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A MISCELLANY,
CONSISTING OF
UNPUBLISHED POEMS.
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Copyright ©2008, University of California
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-- Managing Editor
Charlotte Payne
-- Founding Editor
Nancy Kushigian
This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis, Kohler I:109. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler I:109mf.
All poems, line groups, and lines are represented. All material originally typeset has been preserved with the exception of original prose line breaks and line-end hyphens (except in headings and title pages), running heads, signature markings, smallcaps, and decorative typographical elements. Page numbers and page breaks have been preserved. The long "s" is displayed as a standard "s". Pencilled annotations and other damage to the text have not been preserved.
January 2, 2008
Charlotte Payne
-- ed.
WITH feelings of pride and satisfaction the Editor of "THE CASKET" surveys the list of Authors, of whose writings it is composed:—the kind and disinterested motives which have induced so many highly gifted persons to aid her design, convinces her that they will participate in the pleasure with which she hails its accomplishment.
When the earnest wish of benefiting a friend first suggested the undertaking, the success that has attended it could not have been anticipated; and the Editor earnestly requests the Contri-
The poetry contained in this volume consists of pieces written expressly for "THE CASKET," and of others which have never before been published. It is, however, necessary to make a single exception to this remark; in acknowledging, with many thanks, the beautiful lines contributed by Mr. ROGERS, the Editor feels obliged to add, that they were extracted from a poem, which, though unpublished at the time, has since been given to the public.
To Mr. Moore; peculiar thanks are due for suffering himself to be induced, by the circumstances in which the present publication has originated, to deviate from his rule of never contributing to any miscellaneous work.
The Editor cannot refrain from acknowledging even the intended kindness of Mr. CAMPBELL, who had permitted his name to appear in the Prospectus as a contributor to "THE CASKET," but who has been prevented, by subsequent illness, from the fulfilment of his promise.
Mr. MURRAY is requested to accept the thanks of the Editor for the liberality of the terms on which he has engaged to publish "THE CASKET."
HAST thou not ever,—gentle reader, say,—
Yawn'd at an Auction half the live-long day?
And slily mark'd, as lot succeeds to lot,
A bust, a Titian, or a China-pot,
How, pausing, ere the eventful hammer falls,
Choice puzzles some,—and some the price appals?
Our Prologue thus,—the Muse's auctioneer
Presents a bargain to each bidder here,
Bold in hyperbole the pulpit mounts,
And all the wonders of his wares recounts:
How in this page the Loves and Graces meet,
And all Parnassus warbles on that sheet;
How rills of verse, o'er meads of vellum wide
Meandering, swell the typographic tide,
Or hast thou ne'er, to search their rival stalls,
Loung'd from the Horse-Bazaar to Tattersall's?
And scann'd, with knowing eye and jealous heed,
From tooth to frog each purchasable steed?
Hinted a blemish, criticised a point,
Forc'd the short cough, and strok'd the fetlock joint,
Till, quite bewilder'd, thou hast stood at gaze,
'Midst mares and geldings, chestnuts, roans, and greys?
Our nags, endow'd with more poetic feet,
Start off for Hippocrene at a heat:
To Gorgon's line their pedigree we trace,
And boast a Pegasus of every pace;
Or art thou, reader! of the softer sex?
And didst thou ne'er thy gentle brain perplex
With ruffs, rouleaux, frills, tippets, flounces, chintz,
From Howell's tissues to the tapes at Flint's?
Where simpering, panting, staggering as they toil,
Skein after skein the apprentices uncoil;
Ribbons of every stripe and texture throw
Their length of lustring, like the radiant bow;
Lace, lama, gros-de-Naples, approach the sky,
The groaning counter towers Olympus-high;
Roll upon roll the gentle giants heave,
And the mount labours with—a gigot sleeve.
So teems the CASKET; so the modish Muse
Stores her gay mart with Fashion's choice bijoux;
Measures out rhymes as Custom's calls impel,
Wit by the nail, and fancy by the ell;
More stately now she spreads her rich brocade,
Plumes the blue bonnet, plaits the belted plaid;
With these she decks her minstrel's favourite lay,
And braids his thistle with immortal bay,
And sets anew the gems of Celtic lore,
As pious nymphs their grandam's garb restore:
Some on dark Mona's Druid mantle glow,
Some blaze in Erin's emerald bandeau,
Mimick the shamrock on her airy crest,
And match the verdure of the sea-maid's vest.
