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Mrs. Pilkington.
Published by Vernor, Hood & Sharpe, Sept. 1,1810.
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Mrs. Pilkington.
Published by Vernor, Hood & Sharpe, Sept. 1,1810.
BY
W. Wilson, Printer, St. John's Square, London.
THE author of the following Poems, (who has frequently appeared before the public with the most flattering success) being prevented by the pressure of severe indisposition, bordering upon insensibility, from bestowing the last finish to her labours, and from attending to the minutiae of the press, it is presumed by those who are solicitous for her literary reputation, and her returning health, should any glaring errors occur, that the recital of a circumstance so afflicting, while it disarms the severity of criticism, will be considered by her numerous subscribers an ample apology for such imperfections.
WHEN virtue and dignity jointly combine,
Like the sun's radiant beams, more effulgent they shine;
For when virtue is hid by Obscurity's shroud
,
It resembles the sun, conceal'd by a cloud;
But when 'tis encircled with Royalty's blaze
,
Conspicuous
it shines
, and, like Caroline's rays,
Far beyond its own circular orbit extends,
And effulgently shines on its admiring friends!
May the virtues of BRUNSWICK'S descendant long shine,
And, transmitted, appear in Old England's fair
line;
May her joys and her pleasures each moment increase,
And her breast be the mansion of bliss and of peace!
May those honours which fate has decreed her to wear
Be never diminish'd by Royalty's care;
May the coronet which her temples adorns
Ne'er prove to its wearer a garland of thorns!
May roses spring from it, so profuse and sweet,
That their leaves, falling down, may envelope her feet,
And occasion life's steps to appear light as air,
By concealing beneath them the rough path of care.
If wishes
, Great Princess, could like incense rise,
Then mine
should ascend
to the foot of the skies,
And implore the Blest Author of greatness
and life
To shield you from care, and protect you from strife.
But as wishes, alas! are both futile and vain,
I have only to hope
that no sorrow or pain
Will probe to the quick that too sensitive heart;
And if sorrow must aim
, may the point of its dart
Be blunted, before it reaches a breast
Where virtue resides, and residing, feels blest.
May your days, honour'd Princess, prove tranquil and sweet,
Is the prayer of that being who lays at your feet
The offspring of fancy
, the produce of thought;
Though some
of the Tales
are with simple facts
fraught,
As their title
will prove; and, permit me to say,
That applauded
by Royalty
, each humble lay
Will borrow some merit from that brilliant gleam
Which illumines the Work from Caroline's beam!
Receive then an off'ring, submissively laid,
And draw forth oh, draw forth, the writer from shade!
Oh, smile on her efforts--applaud
but her Muse
,
And the World
will no longer their plaudits refuse;
But smiling
or frowning
, respectful
I bend,
Still hoping to find in my Princess
a friend!
Brook Green, Hammersmith.
NOT in a verdant varying vale,
Not shelter'd by a wood,
Not sweetly fann'd by zephyr's gale,
Or margin'd by a flood,
Whose gentle stream meand'ring flow'd
Clear as the mirror's glare,
And, by reflection, plainly show'd
Each form which wander'd there;
But Donald's habitation stood
Near rocks, whose tow'ring height
Seem'd form'd primeval with the flood,
So firmly fix'd their might.
No placid rivulet was near
That bleak, that drear abode;
The gloomy cypress here, and there,
Proclaim'd the footstepp'd road
Which led to Donald's dreary den--
For such I might it call--
As there the busy hum of men
Ne'er echo'd, through the hall!
Silence, and Solitude, proclaim'd
The master's turn of mind;
Yet Donald's name had once been fam'd
For noble deeds--and kind.
But treach'ry harden'd Donald's breast;
Treach'ry of deepest dye----
A friend depriv'd his soul of rest,
And dimm'd his lust'rous eye.
A friend!--blasphemy to a name
Which spotless Seraphs bear!
A friend it was, who, lost to shame,
Drove Donald to despair.
Donald, the Chief of a proud clan,
Whose castle's tow'r'd the Clyde;
And whose domain extended ran
Along that river's side.
Yet not of wealth or titles proud,
But of those noble deeds
Which time itself can never shroud,
Or veil like widow's weeds!
In feats of valour he had shone;
Fame had those feats proclaim'd;
But his sun set, alas! at noon,
And 'velop'd him in shade.
Douglass, and Donald, long were friends,
Each fought on virtue's side;
Donald on Douglass oft depends,
And makes his will, a guide.
A treach'rous guide, a subtle foe,
Who, with insidious art,
Instill'd a poison deep, yet slow;
Which touch'd a noble heart.
Jessey and Donald were a pair
Unmatch'd--unheard--unseen!
She was the fairest of the fair;
He--of unequall'd mien!
Mars scarcely mov'd with equal grace;
Apollo's lute his voice;
Adonis' not so fine a face;
Such--was fair Jessey's choice.
If Donald might with Mars compare,
With Venus
Jessey strove;
Not Helen, that fam'd Grecian fair,
Seem'd form'd like her--for love!
Her roseate lip, her blooming cheek,
Her eye of azure blue,
Did not the pow'r of love bespeak
In language half so true:
For modesty bestow'd a grace,
A charm almost divine,--
Which, Helen, beam'd not in thy face,
But, Jessey,--shone in thine.
No wanton look; no luring glare;
In Jessey's eye was seen;
She seem'd to shun the broad, bold stare,
And wish to bloom unseen.
The din of arms had ceas'd to sound,
The trumpet's voice was mute;
And Jessey sweet enjoyment found
In Donald's tuneful flute.
Attention mark'd her speaking eye,
As o'er the strain she hung;
And bliss inspir'd a feeling sigh,
When Donald play'd or sung!
Douglass attended to the sound,
And saw the bliss inspir'd;
He mark'd each gaze with look profound
Each gaze--his bosom fir'd,
With passion,--fiend-like as the heart
From whence that passion flow'd,
He form'd his plans with subtle art,
Whilst pure esteem he show'd:
For Donald, when retir'd from arms,
Ask'd Douglass to his house,
To spend some months in rural charms,
And see his lovely spouse.
The sword
, then to the ploughshare
turn'd,
The spear
into the prune;
And Donald husbandry had learn'd
In the preceding June.
Douglass pretended to enjoy
Pleasure from rural sports;
Weaving a web that should destroy
Bliss
seldom known in Courts!--
Long, long, had Jessey been assail'd
By Donald's treach'rous friend;
But though his ev'ry scheme had fail'd,
Yet still he would depend
Upon that pride which women feel
When husbands faithless prove:
And there, with venom'd aspine steel,
He poison'd Jessey's love!
A tale, maliciously untrue
,
He whisper'd in her ears;
But, Jessey, may each fair by you
Be caution'd how she hears,
Or listens to, a treach'rous tale
Against the man whose name
Should reach her ears through plaudit's gale,
Proclaiming worth
and fame!
For jealousy, when once inspir'd,
Is not to be repress'd;
It burns with fury, when its fir'd,
Like a volcano's breast.
And Jessey's gentle bosom felt
That fierce volcanic fire;
A bosom Nature form'd to melt
And soothe each rough desire.
Swift, swift the progress from the road
Of virtue, if we stray;
And few--if any--who have trod,
Return'd the perfect way.
This dang'rous path did Jessey tread;
Jessey, once pure
as fair;
Whilst retrospective horror spread
A veil of black despair!
"Oh, Douglass! causer of my woes,"
(In frantic grief she cried,)
"Shield me beneath the Alpine snows,
Or in some cavern hide
"Me from Donald's piercing eye,
Which, sure, must read my shame!
To the remotest realm I'd fly,
To hide my perjur'd name!
