
Of my revenge a slighter sign;
Yet will I make its fearful sound
Hoarse and slow rebound,

Till seem the gentle pipings low

To equal the fierce trumpet's brazen glow."

Then sprang she on her flight,

Furious, and at her call,

Upon my cottage did the storms alight, Did hurricanes and thunders fall.

But I, with brow serene,

Beheld the angry hail
And lightning flashing pale,
Devour the promise green
Of my poor native vale.

THE MERRY HEART.

I WOULD not from the wise require
The lumber of their learned lore;
Nor would I from the rich desire
A single counter of their store.

For I have ease, and I have health,
And I have spirits, light as air;

And more than wisdom, more than wealth,-
A merry heart, that laughs at care.

At once, 't is true, two 'witching eyes
Surprised me in a luckless season,
Turn'd all my mirth to lonely sighs,
And quite subdued my better reason.

Yet 't was but love could make me grieve,
And love you know 's a reason fair,

And much improved, as I believe,
The merry heart, that laugh'd at care.

So now from idle wishes clear

I make the good I may not find; Adown the stream I gently steer, And shift my sail with every wind. And half by nature, half by reason, Can still with pliant heart prepare, The mind, attuned to every season, The merry heart, that laughs at care.

Yet, wrap me in your sweetest dream,
Ye social feelings of the mind,

Give, sometimes give, your sunny gleam,
And let the rest good-humour find.
Yes, let me hail and welcome give
To every joy my lot may share,
And pleased and pleasing let me live
With merry heart, that laughs at care.

THE TAKING OF TROY.

CHORUS FROM THE TROADES OF EURIPIDES.

A SAD, unwonted song,
O'er Ilion, Muse! prolong,
Mingled with tears of woe,
The funeral descant slow.

I too, with shriek and frantic cry,
Take up the dismal melody;

How, lost through that strange four-wheel'd car,
Stern Argo's captive chains we wear,
What time the Greek, or ere he fled
Left at our gate the armed steed,
Menacing the heavens with giant height,
And all with golden housings bright.

Shouted all the people loud,

On the rock-built height that stood,-
"Come," they sang, and on they prest,-
"Come, from all our toils released,
Lead the blest image to the shrine

Of her, the Jove-born Trojan maid divine!"

Linger'd then what timorous maid?
Her age his tardy steps delay'd; —
With gladsome shout, and jocund song,
They drew their treacherous fate along!
And all the Phrygian rout
Through every gate rush'd out.

On the dangerous gift they lead,

The beauty of th' unyoked, immortal steed,
With its ambush'd warrior freight,
Argos' pride and Ilion's fate.
Round the stately horse, and round
Cord and cable soon they wound;
And drag it on, like pinnace dark
Of some tall and stately bark,
To the temple's marble floor,
Soon to swim with Trojan gore.
O'er the toil, the triumph, spread
Silent night her curtain'd shade;
But Libyan pipes still sweetly rang,
And many a Phrygian air they sang;
And maidens danced with airy feet,
To the jocund measures sweet.
And every house was blazing bright,
As the glowing festival light

Its rich and purple splendour stream'd,
Where the mantling wine-cup gleam'd.

But I, the while, the palace-courts around,
Hymning the mountain queen, Jove's virgin daughter,

Went with blithe dance, and music's sprightly sound,

When, all at once, the frantic cry of slaughter
All through the wide and startled city ran!
The shudd'ring infants on their mothers' breasts
Clung with their hands, and cower'd within their vests.
Forth stalk'd the mighty Mars, and the fell work
began,

The work of Pallas in her ire!

Then round each waning altar-fire,

Wild Slaughter, drunk with Phrygian blood,
And murtherous Desolation strew'd;
Where, on her couch of slumber laid,
Was wont to rest the tender maid,

To warrior Greece the crown of triumph gave,
The last full anguish to the Phrygian slave!

THE SLAVE SHIP.

[Founded on the following fact :-"The case of the Rodeur, mentioned by Lord Lansdowne. A dreadful ophthalmia prevailed among the slaves on board this ship, which was communicated to the crew, so that there was but a single man who could see to guide the vessel into port."-Quart. Rev. vol. 26, p. 71.]

OLD, sightless man, unwont art thou,
As blind men use, at noon

To sit and sun thy tranquil brow,
And hear the birds' sweet tune.
There's something heavy at thy heart,
Thou dost not join the pray'r;
Even at God's word thou 'It writhe and start,
"Oh! man of God, beware!"

"If thou didst hear what I could say,

"Twould make thee doubt of grace, And drive me from God's house away, Lest I infect the place."

66

Say on; there's nought of human sin,
Christ's blood may not atone:"
"Thou canst not read what load's within
This desperate heart."-" Say on."

"The skies were bright, the seas were calm, We ran before the wind.

That, bending Afric's groves of palm,

Came fragrant from behind.