Three sister-realms, thus clustering gem on gem,
Conspire to grace Britannia's diadem.
Then slight not our's, nor deem thy gifts more rare,
Though thou perchance art fairest of the fair,
Where Fashion, towering in her pride of place,
Reigns, sovereign source of grandeur or disgrace;
Where Rank and Beauty throng her gorgeous throne,
And Wit with magic studs her Siren zone,
And Pleasure plants, ere darted from the eye,
The vis-a-vis point-blank artillery;
And Music breathes a spell all hearts to sway,
Witch'd by thy bow, melodious Collinet!
Or haply where, gratuitously lent,
Thy graces raise the market cent. per cent.
Where in bright smiles, enhancing every gain,
Thy bounty sparkles on the sons of Spain;
Like her, who, gifted by the fairy-dower,
Spoke pearls, and prattled in a diamond shower.
Lured by the glittering bait of voice and eye,
The fops, who come to flirt, remain to buy.
Yet here and there a calculating swain
Weighs well and cheapens, ere he clasps the chain;
Or, still more barbarous, casts a careless glance,
Or slits thy tender kid-skins, fresh from France;
Or jerks thy poor Grimaldis, 'till they skip,
E'en to the dislocation of the hip;
Thou wretch without a heart! unscath'd to bear
"Her eyes' blue languish and her golden hair;"
Gaze on those melting limbs, and ne'er relax,
Thaw, and dissolve to sympathetic wax!
Thus heroes play with puppets at a ball,
Turn on the spurr-capp'd heel, and jilt them after all.
And is it thus that Fashion still requites
Her votaries? thus repays their daily rites?
Nightly for this in mingled incense feels
Del Croix's mille-fleurs transfus'd through Rigg's Pastilles,
And snuffs Arabia's breath in every gale,—
Her spicy courts and blest boudoirs exhale?
Not so—unlock the CASKET: snatch these spoils
From pamper'd pride; and burst her tasteless toils:
BEAUTIFUL clouds! ah, whither, whither
So fondly do ye stray?
Beautiful clouds! come hither, hither,
And waft me on your way!
Beautiful clouds! I see you flitting,
As on the mountain's brow,
In solitary rapture sitting,
I view the world below.
Beautiful clouds! how light ye hover
Betwixt the sky and sea;
Scarce can the doubting eye discover
If sails or clouds ye be.
Of late three separate clouds appearing,
Now into one ye blend,
And now, as if my summons hearing,
Ye hither, hither wend.
Nearer, yet nearer now advancing,
Ye climb the cliff below,
And, bright with silvery sunbeams glancing,
Crown it an alp of snow.
Beautiful clouds! again ye sever!
Away, away ye fly!
And rest at length, as if for ever,
Upon the eastern sky.
But there, is not your radiant dwelling,
Blest pilgrims of the air!
No! yours, all mortal thoughts excelling,
Must be where angels are.
Oh! if your wings my soul could borrow,
I'd follow on your track!—
And yet one smile of earth's sweet sorrow
Too soon would lure me back.
I THINK of night—and thus endure the sun.
Sleep is existence—dreams my paradise—
For then the dear departed back are won.
Her then I see—and see without surprise
Or grief, forgetting all that death has done;
Nor deem it strange she meets my longing eyes,
Nor fear to lose her;—wherefore should I fear?
And then we hold communion, sweet, sincere,
As when her sainted spirit dwelt below,
And I was happier every passing year.
Ah! that maternal smile how well I know!
Words without sounds, yet breathing peace and love,
Steal from her lips—I seem on air to move;
Then wake, to life—reality and woe.
THE Jews occasionally hold a solemn assembly in the Valley of Jehosaphat, the ancient burial-place of their people. They are compelled to pay a heavy tax to the Mahometans for the privilege of mourning in stillness at the sepulchres of their fathers.