"Wretch that I am! disgrac'd
and lost
,
By varying passions torn;
My mind, like raging billows toss'd,
Hopeless! distress'd! forlorn!"
"Fly, my belov'd!" (Douglass exclaim'd,
And clasp'd her to his breast;)
"Let but the spot of earth be nam'd
Where Jessey seeks for rest:
"Not Afric's sun, or Alpine snow,
Should e'er retard my flight;
With thee, contented would I go,
Thinking each danger light!
"My Jessey's spotless form would prove
A guardian angel's light !"----
"Stop! Douglass, stop!" reply'd his love,
"Virtue alone
--shines bright!
"But me, degen'rate and forlorn,
Detesting ev'n myself;
I rue the day that I was born,
Endow'd with charms and health!"
The plan of flight was soon arrang'd,
To distant realms they flew;
And Jessey from her lord estrang'd,
Jessey, once fond and true!
But who shall paint her lord's distress?
Or tell the horrid tale,
Which whisp'ring rumours soon express
On aggravation's gale?
He heard she fled--and by consent;--
With rapid force and speed;
He heard it as he homeward bent,
And found her gone, indeed!
His infant Jessey tearful ran,
And met him at the door;
"Mamma is gone!" the child began,
"And will not see us more!"
"Not see us more!" Donald reply'd,
Tortur'd with fresh alarms;
He groan'd--he wept--he rav'd--and sigh'd--
Then press'd her in his arms.
"Oh, hapless innocent!" he cry'd,
"Forsaken and forlorn;
Would but to Heav'n I had died,
E'er thou--dear babe, wast born!
"For now thou chain'st me to this earth;
Thou art a pow'rful tie;
Yet, as I gavest thee thy birth,
For thee--I will not die!"
Grief, indignation, and despair,
Tortur'd his manly breast;
Quick he pursu'd the treach'rous fair,
Who robb'd his soul of rest.
Douglass nor Jessey could be trac'd;
Half o'er the globe he flew;
When homeward he return'd disgrac'd,
He scarce young Jessey knew.
Thrice had the sun its circuit ran,
Or thrice the earth mov'd round,
When Donald, poor unhappy man,
Resought his native ground.
Unable to support the taunts
He fancied would be thrown,
He then resolv'd to seek some haunts
Where he could not be known.
Long did he seek--at length he found
A spot which charm'd his soul;
Sterility o'erspread the ground;
Rough winds--incessant howl!
Far as the eye extends its ken,
Rude rocks majestic rise,
An unfit spot for social men;
Yet thither Donald flies,
Attended by the lovely child,
Whose youthful joyous sports
Render'd the rocks a pleasing wild,
More pleasing far, than courts.
Remembrance never could recall
To Jessey other scenes;
Her father's noble banner'd hall,
Or park of vary'd greens,
If e'er remember'd, soon appear'd
Like an illusive dream;
For Jessey's childhood had been rear'd
Where pleasures--never beam.
To see the sea-fowl fly to rest,
To hear the billows roar,
Or sometimes for the kirk be drest,
Then stroll along the shore,
Was all of pleasure Jessey knew,
Yet Jessey was serene;
And as to womanhood she grew,
She rivall'd Beauty's queen.
Grace in her step; love in her eye;
Contentment in her breast;
And but for Donald's smother'd sigh,
Young Jessey had been bless'd.
Untutor'd she in worldly bliss;
Unskill'd in guile or art;
When Donald smiling gave a kiss,
Joy touch'd her tender heart.
She was, in fact, pure Nature's child,
Yet might have grac'd a court;
Not rustically rude or wild,
But gentleness her forte.
Jessey at ev'ning oft would stray,
To mark the ebbing tide;
Whilst Cynthia lent her silv'ry ray,
To innocence--a guide!
One ev'ning, as she watch'd the tide,
A sudden storm appears;
Cynthia no longer prov'd a guide,
But darkness veil'd the spheres.
A vessel tow'ring on the waves
Drew near to Jessey's coast;
It rises! sinks! rises! and laves!
Then seems for ever lost!
At length surmounting shoals and sands,
It gains the wish'd-for shore;
A female form descends--and lands
Amidst the billow's roar!
Impervious as the rock she stood,
Fix'd was her azure eye;
When just emerging from the flood,
Jessey she chanc'd to spy.
"Your name, young lady? oh, declare;"
(She said in accents wild)----
"Jessey;" reply'd the trembling fair----
"Oh God!" she cry'd, "my child!"
Then with maternal transport prest
The maiden in her arms;
Alternate clasp'd her to her breast,
And gaz'd upon her charms.
Delighted gaz'd; then smiling wept;
And smiling, wept anew;
A soft sensation quickly crept
Through Jessey's heart, which flew
Spontaneous to her lovely eyes,
And dimm'd them with soft tears,
More beauteous than the pearl of skies,
Which in the dew appears.
Donald began to think the fair
Unusual time had staid;
A thousand fears excited care,
Lest danger haunted shade:
Or that the lightning's lurid glare
Had terror-struck her heart;
For though as innocent as fair,
She fear'd the rapid dart.
Donald, acquainted with the road
Jessey was prone to take,
Quitted his gloomy, drear abode,
For his lov'd daughter's sake.
True did he mark the fair one's race,
And drew to Jessey near,
Just as a mother's fond embrace
Call'd forth the tender tear.
Eager amazement mark'd his eye
What mingled passions rise!
His lab'ring bosom heav'd a sigh
Of joy, distress, surprise!
He saw, he knew his long-lost love;
But ah! no longer pure:
No longer like a spotless dove;
Her frailty prov'd his cure!
"Jessey," he said, in solemn tone,
"Say farewell to our dear!"
Yet whilst he spoke, the deep-drawn groan
Was follow'd by a tear.
"If poverty has been thy doom,
I will its cares remove;
But virtue in its op'ning bloom
Demands a father's love;
"Demands his fond protecting care,
To shield it from all vice:
Contagion mixes in its air,
And females must be nice,
"If they would wish to save their fame
From Calumny's foul breath;
And to preserve a spotless name
For Jessey--I'd brave death!
"Dreadful the tortures which I feel,
Whilst making this decree;
But for our daughter's future weal,
This night she parts from thee."
Appall'd the timid Jessey stood,
Gazing upon that form,
Preserv'd from the engulphing flood,
To brave a still worse storm.
Then falling prostrate on the ground,
"My father lov'd," she cry'd,
"A mother I've this moment found
I always thought had died
"In giving birth to this frail form,
Which begs, intreats, implores!
Be not less piteous than the storm,
Or hard, like rocky shores!
"My mother's faults may have been great,
But like a God, forgive;
Permit her but to share your fate,
And let your Jessey live!
"For ah! I feel to part is death!
Death to your darling child!"
As she said this, she gasp'd for breath,
Her lovely eyes look'd wild.
"Kill you, my life!" Donald exclaim'd,
Kill her my soul holds dear!
A savage fury would be tam'd,
Could he behold that tear!"
He clasp'd her to his throbbing breast,
Then turning to his wife,
"Jessey, forgive a mind distress'd,
And almost sick of life,
"The harsh expressions which I made,
Resentment now is o'er;
Severely, doubtless, you have paid
For quitting Albion's shore."
And now behold the trio rush
Into each other's arms;
Whilst Donald saw the rising blush
Restore his Jessey's charms:
Those charms rekindled that soft flame
Which once was Donald's pride;
Yet still a feeling sense of shame
Induc'd him for to hide
Those charms within a drear abode;
There still his child confine,
Though form'd to tread life's gayest road;
And in a court to shine.
Hear this, ye mothers! and beware
How ye support the name;
For if not virtuous as fair,
Your daughters feel the shame.
