To paint that being to a grovelling mind Were like portraying pictures to the blind. 'Twas needful even infectiously to feel Her temper's fond and firm and 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, they 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 ev'ry pore. Oh! were he there, he thought, to rally back One broken band, or perish in the wrack! 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 That little fault, that fraud of love's romance, That plan's concealment, wrought their whole mischance. He knew it not preparing to embark, Again to kindred worthless of her care; 'Twas long since he had heard from UDOLPH last, And deep misgivings on his spirit fell, That all with UDOLPH's 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 UDOLPH ('twas, he thought at first, his sprite) With mournful joy that morn surprised his sight. How changed was UDOLPH! Scarce THEODRIC durst Inquire his tidings, he revealed the worst. 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 THEODRIC ere she dies. That my insane ambition for the name I made her slight a mother's counsel sage, Has faith in your affection, far above compose, THEODRIC. When visitants, to CONSTANCE near akin, band The sister who alone, like her, was bland; But said and smiled to see it gave him pain That CONSTANCE would a fortnight yet Vexed by their tidings, and the haughty view made; But prayed for love to share his foreign life, And breathless-with uplifted hand out- With poison of their own to point the shaft; Confessed she feared 'twas true you had But here you are, and smile on me: my pain What pride! embracing beauty's perfect Had agonized her pulse to fever's heat: Composed herself, she breathed composure Fair being! with what sympathetic grace I'll wait for your return on England's shore, more. To-morrow both his soul's compassion drew TO JULIA's call, and CONSTANCE urged anew That not 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, shock. should show: With UDOLPH then he reached the house That winter's eve how darkly Nature's now! The tempest, raging o'er the realms of ice, shrouds: Without was Nature's elemental din- half, laugh- And blest him, till she drew her latest sigh! 'Twas tidings-by his English messenger Poor JULIA! saw he then thy death's relief— It was not strange; for in the human breast shroud That covered JULIA made him first weep loud, soul's, saint Clung to him on a bridge of ice, pale, faint, That he had now to suffer-not to fear. Her death's cause he might make his peace | And when your grief's first transports shall Absolved from guilt, but never self-forgiven. I call upon your strength of soul and pride Her mother (must I call her such?) foresaw, Our House's charm against the world's The only gem that drew it some respect. To change her purpose-grew incensed, and With execrations from her kneeling child. Feared that she should not long the scene Yet bade even you the unnatural one forgive. “THKODRIC, this is destiny above Your soul, I know, as firm is knit to mine Shape not imagined horrors in my fate- To me; and our life's union has been clad Shall bitterness outflow from sweetness past? And let contentment on your spirit shine, Words that will solace him while life endures: For though his spirit from affliction's surge That mind in whose regard all things were As if her spirit watched him still below. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. LOCHIEL'S WARNING. WIZARD.-LOCHIEL. WIZARD. LOCHIEL! LOCHIEL, beware of the day array! They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, far? 'Tis thine, oh Glenullin! whose bride shall | They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, await, 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— WIZARD. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold where he flies on his desolate path! Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight: Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on flight! the moors: Culloden 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! 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 ashes to poison the gale LOCHIEL. False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan; LOCHIEL. -Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale: Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms For never shall Albin a destiny meet, are one! So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. HOHENLINDEN. strewed in their gore, Though my perishing ranks should be Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten On Linden, when the sun was low, shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 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. A NAVAL ODE. YE Mariners of England! Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, Your glorious standard launch again And sweep through the deep, The spirits of your fathers For the deck it was their field of fame, Britannia needs no bulwark, Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, With thunders from her native oak, The meteor flag of England When the storm has ceased to blow; All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, But Linden saw another sight, By torch and trumpet fast arrayed. Then shook the hills, with thunder riven, But redder yet that light shall glow '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, Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 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 bride, When they have slain her lover? |