IN Babylon they sat and wept
Down by the river's willowy side,
And when the breeze their harp-strings swept,
The strings of breaking hearts replied:
A deeper sorrow now they hide;
No Cyrus comes to set them free
From ages of captivity.
All lands are Babylons to them,
Exiles and fugitives they roam:
What is their own Jerusalem?
The place where they are least at home!
Yet hither from all climes they come,
And pay their gold for leave to shed
Tears o'er the generations fled.
Around the eternal mountains stand,
With Hinnom's darkling vale between;
Old Jordan wanders through the land,
Blue Carmel's seaward crest is seen;
And Lebanon, yet sternly green,
Throws, when the evening sun declines,
Its cedar shades in lengthening lines.
But, ah! for ever vanish'd hence
The Temple of the living God,
Once Zion's glory and defence—
Now mourn beneath the oppressor's rod
The fields where faithful Abraham trod;
Where Isaac walk'd by twilight gleam,
And heaven came down on Jacob's dream.
For ever mingled with this soil
Those armies of the Lord of Hosts,
That conquer'd Canaan, shared the spoil,
Quell'd Moab's pride, storm'd Midian's posts,
Spread paleness through Philistia's coasts,
And taught the foes, whose idols fell,
"There is a God in Israel."
Now David's tabernacle gone,
What mighty builder shall restore?
The golden throne of Solomon,
And ivory palace, are no more:
The Psalmist's song, the Preacher's lore,
Of all they did, alone remain
Unperish'd trophies of their reign.
Holy and beautiful, of old,
Was Zion midst her princely bowers;
Besiegers trembled to behold
Bulwarks that set at nought their powers:
—Swept from the earth are all her towers;
Nor is there—so is she bereft—
One stone upon another left.
The very site whereon she stood,
In vain the foot, the eye would trace;
Vengeance, for saints' and martyrs' blood,
Her walls did utterly efface;
Dungeons and dens usurp their place;
The Cross and Crescent shine afar,
But where is Jacob's natal star?
Still inexterminable—still
Devoted to their mother-land,
Her offspring haunt the temple hill,
Amidst her desecration stand,
And bite the lip, and clench the hand:
—To-day in that lorn vale they weep,
Where patriarchs, kings, and prophets sleep.
O, what a spectacle of woe!
In groups they settle on the ground;
Men, women, children, gathering slow,
Sink down in reverie profound;
There is no voice, nor speech, nor sound—
But through the shuddering frame is shown
The heart's unutterable groan.
Entranced they sit, nor seem to breathe;
Themselves like spectres from the dead;
Where shrined in rocks above, beneath
With clods along the valley spread,
Their ancestors, each in his bed,
Shall rest, till, at the judgment-day,
Death and the Grave give up their prey.
Before their eyes, as in a glass,
—Their eyes that gaze on vacancy—
Pageants of ancient grandeur pass;
But "Ichabod" on all they see
Brands Israel's foul idolatry:
—Then, last and worst, and sealing all
Their crimes and sufferings—Salem's fall.
Nor breeze, nor bird, nor palm-tree stirs,
Kedron's unwater'd brook is dumb;
But through that glen of sepulchres
Is heard the city's fervid hum;
Voices of dogs and children come;
Till, loud and long, the Muedzin's cry,
From Omar's mosque, peals round the sky.
Blight through their veins those accents send—
In agony of mute despair,
Their garments as by stealth they rend;
They pluck unconsciously their hair;
—This is the Moslem's hour of prayer!
'Twas Judah's once—but fane and priest,
Altar and sacrifice have ceased.
And by the Gentiles in their pride
Jerusalem is trodden down;
—"How long? for ever wilt thou hide
Thy face, O Lord! for ever frown?
Israel was once thy glorious crown,
In sight of all the heathen worn;
Now from thy brow indignant torn.
"Zion, forsaken and forgot,
Hath felt thy stroke, and owns it just;
O God, our God! reject her not,
Whose sons take pleasure in her dust:
How is the fine gold dimm'd with rust!
The city, throned in gorgeous state,
How doth she now sit desolate!
"Where is thine oath to David sworn?
We by the winds like chaff are driven:
Yet 'unto us a Child is born,'
Yet 'unto us a Son is given;'
His throne is as the throne of heaven—
When shall he come to our release,
The mighty God, the Prince of Peace?"