DECEMBER'S hollow winds had howl'd,
And whistled through the air;
The leafless trees an emblem stood
Of sorrow and despair.
Beneath an aged oak I spy'd
A traveller distrest;
His manly form, by sorrow bow'd,
Rais'd pity in my breast.
His hollow eye was lowly bent
Tow'rds the russet earth;
Yet in his form I thought I trac'd
Semblance of higher birth:
I spoke--and as my voice proclaim'd
Compassion's soothing art,
He rais'd an eye so finely form'd,
It touch'd me to the heart.
Speech was deny'd; but as he clasp'd
Impressively his hands,
A tear, the emblem of distress,
Fell on the senseless sands.
Well did I mark the crystal drop:
Unbidden from his eye
Another fell, attended by
A sympathetic sigh.
"Unhappy man!" said I, "whate'er
Thy cause of sorrow be,
In me behold a willing friend,
Anxious to comfort thee."
Astonishment was quickly mark'd
On his expressive face:
"A Friend
!" he cried, "do I hear right?
Great God! I thank thy grace;
"Or mercy--for this precious boon--"
Then turning round tow'rds me,
"My story's long,--the wind blows keen--
Not far, Sir, from this tree,
"A cavity these hands have made;
And on the earth's cold breast
This wretched form each night retires,
To seek repose and rest:
"Thither allow me to conduct,
And there I will disclose
A tale that will appal your heart,
A tale of real woes!"
A silent glance bespoke assent;
Towards the spot we drew;
Four gloomy trees o'ershadow'd it,
The cypress, and the yew.
An excavation, made by art,
Gave shelter from the air;
Yet all within the cell appear'd
The emblem of despair!
A table, if it might be call'd
By that convenient name,
Was form'd out of an old elm trunk,
With two stools of the same.
A bow, that might a court have grac'd,
Prov'd I was welcome there;
And drawing forth a stool
, he ask'd
If 'twould supply a chair?
--
Seated, I begg'd him to disclose
The sorrows of his breast;
"No idle wish," said I, "my friend,
Induces this request:
"An ample fortune I possess;
No kindred ties have claim;
If I can serve you, tell me so;
I ask not for your name;"
"It is Fernando!"
, he reply'd;
"My father's
I'll conceal;
For false assertions have disgrac'd,
And wounded pride might feel
"Offended, if I should disclose
The race from whence I sprung;
A race that's not ignobly born,
For ah ! when I was young
"The sycophantic tongue proclaim'd
The honours I should wear;
Honours, connected with deceit,
And laden deep with care!
"When education was complete,
The army was my choice;
My mother the fond wish oppos'd
With a dissenting voice;
"But youthful ardour rose too high,
For reason to prevent:
At length, reluctant I receiv'd
A kind of half consent.
"Enthusiasm fir'd my breast:
Like Cæsar's self I thought;
And Veni, Vidi, Vita was
The maxim which I taught.--
"Approving honours deck'd my brow,
But praise
too oft inspires
Malign aspersions, and gives rise
To Envy's
dark desires.
"The artful fiend in ambush lay,
It wore a specious garb;
And under Friendship's
sacred form,
Convey'd the deadly barb.
"The point was aim'd by Osmund's hand,
The much-lov'd friend of youth;
On whose professions I rely'd
With unsuspicious truth.
"Is there a pang on earth so keen,
So tort'ringly severe,
As to find treach'ry
in a friend,
Whom our whole souls revere?
"Yet him it was who stung the breast
That cherish'd and sustain'd;
For Osmund ne'er had serv'd his King,
Unless by me
maintain'd.
"I thought within his mind I trac'd
Virtues above his sphere
;
I call'd them forth--and lov'd
the man
--
Pardon this rising tear!
"A tear--which my Amanda's shade
Oft summons from these eyes;--
Amanda was her parent's pride,
Their dear--their valued prize!
"Angelic maid! she was the boast
Of Avon's flow'ry vale;
Forgive a brother's fond regret,--
Who now pursues his tale.
"The specious Osmund soon contriv'd
My sister's love to gain;
But knowing that his suit could not
My sanction
e'er obtain,
"He poison'd her too cred'lous mind,
And taught her to suppose,
That in her brother she would meet
One of her greatest foes!
"The beauteous maiden soon believ'd
The fabricated tale;
And drove Fernando from her breast,
As an infectious gale!
"Not satisfied with this dark deed,
A vile report he spread,
That when the enemy press'd close,
Most dastardly I fled;
"And that the laurels which I wore,
Belong'd to him
, in right
;
For that my rank
alone obtain'd
The honours
of the fight
.--
"No longer greeted with applause,
A coolness I perceiv'd;
And though my friends might Osmund doubt,
My foes too soon believ'd.--
"I trac'd the rumour,--and soon heard
From whose false tongue it rose;
The pang was doubled, when I found
It sprang not from my foes!
"My aggravated wrongs were more
Than patience could sustain;
And urg'd by Passion's potent sway,
I did not check its reign.
"Deceptious monster! (I exclaim'd,)
Thy villany's reveal'd;
Prepare, then, to defend thyself,
Virtue
will prove my shield!
"Appall'd with terror by my words,
And paraliz'd by fear,
Osmund submissively implor'd
Excuses
I would hear!
"But urg'd by passion to proceed,
Impetuously I drew;--
Defend thyself! (again I cried,)
And the false Osmund slew!
"The dreadful tale was soon disclos'd,
And reach'd Amanda's ear;
Transfix'd she heard it--but, alas!
Shed not--a single tear!
"Reason for ever fled her throne;--
That sister, once my pride,
Remain'd three years an idiot,
Regain'd her sense--and died!
"A father's curses have pursu'd
Me--from that fatal day;
But who my anguish can describe?
Who can my griefs pourtray?
"Disgrac'd--disown'd--I fled the land
To which I ow'd my birth;
And twice twelve years a pilgrim now
Have sojourn'd on this earth:
"Yet has affection to the spot
Where first I drew my breath,
Attracted me from foreign climes,
To wait the hand of death.
"And stranger, soon this care-worn form
Will in the grave be laid;
And you, perhaps, will shed a tear
Of pity to my shade!
"My wrongs were such, as few could bear;
And such as all
must feel
;
Yet Osmund's tale I should have heard,
Before I drew the steel:
"For each night when I seek repose,
His murder'd corpse I view;
His gaping wound all bleeding fresh,
As when my sword first slew.--
"Amanda's lov'd, angelic form,
To me, too, oft appears;
A maniac's shriek appals my heart,
And fills my eyes with tears.--
"'Restore my Osmund to these arms!'
She says, or seems to say,
'I come, my Love!' she then exclaims,
And vanishes away.
"Then, stranger, whosoe'er thou art,
Whose sympathetic breast
Hast seem'd to share my poignant woes,
And giv'n a transient rest
"To those afflictions which, for years,
This heart with grief has fraught;
From me, then learn to check revenge,
And by my pangs be taught
"That though the Duellist
may think
He gains the world's applause,
A sacred monitor within
Will disapprove
his cause!
"This monitor will loud appeal,
And call forth many a sigh;
By proving murder
is a crime
,
A crime of blackest dye!
"Believe me, honour
is a name
Which does the sense allure;
Then, stranger, take a warning by
The anguish I endure.--
"Could I but Osmund's life recal;
Or could I but restore
My lov'd Amanda from the grave,
To this terrestrial shore,
"Religion's dictates I'd pursue,
And Osmund's faults forgive;
Bid him repent
, and sin
no more
,
But free from slander live:
"Then might I hope a Saviour's blood
Would wash my faults away;
Nor dread to hear my doom pronounc'd
At the great judgment day.--
"By prayers and penitence I try
A pardon to procure;
But Conscience whispers to my breast,
That pardon's far from sure!