"And merry sang our crew, the cup
Was gaily drawn and quaff'd,
And when the hollow groan came up
From the dark hold, we laugh'd.
"For deep below, and all secure,

Our living freight was laid,
And long with ample gain, and sure,
We had driven our awful trade.
"They lay, like bales, in stifling gloom,
Man, woman, nursling child,
As in some plague-struck city's tomb
The loathsone dead are piled.

"At one short gust of that close air

The sickening cheek grew pale; We turn'd away-'t was all our care,

Heaven's sweet breath to inhale.

"'Mid howl and yell, and shuddering moan, The scourge, the clanking chain, The cards were dealt, the dice were thrown, We staked our share of gain. "Soon in smooth Martinico's coves

Our welcome bark shall moor, Or underneath the citron-groves

That wave on Cuba's shore.

""Twas strange, ere many days were gone, How still grew all below,

The wailing babe was heard alone,
Or some low sob of woe.

"Into the dusky hold we gazed,

In heaps we saw them lie,
And dim, unmeaning looks were raised
From many a blood-red eye.

“And helpless hands were groping round
To catch their scanty meal;
Or at some voice's well-known sound,
Some well-known touch to feel.

"And still it spread, the blinding plague

That seals the orbs of sight;

The eyes were rolling, wild and vague;
Within was black as night.

"They dared not move, they could not weep, They could but lie and moan;

Some, not in mercy, to the deep,

Like damaged wares, were thrown.

"We cursed the dire disease that spread,
And cross'd our golden dream;

Those goldless men did quake with dread
To hear us thus blaspheme.

"And so we drank, and drank the more,

And each man pledged his mate; Here's better luck, from Gambia's shore, When next we load our freight.

"Another morn, but one-the bark

Lurch'd heavy on her way

The steersman shriek'd, 'Hell's not so dark
As this dull murky day.'

"We look'd, and red through films of blood
Glared forth his angry eye:
Another, as he mann'd the shroud,
Came toppling from on high.

"Then each alone his hammock made,
As the wild beast his lair,

Nor friend his nearest friend would aid,
In dread his doom to share.

"Yet every eve some eyes did close
Upon the sunset bright,
And when the glorious morn arose,
It bore to them no light.

"Till I, the only man, the last

Of that dark brotherhood,
To guide the helm, to rig the mast,
To tend the daily food.

"I felt it film, I felt it grow,

The dim and misty scale,

I could not see the compass now,
I could not see the sail.
"The sea was all a wavering fog,
The sun a hazy lamp,
As on some pestilential bog,

The wandering wild-fire damp.
"And there we lay, and on we drove,
Heaved up, and pitching down;
Oh! cruel grace of Him above,

That would not let us drown.

"And some began to pray for fear,
And some began to swear;
Methought it was most dread to hear
Upon such lips the prayer.

"And some would fondly speak of home,
The wife's, the infant's kiss;
Great God! that parents e'er should come
On such a trade as this!

"And some I heard plunge down beneath,
And drown-that could not I:
Oh! how my spirit yearn'd for death,
Yet how I fear'd to die!

"We heard the wild and frantic shriek
Of starving men below,

We heard them strive their bonds to break, And burst the hatches now.

"We thought we heard them on the stair, And trampling on the deck,

I almost felt their blind despair,
Wild grappling at my neck.
"Again I woke, and yet again,

With throat as dry as dust,
And famine in my heart and brain,
And,-speak it out I must,—

"A lawless, execrable thought,

That scarce could be withstood, Before my loathing fancy brought Unutterable food.

"No more, my brain can bear no more,— Nor more my tongue can tell;

I know I breathed no air, but bore
A sick'ning grave-like smell.

"And all, save I alone, could die-
Thus on death's verge and brink
All thoughtless, feelingless, could lie—
I still must feel and think.

"At length, when ages had pass'd o'er, Ages, it seem'd, of night,

There came a shock, and then a roar

Of billows in their might.

I know not how, when next I woke, The numb waves wrapp'd me round, And in my loaded ears there broke

A dizzy, bubbling sound.

"Again I woke, and living men

Stood round-a Christian crew;

The first, the last, of joy was then,

That since those days I knew.

"I've been, I know, since that black tide, Where raving madmen lay,

Above, beneath, on ev'ry side,

And I as mad as they.

"And I shall be where never dies

The worm, nor slakes the flame, When those two hundred souls shall rise, The judge's wrath to claim.

"I'd rather rave in that wild room Than see what I have seen;

I'd rather meet my final doom.

Than be-where I have been.

"Priest, I've not seen thy loathing face,
I've heard thy gasps of fear;-
Away-no word of hope or grace—
I may not-will not hear!"

THE LOVE OF GOD.

TWO SONNETS.
I.