Thus blind with unbelief they cry;
But hope revisits not their gloom;
Seal'd are the words of prophecy,
Seal'd as the secrets of the tomb,
Where all is dark—though wild flowers bloom,
Birds sing, streams murmur, heaven above,
And earth around are life, light, love.
The sun goes down; the mourning crowds,
Requicken'd, as from slumber start;
They met in silence here, like clouds—
Like clouds in silence they depart:
Still clings this thought to every heart,
Still from their lips escapes in sighs,
—"By whom shall Jacob yet arise!"
By whom shall Jacob yet arise?
—Even by the power that wakes the dead:
He, whom your fathers did despise,
He, who for you on Calvary bled,
On Zion shall his ensign spread—
Captives! by all the world enslaved,
Know your Redeemer, and be saved!
THOUGH it is hoped that the preceding stanzas will be sufficiently intelligible to many readers, yet, for the information of others, a few brief notices, collected from the Travels of Sandys, Clarke, Jowett, and others, may be necessary.
VERSE ii.—In no part of the world are the Jews more degraded and oppressed than in Jerusalem, where, on the slightest pretence, and by the most remorseless cruelty, money is extorted from them:— for example, in 1824 Rabbi Mendel was dragged from his bed, with three of his inmates, and imprisoned till he had paid a fine, amounting to 37 sterling, on a charge of having left the street-door of his house open. Mr. Jowett says:—"I observed as we passed through the Jewish quarter, and upon many faces in most parts of Jerusalem, a timid expression of countenance, called in Scripture 'pining away.' With a curiosity that desires to know everything concerning a stranger, there is, at the same time, a shrinking away from the curiosity of others." He adds, with regard to the Jews in this their native city:—" How truly is that threat accomplished, 'Thy life shall hang in doubt before thee and thou shalt fear by day and night, and shalt have none assurance of thy life.'—Deut. xxviii. 66."
VERSE vii.—See Psalm xlviii. 1 to 5, and 12 to 13, also Lamentations, iv. 12. "The kings of the earth, and all the inhabitants of the world, would not have believed that the adversary and the enemy should have entered into the gates of Jerusalem." This was said of the destruction of the city by Nebuchadnezzar. On its second and irrecoverable destruction by Titus, Josephus says, that the Roman
VERSE viii. It is difficult, indeed impossible, after the abomination of desolation has for so many centuries been laying waste the Holy City, to ascertain its ancient boundaries. There is very little reason to believe that the localities of the Holy Sepulchre, &c., overbuilt with churches, and visited by pilgrims and travellers from all countries, are genuine; so utterly confounded by undistinguishing ravages have been the very heights on which "Jerusalem was builded as a city compact together." There is nothing that strikes the stranger with more astonishment than the magnificent situation of Jerusalem, with the mountains standing round about it, and adorned with mosques, churches and convents, as seen from a distance, and the contrast of meanness and misery within its narrow, dark, and filthy streets, thronged with squalid and motley inhabitants. The city of palaces seems converted into a den of thieves.
VERSE viii.—The Mosque of Omar, a most superb structure, with its blue dome rising above all the adjacent edifices, stands on the very site of the demolished Temple of God. Within the court which surrounds it none but Mahometans, under pain of death or conversion to the faith of the false prophet, are permitted to enter. There is a tradition that the possession of the city depends upon the unviolated sanctity of this place. The miserable remnant of Jews, who yet linger about the hill of Zion, pay a tax for permission to assemble once a week (on Friday) to pray on the outside of this usurped seat of the true God, on a spot near the place where, it is said, that the holiest of holies in the ancient temple was built.
VERSE ix.—The Valley of Jehosaphat, in which the kings of Judah, the prophets and the illustrious of old are supposed to have been
VERSE xii.—Ichabod: that is, "Where is the glory?" or, "There is no glory." See I Samuel, iv. 21. "Jerusalem remembered in the days of her affliction and of her miseries all her pleasant things that she had in the days of old, when her people fell into the hands of the enemy, and none did help her; the adversaries saw her and did mock at her Sabbaths."—Lamentations, i. 7.