"Yet here this wretched life shall close;
Here shall this form be laid;
For near this spot Amanda died,
That dear--ill-fated maid!"----
He paus'd--I thank'd him for a tale
Which had impress'd my mind,
More forcibly than doctrines taught
By arguments sublim'd."
"If," said Fernando, "My deep woes
One duel should restrain,
Then will the anguish I endure
Not prove completely vain."
FAIR Helen was the loveliest maid
That Scotia's land has seen;
A sylph-like form, adorn'd with grace,
Mark'd lovely Helen's mien.--
Yet not the grace of haughty
minds,
But modest, chaste, refin'd;
As if devoid of ev'ry charm,
Save a celestial mind!
The *
Author of young Helen's birth
Had dire misfortunes known;
Yet his complex, and various woes,
In verse, could not be shown!
Too deep
--too poignant
--too severe
,
For fiction to disclose;
His children were in ign'rance kept,
Suspecting not
--his woes!
Suffice to say, he had resign'd
A noble birth--and name;
And in retirement
pass'd a life
Which Nature form'd for fame
!
Helen had oft remark'd with grief
Her father's gloom of mind;
Yet ne'er presum'd to ask
the cause
,
From sentiments refin'd!
Yet would she strive to banish care
From his unquiet breast;
And from her harp, such strains would draw
As sooth'd his soul to rest.
Her voice accompanied the sound,
Sweeter than any flute;
And Frazier oft, while list'ning, thought
'Twas Orpheus and his lute.
Each day some charming trait appear'd
In Helen's opening mind;
So pure, so perfect, was the fair,
She seem'd like Virtue's child!
Form'd to be lov'd, ador'd, admir'd
,
Yet not to bloom unseen;
Each courtly friend had oft implor'd
Helen to quit the green,
And mix among the brilliant crowd
That did the court
adorn:
Thus Ellen as a rose appear'd,
Encircled with its thorn.
With anxious, yet foreboding fears,
Did Frazier then resign
The object of his tender care,
In Pleasure's maze--to shine!
Amazement follow'd every step;
Such charms had ne'er been seen!
Yet did no conscious pride appear
In Helen's modest mien!
Frazier with joy heard the applause
Bestow'd upon his child;
And fondly did he hope to hear
She was some noble's bride
.
Amidst the numbers who were struck
With lovely Helen's charms,
Was Sedley--dignify'd in form,
And fam'd for feats in arms!
This youth, not form'd in common mould,
Was dignified in mind;
His passions all impetuous were;
Still, he was good and kind.
His soul despis'd all sordid views;
Lucre was not his aim;
He thirsted for that shade, Applause
--
That bubble
, we term Fame!
Yet what, perhaps, he might have gain'd
By courteous, kind address,
He lost;--because he seem'd to claim;
Each look commands
express!
Such was the youth who Helen woo'd,
Yet woo'd, alas! in vain;
The very thought of Sedley's love
Excited fear and pain!
Rejected by the maid he lov'd
With tenderness sublime;
How shall I tell the pangs he felt!
How paint his woes
in rhyme!
By turns he rav'd--by turns he wept;
With frantic grief grew wild;
And Frazier's rage scarce bound'ries knew
Against his darling child,
When he discover'd she'd refus'd
An offer he admir'd;
For though retir'd in Glenross vale,
Pride
still his bosom fired
.
And Sedley was, of all the earth,
The man he wish'd to call
By the endearing
name of son;
As then the banner'd hall,
Where feats of valour waving hung
In ancestorial pride
,
Would to his Helen then belong,
If she was Sedley's bride:
But by rejecting Sedley's love,
These hopes had fled in air;
And Frazier's angry letter spoke
Daggers
--unto the fair !
Surpris'd, affected, and dismay'd;
With many a falling tear,
She begg'd her father to announce
Why Sedley
was so dear!
" Oft has my father kindly vow'd
Ne'er to control his child;"
Said duteous Helen, in reply,
"Then why severely chide?"
A piteous tale was then disclos'd,
A tale of woe and pain;
And Helen vow'd to be a bride,
If Sedley sued again!
To sooth the agitated mind,
Toss'd on affliction's storm,
Helen conceiv'd that duty
forc'd
A daughter
to perform.
With grief of heart had Helen read
Those marks of rage or ire;
And but for reading
,--ne'er conceiv'd
Them written by her sire
.--
The news that Helen's father blam'd
Her hasty, fix'd decree,
Was soon by friends to Sedley told,
Who vow'd that sire to see.
Helen, unable to sustain
A father's rage and ire,
Once more return'd to sweet Glenross,
To see her much-lov'd sire.
And scarce had Helen said, "I'm wrong!"
When all resentment flies;
He press'd her to his throbbing heart,
With transport, joy, surprise!
A fresh surprise was still in store,
For Sedley soon appears;
Again he breathes the ardent vow
In lovely Helen's ears!
With modest blush, and downcast eye,
She listen'd to the tale;
Whilst Sedley, all impatient waits
On Expectation's gale.
And as her ruby lips unclos'd,
He trembled lest the sound
Should crush his new, aspiring hopes,
In an abyss--profound!
A tear
, defying all control,
Stole down his manly cheek;
That precious gem, which feeling shows
When language is too weak
To paint sensations of the heart,
With hopes and fears opprest;
Helen beheld the crystal drop,
And pity
--touch'd her breast;
Pity, so near allied to Love,
That Poets all declare
Them sister-twins,
--meant to evince
The softness of the fair!
Though pity soften'd Helen's breast,
Yet duty
made it rise;
And whilst to speak she oft essay'd,
Her voice seem'd check'd by sighs.
"Speak, my belov'd!" then Sedley cried
"Thy Lover waits his doom;
But if rejected,--here I swear
To die on *
Glory's tomb!
"For life, without my Helen's love,
Would be a life of woe;
Love's poison I have deeply drank,
A poison sure
,--but slow
!"
He spoke, and press'd her downy hand
With transport to his heart;
A smile angelic,--grac'd the maid,
And rivetted the dart.--
The smile did no reluctance
seem
To publish or proclaim;
Sedley with transport felt its force,
'Twas fuel to his flame!
"If, Sedley," said the blushing maid,
With fault'ring tone of voice,
"Esteem
and gratitude
can e'er
Repay thy flatt'ring choice,
"Helen accepts thy ardent vows,
And plights her vows to thine;
Yet love's strong passion in this breast
Burns not with rays divine!"
"Enough, my angel!" he exclaim'd,
And clasp'd her to his breast;
"Thy Sedley shall inspire
that love
;
Then feel completely blest!"
Sedley then urg'd the timid fair
To name an early day;
And when the nuptial knot was tied,
He bore his bride away--
To scenes of fashion, pomp, and state,
Unknown in Glenross vale;
And Frazier fear'd his darling child
In Fashion's stream should sail!
Yet well he knew Ambition's glare
Is but a fatuus
gleam;
And that the lovely Helen ne'er
Was pleas'd with Fashion's beam.
Domestic pleasures were her choice;
Her joys all pure and chaste;
And visiting the humble roof
Of poverty--her taste.
Sedley he heard was prone to vice
,
Attach'd to wealth and state;
In short, to all those glaring faults,
Which stigmatize
the great
.
E'er Helen had the charm dissolv'd
,
A mistress
was his pride;
*
Woodley her name;--a friend of art,
Yet she was Sedley's guide.
Too late he saw the dreadful snare
That wicked woman laid;
Hatred
usurp'd the place of love
,
Yet still he was afraid
To aggravate the wretch's wrath
To whom he had assign'd
A bond
, which must destruction bring
;
Distraction
seiz'd his mind!