LOVE Thee!-oh, Thou, the world's eternal Sire!
Whose palace is the vast infinity,

Time, space, height, depth, oh God! are full of Thee,
And sun-eyed seraphs tremble and admire.
Love Thee!-but Thou art girt with vengeful fire,
And mountains quake, and banded nations flee,
And terror shakes the wide unfathom'd sea,
When the heavens rock with thy tempestuous ire.
Oh, Thou! too vast for thought to comprehend,
That wast ere time,-shalt be when time is o'er;
Ages and worlds begin-grow old-and end,
Systems and suns thy changeless throne before,
Commence and close their cycles :-lost, I bend
To earth my prostrate soul, and shudder and adore!
II

Love Thee!-oh, clad in human lowliness,
-In whom each heart its mortal kindred knows-
Our flesh, our form, our tears, our pains, our woes,-
A fellow-wanderer o'er earth's wilderness!
Love Thee! whose every word but breathes to bless!
Through Thee, from long-seal'd lips, glad language
flows;

The blind their eyes, that laugh with light, unclose;
And babes, unchid, Thy garment's hem caress.
-I see Thee, doom'd by bitterest pangs to die,
Up the sad hill, with willing footsteps, move,
With scourge, and taunt, and wanton agony,
While the cross nods, in hideous gloom, above,
Though all-even there-be radiant Deity!
-Speechless I gaze, and my whole soul is Love!

By Reuben's fountains there was deep debatingWhy sat'st thou idle, Reuben, 'mid thy herd-stalls? Was it to hear the lowing of thy cattle?

By Reuben's fountains there was deep debating

And Gilead linger'd on the shores of Jordan-
And Dan, why dwell'd he among his ships?-
And Asser dwell'd in his sea-shore havens,
And sate upon his rock precipitous.
But Zebulon was a death-defying people,

And Napthali from off the mountain heights.

Came the kings and fought,

Fought the kings of Canaan,

By Tannach, by Megiddo's waters,

For the golden booty that they won not.

From the heavens they fought 'gainst Sisera,
In their courses fought the stars against him:
The torrent Kishon swept them down,
That ancient river Kishon.

So trample thou, my soul, upon their might.

Then stamp'd the clattering hoofs of prancing horses
At the flight, at the flight of the mighty.

Curse ye Meroz, saith the angel of the Lord,
Curse, a twofold curse upon her dastard sons;
For they came not to the succour of Jehovah,
To the succour of Jehovah 'gainst the mighty.

Above all women blest be Jael,
Heber the Kenite's wife,

O'er all the women blest, that dwell in tents.

Water he ask'd-she gave him milk, The curded milk, in her costliest bowl.

Her left hand to the nail she set,

Her right hand to the workman's hammer-
Then Sisera she smote-she clave his head
She bruised-she pierced his temples.
At her feet he bow'd; he fell; he lay;
At her feet he bow'd; he fell ;
Where he bow'd, there he fell dead.

From the window she look'd forth, she cried,
The mother of Sisera, through the lattice:
"Why is his chariot so long in coming?
Why tarry the wheels of his chariot ?"
Her prudent women answer'd her-
Yea, she herself gave answer to herself-
"Have they not seized, not shared the spoil?
One damsel, or two damsels to each chief?
To Sisera a many-coloured robe,

A many-coloured robe, and richly broider'd,
Many-colour'd, and broider'd round the neck."

Thus perish all thine enemies, Jehovah;

And those who love thee, like the sun, shine forth, The sun in all its glory.*

DOWNFALL OF JERUSALEM; FROM THE
BOOK OF JEREMIAH.

How solitary doth she sit, the many-peopled city!
She is become a widow, the great among the Nations;
The Queen among the provinces, how is she tributary!

Weeping-weeps she all the night; the tears are on her cheeks;

From among all her lovers, she hath no comforter; Her friends have all dealt treacherously; they are become her foes. i. 1, 2.

The ways of Sion mourn: none come up to her feasts, All her gates are desolate; and her Priests do sigh; Her virgins wail! herself, she is in bitterness.—¿ 4.

He hath pluck'd up his garden-hedge, He hath destroy'd His Temple;

Jehovah hath forgotten made the solemn feast and Sabbath;

And in the heat of ire He hath rejected King and Priest.

The Lord his altar hath disdain'd, abhorred his Holy place,

And to the adversary's hand given up his palace walls;

Our foes shout in Jehovah's house, as on a festal day. ii. 7, &

Her gates are sunk into the earth, he hath broke through her bars;

Her Monarch and her Princes are now among the Heathen;

The Law hath ceased; the Prophets find no vision from Jehovah. ii. 10.

My eyes do fail with tears; and troubled are my bowels;

My heart's blood gushes on the earth, for the daughter of my people;

Children and suckling babes lie swooning in the squares

They say unto their Mothers, where is corn and wine! They swoon as they were wounded, in the city squares;

While glides the soul away into their Mother's bosom. ii. 11, 12.

Even dragons, with their breasts drawn out, give suck unto their young;

But cruel is my people's daughter, as the ostrich in the desert;

The tongues of sucking infants to their palates cleave with thirst.

Young children ask for bread, and no man breaks it

for them;

Those that fed on dainties are desolate in the streets; Those brought up in scarlet, even those embrace the dunghill. iv. 3, 4, 5.