VERSE xiii.—The Muedzins (Muedhins) are criers, with clear sonorous voices, who from the tops of the Mosques call the people together at the hours of worship.
VERSE xv.—Mr. Jowett says:—"At every step coming forth out of the city, the heart is reminded of that prophecy accomplished to the letter—'Jerusalem shall be trodden down of the Gentiles.' All the streets are wretchedness; and the houses of the Jews more especially are as dunghills."
ONCE on a time, when sunny May
Was kissing up the April showers,
I saw fair Childhood hard at play
Upon a bank of blushing flowers;
Happy,—he knew not whence or how;
And smiling,—who could choose but love him?
For not more glad than Childhood's brow,
Was the blue heaven that beamed above him.
Old Time, in most appalling wrath,
That valley's green repose invaded;
The brooks grew dry upon his path,
The birds were mute, the lilies faded;
But Time so swiftly winged his flight,
In haste a Grecian tomb to batter,
That Childhood watched his paper kite,
And knew just nothing of the matter.
With curling lip, and glancing eye,
Guilt gazed upon the scene a minute,
But Childhood's glance of purity
Had such a holy spell within it,
That the dark demon to the air
Spread forth again his baffled pinion,
And hid his envy and despair,
Self-tortured, in his own dominion.
Then stepped a gloomy phantom up,
Pale, cypress-crowned, night's awful daughter,
And proffered him a fearful cup,
Full to the brim of bitter water:
Poor Childhood bade her tell her name,
And when the beldame muttered "Sorrow,"
He said,—"don't interrupt my game,
I'll taste it, if I must, to-morrow."
The Muse of Pindus thither came,
And wooed him with the softest numbers
That ever scattered wealth and fame
Upon a youthful poet's slumbers;
Then Wisdom stole his bat and ball,
And taught him, with most sage endeavour,
Why bubbles rise, and acorns fall,
And why no toy may last for ever:
She talked of all the wondrous laws
Which Nature's open book discloses,
And Childhood, ere she made a pause,
Was fast asleep among the roses.
Sleep on, sleep on!—Oh! Manhood's dreams
Are all of earthly pain, or pleasure,
Of Glory's toils, Ambition's schemes,
Of cherished love, or hoarded treasure:
But to the couch where Childhood lies
A more delicious trance is given,
Lit up by rays from Seraph eyes,
And glimpses of remembered heaven!
Atossa fair,
Princess of Persia's honour'd line!
Be thine the care
The due libations to consign,
Where earth's deep mansions are.
While we with suppliant anthems crave
The heralds of the peopled grave,
To grant our mystic prayer.
Ye nether demons, dark and dread,
Hermes, Pluto, mightiest thou!
Yield from amidst your subject dead
Darius, at his people's vow!
For if our destin'd term of ill
Be hidden, unaccomplish'd still,
Of earth-born beings only he
May scan its dim extremity.
Alas! doth he our sainted chief
Hear his children's wild lament,
Thrill'd in ecstasy of grief,
Mix'd with spells of dark intent?
Again the choral wail we rear,
But can the prison'd spirit hear?
Demons, who lead the grisly train
Of ghosts, within your waste domain,
Speed, from the drear abodes of earth,
Him, Persia's God, of Susian birth;
Speed him, the noblest and the best,
On whom the graves of Persia rest.
We wept him, o'er yon marble weep,
Where, veil'd in death, his virtues sleep.
List, Aidoneus! hither bring
Him our brave, our blameless king;
He from his realms averted far
The curses of wide-wasting war:
"A God in counsel" Persia hail'd
Her king, nor vain was Persia's boast;
His god-like counsels long avail'd
To guide, unscathed, his loyal host.
Come, thou king, thou king of days,
Here thy honoured spectre raise!
On yon tomb's impending verge
Let thy saffron sandal rest!
Let thy turbaned brow emerge,
Nodding with its royal crest!
King Darius, from the grave
Listen, and save!
Lord of Persia's lords appear!
Woes unknown, unnumber'd hear!
Styx hath wound her thickest gloom
Round Persia's state, her youths' spring-bloom
Blasted by one unsparing doom!
Hither, then, our sire and friend,
Hither, thy healing presence bend.