Still, still, from Helen did he try
To hide each deed of blame;
But cruel Rumour's busy tongue
Soon told of Sedley's shame.
Sedley was then no longer frail;
He lov'd,--ador'd his wife;
And, to insure her happiness
,
With joy had yielded life.
By contrast, Woodley was despis'd,
He loath'd her former charms;
Yet dreading lest the bond
was claim'd,
He fled into her arms.
Hating himself--hating a crime,
Which stigmatiz'd his fame;
He could not meet his spotless wife
Without a sense of shame!
Helen beheld his alter'd brow,
Beheld it with despair;
Yet little knew the inward pangs
Which veil'd that brow--with care!
Rumour, as I before observ'd,
Gave gentle Helen pain;
At length a letter meets her hands,
Which made denial
vain;
For in that fatal note, or scroll,
Woodley display'd her part;
Call'd loudly upon Sedley's love
,
And *
claim'd
--his fetter'd heart.
Alas ! what wife
could patient read
So vile,--so sad a claim,
Without experiencing those pangs
Which set the mind in flame!
Helen inclos'd the shocking proof
Of passions uncontroll'd
,
Condemning Sedley for her
wrongs,
In language strong and cold!
Rage, indignation,
and despair
,
By turns usurp'd his breast;
A direful vow he solemn took,
Which robb'd his soul of rest!
He vow'd to quit his native shore,
And see no more
his wife
;
The sacred contract firm he kept,
Fatal to peace,--and life.
*
Woodley resolv'd to share his fate
Disguis'd, she sought the fleet;
Secur'd a passage in the ship,
And there the lovers meet.
Helen this news too quickly heard,
And begs, intreats, implores,
Her angry lord to seek his home,
Nor quit
his native shores.
But, like a rock, unmov'd he stood,
Both sighs
and tears
, were vain;
In terms severe, again he vow'd
They ne'er could
meet again.
The injur'd Helen keenly felt
This insult from her lord;
The wound inflicted was as deep
As any treach'rous sword
Could e'er inflict upon a breast
It ought to shield or 'fend:
Thus cruel Sedley wounded his
Kindest,--and dearest friend!
Helen, discarded
in her Prime
,
Return'd to Glenross vale;
There did her sorrows soon burst forth
Into a dreadful gale!
Pitied--belov'd--ador'd--admir'd--
Her friends in clusters came
To offer consolation to, a mind
Untouch'd with shame.
Yet still had disappointed hope
Her promis'd joys consum'd;
And the sweet Rose
of Glenross Vale.
Seemed wither'd, ere it bloom'd.
Amongst the num'rous friends that came,
Was *
Stuart, great and good;
His sanction--was a host
of fame
;
On Virtue's rock, he stood.
And with him came the polish'd lord,
For whom the trump of fame
Had sounded oft in Helen's ears,
As free from spot or blame.
Ah! luckless visit! big with woe;
With horror
, and despair
;
For Helen seem'd by Nature
form'd
To fall to Dorville's
share!
Oh! had they met before the knot,
The dreadful knot was tied;
Then Dorville had, indeed, been blest,
And Helen been his bride.
They met, 'tis true; but Helen then
Was but in years a child;
And Dorville merely saw in her
A creature soft
and mild
.
But when he view'd her ripen'd charms,
And listen'd to her voice,
How did he blame his wayward heart,
That might have made a choice;
Might have secur'd the precious prize,
Ere Sedley own'd a flame!
*
For Stuart oft had wish'd the youth
To give the fair his name.
Though Helen was a peerless maid,
Unmatch'd in form and mein
;
Dorville in ev'ry grace excell'd,
His equal--ne'er was seen!
Persuasion hung upon his lips,
Instruction mark'd his mind;
His ev'ry look, his ev'ry thought,
Was noble, chaste, refin'd!
But love, all-powerful love, distain'd
A mind by Nature chaste;
And his frail heart sent forth a wish,
Forbidden joys to taste.
By zeal unfeign'd, for Helen's bliss,
He stole into her heart;
*
Stuart perceiv'd the wily snare,
And shew'd his pupil's art.
Helen awoke, as from a dream;
Awoke, alas! too late;
Her heart was gone, although her mind
Was firmly fix'd as fate!
Never could one unchaste desire
That radiant mind o'ercloud;
But ah! her sun of happiness
Was 'velop'd in a shroud!
And to complete her poignant woes,
Strange news of Sedley came
His love for Helen had return'd
With an increase of flame!
He felt the folly of the past,
And Woodley's claims were o'er;
With rapid haste he hasten'd back
Unto his native shore.
Then with true penitence of heart
He meant to see his wife;
Implore forgiveness on his knees,
And vow to love through life!
Helen with anguish heard this plan,
With terror and dismay;
And vow'd her husband ne'er to see
Until the judgment day.
Not guilty she in act
, but thought
;
Dorville
possess'd her heart;
Could she, then, meet its rightful lord,
Without the aid of art?
But Helen knew not how to feign
Pleasure--or great surprise;
Sedley had once refus'd her love,
And call'd upon the skies,
To witness this his sacred oath,
That they no more should meet;
But that forgotten, home he sails
With the Egyptian fleet.
He sails, and lands on Albion's isle,
With anxious, throbbing breast;
To Glenross Vale he bends his course,
Seeking repose and rest!
For peace had long a stranger been
To hapless Sedley's heart;
Too late he trac'd out Woodley's wiles,
Her treachery and art.
But rumour now with Helen's fame
Had cruel busy been;
And Sedley heard that Dorville
Had, --tempted the Fair
to sin.
Impetuous as volcanic fires,
His varying passions rose;
Unhappy man! the fates decree
Thou ne'er should'st feel repose!
The purity of Helen's
fame
He scarce could doubt or blame;
But he believ'd Lord Dorville had
Tried to disgrace her name.
Belief with Sedley was a fact
;
His passions were on fire;
And whilst he journey'd to Glenross,
Each mile increas'd his ire !
Helen was journeying on the road,
And Dorville chanc'd to meet;
Oh, fatal chance! oh, luckless hour!
An hour to vengeance sweet!
For at the self-same inn they stopp'd,
That Sedley entertain'd;
A thin partition form'd the wall,--
Each utter'd word
explain'd.
And Sedley heard Lord Dorville breathe
Vows into Helen's ears;
Of love,--eternal love and truth;
He maddens as he hears!
Yet Helen tried to check those vows
Prophaning to a wife;
And no encouragement she gave
To him whose very life
Seem'd bound in her's--but pity soon
Soften'd her gentle breast;
And she declar'd that were she free,
Dorville would then be blest!
Blest with the hand as well as heart,
Of her, whose dreary life
Would pass unsolac'd and retir'd,
Whilst she was Sedley's wife!
Yet wife alone by wedlock's ties
,
Was all that she could prove;
Sedley had once rejected her,
She now despis'd his love!
"Yet Dorville," said the weeping fair,
"If Helen's peace is dear,
Never, oh! never, I implore,
Before my face appear!
"Respect my sorrows, and my woes,
Respect my spotless name;
I'm Sedley's wife--not Helen now;
Who might have shar'd thy fame!"
Such was the language Sedley heard,
And heard it with dismay;
"Vengeance!" he cried; "Vengeance, ye gods!
Vengeance, without delay!"
The hapless Dorville had retir'd
To soothe his cares to rest;
But Sedley soon disturb'd the lord
With this severe behest:
To meet him e'er an hour elaps'd,
In an adjoining field;
Dorville attended the command,
Their glittering points they wield.
Dorville is wounded--Sedley dies--
Yet e'er his parting breath
Escap'd his lips, *
Helen had heard
A dreadful tale of death.
Frantic with grief and woe she flies;
But ah! too late arrives!
She threw herself upon his form;
She heard his last faint sighs!
Distraction sudden seiz'd her brain;
Her eyes with wildness roll;
Her servants bear her from the scene,
But who shall calm her soul?
Not, not on earth, poor hapless fair,
Thy spirit e'er can rest;
But in the realms of pure delight
'Twill be a spotless guest!
For pure and spotless was thy mind;
Thy virtue was unstain'd;
Yet being Sedley's wedded wife,
Thy conduct must be blam'd.
Woe to a wife despis'd, forsworn,
Who listens to Love's voice
From any but that husband's lips,
Whom she had made her choice.
And woe to ev'ry parent's heart
Who lets ambition prove
A cement for connubial bonds,
Bonds only firm by love.
May Helen's death, for ah! she died
Distracted and forlorn;
Prove that ambition's flow'ry road
Conceals the pointed thorn!
'TWAS on a gloomy sombre night,
When clust'ring clouds had form'd
Into a mass so densely thick,
That Nature seem'd appall'd!
The whistling winds with hollow sound
Proclaim'd the tempest
near;
Whilst Echo
, from the neighb'ring rocks,
Increas'd the force of fear!
Soon did electric fires illume
With rapid darting rays;
Whilst peals of thunder quick pursu'd
Each flash's fearful blaze!
Alonzo wandering o'er the waste,
Benighted and forlorn;
Beheld this elemental strife,
And pray'd for early dawn!
Pray'd
, did I say?
ah no! for prayer
His lips
would have prophan'd;
He had denied Omnipotence,
By vices unrestrain'd !
Not satisfied with doing wrong
,
It was Alonzo's pride
To propagate
his dang'rous thoughts
,
And Virtue's laws deride!
Still bounteous Nature to this youth
Such personal charms had giv'n;
He seem'd to move a god on earth,
The favourite child--of heav'n!
For never was a finer form,
And ne'er did manly grace
Appear more strikingly display'd
Than in Alonzo's face!
But ah ! the casket was adorn'd,
Whilst that
which it contain'd
Was but the seeds of ev'ry vice,
Polluted--and distain'd.
Still smoothness flow'd from the youth's tongue;
Persuasion mark'd his speech;
And deep Attention mutely sate
To hear Alonzo teach.
He taught, that passions were bestow'd
But to be gratified
;
He taught, that virtue was a name;
An ignus-fatúus
guide.
He taught, that an all-powerful God
Was but the cant
of priests;
And when the thread of life was broke,
Man
perish'd like the beasts
.
Such were the tenets which he taught;
And ah! poor luckless maid!
Such were the doctrines of the wretch
By whom thou wast betray'd.
Fatal, Elvira, prov'd the hour,
When, with sophistic art,
Alonzo, by corruptive wiles,
Betray'd thy spotless heart!
Elvira was her parent's pride;
Transcendent were her charms;
And never till Alonzo woo'd,
Had she felt Love's alarms!
Not the Deceiver of mankind,
Not Eve's invet'rate foe,
Could e'er display more subtle art,
Or more deception show!
Scarce could her innocence escape,
Assail'd by so much guile;
Diana might have been deceiv'd,
And yielded with a smile.
Yet not contented with her charms,
Charms of angelic kind;
The wretch destroy'd
her principles
,
Her virtuous
turn of mind:
Taught her to disbelieve
a God!
Nor fear his sacred name:
And ev'ry moral law condemn
With ignominious shame!
Yet was the veil in time withdrawn
From her envelopp'd eyes;
And penitence of heart then rais'd
Elvira to the skies.
Untrammell'd from the fatal snares
Which villany had spread,
Elvira trembled at the past;
But ah! her spirit fled!
Unable to sustain the pangs
Which conscious guilt imparts,
Elvira sunk beneath the stroke;
Beneath Alonzo's arts!
And twice twelve moons had circled round,
When that tempestuous night
First made Alonzo view his crimes,
And view them with affright!
Pale--trembling--
and dismay'd
he stood!
Cold drops bedew'd his face;
"Oh God !" he cried, "in mercy spare
A wretch who asks thy grace!"
He spoke--and falling on his knees,
Bedew'd the earth with tears;
But whilst thus prostrate and dismay'd,
Elvira's shade
--appears!
"Hide me, ye rocks! ye caverns hide!"
Affrighted, he exclaim'd;
"Thy hour is come ;--thy time elaps'd !"
Reply'd the heav'nly maid.
"By prayers and penitence, my crimes
A pardon have insur'd;
But ah! unhappy wretch! thy vice
No longer is endur'd!
"Eternal justice has decreed
This hour shall be thy last;
Behold the lightning's
lurid gleam!
Hear the dread thunder's blast!
"
But whilst thus prostrate an dismay'd
Elvira's shade--appears !
T. Uwins del. T. Woolnoth, sculp.
Published by Vernor Hood & Sharpe Sept. 1.1810.
Quick from the clouds the lightning burst
On his devoted head;
"Save me, Elvira !"--he exclaim'd;
But ah! his spirit fled!
NOT far from *
Tyvy's banks and bay
An humble dwelling rose;
Around its walls the woodbine twin'd,
Encircled with the rose.
The purple violet at their feet,
Perfum'd the ambient air;
And those who view'd the lovely cot,
Thought it--a shield from care!
But ah! how oft the gilded car
A wretched heart contains;
And oft the palaces of state
Are fill'd with care and pains!
Deceptuous is the lot of man;
For those who seem most blest,
Are frequently a prey to grief,
Their hearts devoid of rest!
And oh! that cot, which seem'd to be
Tranquility's
abode,
Contain'd a being who had long
Wander'd in Sorrow's road!
Selina, beauteous as the morn
In orient streaks appears,
Had felt Affliction's iron stroke
Even
in childhood's years!
Had felt--for ah! her heart was soft
As cygnet's downy breast;
And when she measur'd twice six years,
Heav'n sent a dire behest:
A mother, tenderly rever'd,
Was struck by death's
keen dart;
Fatal the stroke--sad the effect--
On poor Selina's heart!
A father
still, 'tis true, she had;
Yet father but in name;
No tenderness he e'er display'd,
E'en kindness
seem'd a shame.
Stoic and stern Antonio was;
A tear ne'er veil'd his eye;
And when he lost
his gentle love
,
His breast scarce heav'd a sigh!
His will
, to her
, had been a law
;
His word
, a firm decree
;
His wishes were a strict command
,
And what he said--must be
.
Such was Selina's stoic sire;
A sire she needs must fear;
But such a man was never form'd
To cherish or endear
A female timid as the fawn,
Which fearful skips and plays;
And whilst it sportive bounds along,
Dreads danger if it strays.
And thus Selina, if she e'er
In sportive childhood stray'd,
Dreaded to meet a father's frown,
For having sportive play'd.
But as the age of childhood
pass'd,
A mind matur'd appears;
Reading
succeeded juv'nile sports,
Reflection
--mark'd her years.
Intense those thoughts, by nature gay,
For sorrow mark'd her mind;
No soft caress e'er met her ear
In language sweet and kind!
But from her father's low'ring brow
Repulsive looks were cast;
Like gath'ring clouds, which oft foretel
The rough succeeding blast.
Thus did this fair-one, all forlorn
Within a mansion dwell;
Where art and nature seem'd to blend
Their sweet, inviting spell.
Yet from that sweet Elysium spot
Selina oft would stray;
And on clear Tyvy's verdant banks,
Stroll thoughtless of the way.
One eve it was, when wand'ring far,
Near that pellucid tide,
A foaming steed flew rapid by,
Ungovern'd by a guide.