O thou, by Persia's tears deplor'd,
Say why this land beloved of thee,
Despite thy cares, her lineal lord,
Is doomed this twofold agony?
Her children reft,—her navy's pride
Whelmed, whelmed in the remorseless tide!
"HAPPY the Fair who, here retir'd,
"By sober contemplation fir'd,
"Delight from Nature's works can draw;"
'Twas thus I spoke, when first I saw
Yon cottage—which, with chastest hand,
Simplicity and Taste have plann'd.
"Happy who, grosser cares resign'd,
"Content with books to feast the mind,
"Can leave life's luxuries behind:
"Content within this humble cell,
"With Peace and Temperance to dwell,
"Her food the roots, her drink the well.
"'Twas thus of old;" but as I spoke,
Before my eyes what dainties smoke!
Not such as Eremites of old,
In many a holy tale enroll'd,
THE fact, on which the following Ballad is founded, is historical, and runs thus:—
The Earl of Traquair, during the troubles of Charles I., remaining faithful to his master, sent one William Armstrong with dispatches to the king, which he performed; but, on his return with a written answer, having advanced as far as Carlisle, he was surrounded by troops (sent by the Commonwealth to intercept him) while in the act of crossing the bridge over the Eden, then in flood. He however leaped the parapet into the river, gained the northern bank and fled, closely pursued to the Eske, which he swam, and, emboldened by being on Scottish ground, turned and invited his enemies to come over and drink with him.∗
O WILLIE—he saddl'd his milk-white steed,
And mounted himsel to ride,
And blithely he pass'd the Eske water,
And he pass'd the English side.
And fast he rade merry Carlisle by,
And by Penrith rade he fast,
Nor rest did he, till to King Charlie
He safely came at last.
Vide a Note to a Ballad called "Christie's Will," Minstrelsy of Scottish Border, vol. iii. p. 109.
He has gi'en him there a braid letter,
Ere he loos'd his bridle rein,
And he's charg'd wi' another for gude Traquair,
And he boun'd him back again.
But the warden has dight his armor bright,
And an hundred riders ta'en,
And he sware by his fay, that Willie that day
Suld be grippit there, or slain.
O Willie—he pass'd fair Carlisle's wa',
And to cross the brigg he gan,
When before him he saw those merryman a',
And beneath him the water wan.
The Eden was braid, and the brigg it was high,
But he plung'd him in the stream,
He plung'd him in wi' his milk-white steed,
Where it flow'd frae bank to brim.
O stoutly swam that bonny white horse,
But the river was wide and strang,
And before he wan the Stanhouse banks
But he was welt nigh dang.
For his rider's cloak weigh'd the gude steed back,
Sae drippingly it hung:
But Willie has cutten baith loop and band,
And safely to land has sprung.
They chas'd him by dale, they chas'd him by lea,
But nothing might they gain,
For aye before all o' their companie
He rade wi' slacken'd rein.
He swam thro' the Eske, though it ran like a sea,
And he gain'd the Scottish side,
And he turn'd him about to the Warden's rout,
And thus to the Captain he cried:
"I have ridden all free thro' your south countree,
"And water I've tasted o' thine,
"But gin thou'lt come over, and drink wi' me,
"I'll gie thee the red, red wine."
THE wise have taught that mortal man is like the tender flow'r,
Which blossoms now, and now is cropp'd, and withers in an hour;
That beauty fades, that health decays, that life is but a span,
Oh, true indeed, it proved with thee, my lovely Mary Ann!
Yet who takes warning from the voice, that tells us all is frail?
Or who, until he feels the truth, will listen to the tale?
I saw the bloom upon thy cheek, the sparkle in thine eye,
And little, little did I think, the Spoiler was so nigh.
The hair upon my head, I knew, was turning fast to gray,
And many a furrow in my face was deeper day by day;
I knew the time was hastening on when Death would call on me,
But little thought, my Mary Ann, to see him seize on thee!
Oh! thou wert blooming as the flower that blossoms first in May,
And thou wert lively as the lark that welcomes in the day,
And thou wert beauteous as the bow that shines amid the shower,
And thou wert fleeting like the bow, and fragile like the flower.