The rattling stirrups and the rein
Proclaim'd its rider thrown;
Selina felt a thousand fears
At being quite alone.
Quick she return'd the trodden path,
And there beheld a swain
Stretch'd languid on the verdant grass,
Wreathing beneath his pain.
Transfix'd some moments she remain'd,
But Pity made her move;
Pity
, that passion which we know
Is near allied to Love!
"Stranger !"--she said, in fault'ring voice,
"Can I assistance lend?
Or shall I fly to yonder farm,
And fetch an abler friend?"
"Oh, fly not!--move not!" he replied;
Gazing upon the fair;
"That voice proclaims that you were sent
By Heav'n--to banish care!"
Unus'd to language soft or mild,
Selina anxious stays;
Lends a white 'kerchief for the wound,
And sweet attention pays.
With tender hand the 'kerchief binds
Around his bleeding head;
Then to the farm she quickly flies,
To ask a friendly bed.
The boon was granted quick as made;
The honest farmer greets
The stranger in the kindest terms,
His wife well airs the sheets.
Slowly and sad the maid returns
To Tyvy's mossy vale;
Not daring to relate the past,
Or tell the stranger's tale!
Strange the sensations which she felt
Within her throbbing breast;
The stranger's sorrows, and his voice,
Had robb'd her mind of rest!
For as he spoke, his looks proclaim'd
The passion she'd inspir'd;
And love appear'd in ev'ry glance,
Pure love
his bosom fir'd!
Next morn Selina anxious bent
Her steps towards the farm;
And joyful hears the accident
Portended no great harm.
Languid and faint, young Edward
was,
For such the stranger's name;
His father, a true pastor
, dwelt
Far from the road to fame:
An humble village thrice three leagues
From Tyvy's flow'ry side
The good man liv'd--admir'd, ador'd,--
His humble hearers' guide.
Edward was likewise for the church
Intended to prepare;
Such was his taste,--although his sire
The money ill could spare.
At Cambridge Edward found a friend;
A friend he was, indeed;
The Lord Macdonald saw his worth,
And prov'd a friend in need.
"Edward!" he said, "be to my son,
A youth about your age,
A kind admonisher and friend;
My service then engage!
"Teach him to shun the path of vice,
In which I greatly fear
He has been led--and I will grant
Two hundred pounds a year:
"Nor that alone; for if I live
,
Most solemnly I swear,
To make your interest my own,
With a paternal care."
He said, and rigidly fulfill'd
The promise he had made;
And from that time, two hundred pounds
Each year was duly paid.
That sum was wealth
to Edward's mind,
A mind unprone to stray
In the luxurious path of vice;
He kept pure Virtue's way.
Such was the fortune of this youth,
But bright his prospects were,
When he beheld the lovely maid
Selina--young and fair!
Inspir'd he was with passion pure,
As angels might proclaim;
And well be knew his worthy sire
Would sanction the soft flame.
Oft had he heard Selina's charms
Applauded and admir'd;
And when he saw the blooming maid,
His breast by love was fir'd.
"Say, beauteous fair-one, can thy breast
A mutual passion own?
Say, wilt thou plight to me thy faith
And live for me alone ?
"If so, conduct me to thy sire,
And on my bended knee
I will implore him to bestow
A prize ador'd--on me!
"Speak--fair-one, speak! tell me my doom!"
Impatient he exclaim'd;
"Or if my eagerness offends,
Thy charms
are to be blam'd!"
With modest blush, and downcast eye,
The timid maid replied:
"If sanction'd
to receive
thy love
,"
I may become thy bride;
"But oh! my father is severe;
His voice I must
obey!
E'en now I fear I shall be miss'd,
Longer I dare not stay.
"Nor would I wish it, till I hear
My father's fix'd decree;
Although I readily will own
My heart inclines tow'rds thee !"
"Let it incline
and cleave
," he cried,
"To this true, faithful breast;
And, like the ivy round the oak,
Make me supremely blest!"
They parted--Edward promising,
On the ensuing day,
To wait upon Selina's sire,
His compliments to pay.
Scarce had the damsel reach'd her door,
Ere Dorothy, the maid,
Inform'd her that a stranger had,
During her absence, paid
A visit to her haughty sire,
"And much, dear girl, I fear
That visit will bring woe to you;
Some words I chanc'd to hear,
"Which gave me reason to suppose
He came to beg your hand:
This visitor was crooked Dick
,
Who owns a pow'r of land."
"Sir Richard Benson! do you mean?
Speak, Dorothy--oh, say!
Yet ah! the very name of him
Would fill me with dismay!"
"Yes, him it was," the maid replied;
"But do not yield to fear;"----
Antonio, ah! that moment call'd,
Selina hid the tear
That started in her azure eye
At Benson's hateful name:
He was the veriest wretch on earth,
A being lost to shame:
Sordid
and selfish
; proud
and vain
;
Yet still his callous heart
Had felt the mighty pow'r of love,
And own'd its potent dart.
Selina's form had met his eye,
And all his passions fir'd;
Then to Antonio he flew,
To tell what he desir'd.
Elate with joy Antonio heard
Sir Richard's flattering tale;
And gave his word, a word
he vow'd
Through time should never fail;
That ere the moon its course had run,
And ere three weeks had fled,
His daughter should be sacrific'd,
And to the altar led!
Appall'd!--aghast!--Selina stood,
The image of despair;
Her trembling limbs refus'd their post,
She totter'd to a chair!
"What ails the girl?" Antonio cried,
In accents deep and loud;
His gath'ring brow was overspread
With anger's darkest cloud.
"My father surely will not bring
Deep sorrow on his child?"
She said, in accents choak'd by tears,
Yet accents sweetly mild!
"What can the ideot mean?" he said,
Foaming with rage and ire;
"Sir Richard shall
your husband be;
Now to your room retire!"
Not twice the mandate need be told,
With pleasure she obey'd;
Yet scarcely could ascend the stairs,
Though aided by her maid.
"Oh, Dorothy!" the fair-one said,
"The veriest wretch on earth
Is surely happier than me;
For, from my very birth,
"No ray of comfort have I known;
No smile has fortune shed;
But clouds, dark clouds, have from that hour
Been hov'ring o'er my head!"
To Edward now we will return,
Who to Antonio hied;
And having told his love-sick tale,
Solicited his bride.
Scarce would the rude Antonio hear
The gentle Edward's tale;
The youth perceiv'd his angry brow
Collect with Passion's gale.
"Begone!" he cried, "no parson poor
Can e'er my daughter wed;
She is betroth'd, and to the church
In three weeks will be led."
"Oh spare her! spare her!" Edward said,
And sunk upon his knee;
"If pity ever touch'd thy breast,
Bestow her
upon me!"
As well might Edward have suppos'd
Pity
could touch a stone
,
As to imagine his hard heart
Would that sensation own.
"Young man, away ! nor e'er presume
To enter this abode:"
So saying, he unclos'd the door,
And pointed to the road.
Not twice requiring to be told
To quit Selina's sire,
Upon his ready steed he sprang,
His bosom fill'd with ire;
Not ire alone his feelings shook,
But agoniz'd dismay;
Selina's image fill'd his mind
With its celestial ray!
Again towards the farm he turn'd
His horse's willing head;
Again implor'd his gen'rous host
To grant a friendly bed.
The boon was granted, and next morn
The maid again appears;
But with a face o'erspread with woe,
'Twas Beauty veil'd in tears!
These tender meetings for nine days
Successively took place;
But at their end the fates decreed
Edward had ran his race!
During that time, Sir Richard had
Each ev'ning seen the fair;
And by rich presents vainly tried
To win her to his care:
Yet sighs and tears are the return
His love and gifts obtain;
The baronet resolv'd to know
What caus'd, the fair-one's pain;
By bribery, he soon found out
She met the favour'd youth;
Who plighted her his fervent vows
Of constancy and truth.
Suspicion
had the cause suppos'd
Why the fair-maid was coy;
But fact
the circumstance
reveal'd,
That Edward was her joy.
Indignant were Sir Richard's thoughts;
Revenge his bosom fires;
And the ninth morn
--oh, cruel deed!
The hapless youth expires!
A trusty
page Sir Richard had,
If such term
be applied
To a vile wretch who ever had
Made interest
his guide
.
To him he told his tale of love,
And whence the coyness came;
Then bade his pistols
be prepar'd
,
Oh, deed of savage shame!
The one was laden with two balls
,
The other
destitute
Of any loading that could harm;
Thus sally'd forth the brute,
Attended by his trusty squire,
To meet Selina's swain;
Whom well he knew must pass that road,
To reach his home again.
"Well met !" he cried, as he espied
The noble youth appear;
"But tell me, youngster, by what right
You have been loit'ring here?"
By what right
, sir, do you demand
Me
to account
to you?
"
Exclaim'd young Edward, whilst his face
Glow'd with a roseate hue.
"These grounds
are mine;
" Richard replied;
"I am their lawful lord;"--
"And I," said Edward, with a sneer,
"Am master of the world!"
"Great as thou art
--I'm greater
still;
My passions I control;
Therefore pass on ;--thou art too mean
To agitate my soul!"
Rage gave impétus
now to love;
He darted from his steed;
" Vain boy!" he said, "this moment one
Or other
, of us bleed!"
"To-morrow," Edward calm reply'd,"
"I'll try with thee my pow'r;
The spot and weapons thou may'st name,
Likewise the very hour!"
"To-morrow!
say'st thou?" he exclaim'd;
"Moments would seem a year!
But, coward
, I thy reason know;
Thou tremblest now-- from fear !
"I have two weapons by my side,
And one
thou now may'st try;
But I behold thy quiv'ring lip,
Thou dar'st not nobly die!
"
"Dar'st not!
" the noble
youth exclaim'd;
And from the ready hand
Snatch'd the too fatal offer'd means;
Each took the measur'd stand!
"Heav'n and Selina!" Edward said,
As he the trigger drew;
With smile satanic Richard aim'd,
The balls both rapid flew,
And lodg'd beneath his manly breast!
He stagger'd, groan'd, and fell!
Who shall the horrid deed proclaim?
Who the disaster tell?
Yet told it was--though not with truth
--
Time only could reveal
The dark assassin's villany
Of heart--more hard than steel!
Quick did the horrid tale extend
To Tyvy's verdant side;
A shriek of terror rent the air
From Edward's destin'd bride!
For on that fatal morn she had
Promis'd the urgent youth,
Next day to plight to him her vows
Of constancy and truth.
For nine long months madness o'erspread
Hapless Selina's mind;
At length Religion's soothing charm
Taught her to be resign'd!
But who shall paint her heart-felt grief!
Who tell her poignant woes?.
On Tyvy's banks the maid still strays,
And as its water flows,
She nightly wanders near its side,
Her tears augment the stream;
And Fiction
says, those pearly drops
Have made it saline seem
.
Too late Antonio saw his fault;
That fault in vain deplor'd;
Sir Richard's name is scarcely borne,
Whilst Edward's is ador'd.
NO more let Europe's offspring boast
Superior sense and worth;
Or fancy virtue
is attach'd
To any
spot of earth;
Nor e'er suppose that Carib's dark,
And Ebon's sons don't know
A bright illuminating ray,
A pure, a heaven form'd glow;
For Quashey's simple tale will show
A lesson to mankind;
And prove a sable skin is not
Connected with the mind.
Quashey possess'd exterior charms,
And native, untaught grace;
For Porto Rico's sons were all
Enamour'd with her face.
A speaking eye--a slender form--
A sensative
, soft pride,
Made her ador'd by Porto's youths,
Who sought her for their bride.
Yet was not Quashey easy won,
Although her tender heart
Felt the full force of potent love,
And knew its joys and smarts !
And Vincent was a warlike youth,
Well he pursu'd the chase;
His form
, true manliness display'd,
Expression mark'd his face.
Long did he woo; at length he bore
The valued prize away;
And tenderness each hour increas'd,
From the propitious day.
So fondly were their hearts attach'd,
So true, so firm their loves,
That Porto Rico's sons compar'd
This couple to two doves!
But, sad and shocking to relate,
This fond domestic pair
Were torn asunder by a force,
Which might with wolves compare;
For slav'ry, with its ruffian band,
Seiz'd the ill-fated youth;
And though he pleaded wedded love
With tenderness and truth,
Yet unaffected by those ties,
They forc'd him from the fair;
And the distracted Quashey stood
An emblem of despair!
Frantic she saw him forc'd on board
A vessel that lay near;
A shriek of horror rent the air,
Yet shed she not a tear!
To St. Domingo's fruitful isle
The hapless youth they bore;
And three long days was Quashey stretch'd
Upon the senseless shore!
At length a floating bark she spied,
With whited sails unfurl'd;
Transported, she a signal made,
'Twas handkerchief empearl'd
With crystal drops, which from her eye
The snowy lawn had steep'd;
And as she rais'd it high in air,
Again the fair-one weep'd.
"Convey me to my love!" she cried;
"In pity to my prayer,
Oh, take me to Domingo's isle,
For my belov'd
is there!"
The vessel was completely stow'd,
Few passengers had room
E'en for the luggage they requir'd,
Each birth
was like a tomb,
So close, so narrow, and confin'd;
The captain cool declar'd,
That Quashey could not be receiv'd,
Or any space be spar'd.
"I'll sleep upon the deck," she cried;
"No food this form requires;
For grief destroys the appetite,
And quenches such desires.
"Yet oh! in pity hear my prayer;
In mercy give assent;
If e'er the pangs of love you knew,
Then would your heart relent!
"Convey me to Domingo's shores,
I'll pray for prosp'rous gales!"
Yet still the captain stood unmov'd,
The vessel swiftly sails.
Senseless she dropp'd upon the sands;
The sight appall'd the breast
Of Edward, who had vainly urg'd
Poor Quashey's fond request.
"Can you behold that hapless girl,"
Said he, "with heart unmov'd !
On Albion's shores is there no one
Whom you
have fondly lov'd?
"Think then--oh! but one moment think,
If such should be her fate,
How would you feel, to see that fair
Reduc'd to such a state?
"Willing my birth
I will resign,
In my cot she shall lay;
Order the men to loose the boat,
And fetch the fair away."
Humanity then touch'd a breast
Unus'd to pity's charms;
Two sailors sprang on board the boat,
And bore her in their arms.
By aid of volatiles restor'd,
Her heart responsive beat,
To Gratitude's impressive voice;
And falling at the feet
Of Edward--she implor'd her gods
His valu'd life to spare;
Beseeching them, in language sweet,
To take him to their care.
Short was the passage to the isle;
A prosp'rous gale soon bore
Quashey to her beloved's arms,
On St. Domingo's shore.
The tender tale was soon disclos'd,
It touch'd
each feeling heart;
And Vincent's humane master vow'd
They never more should part.
Freedom to Vincent was proclaim'd
Within a trifling space;
But Quashey wish'd her thanks to breathe
Before she left the place,
To her preserver--as she call'd
The being who procur'd
A passage to Domingo's isle,
And all her sorrows cured.
Yet ah! poor Edward was reduc'd
To such a dreadful state;
The voice of gratitude was lost,
But how shall I relate
The ravage which that dread
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