Alonzo and Cora, with Other Original Poems, Principally Elegiac.

Scot, Elizabeth, 1729-1789

Copyright (c) 2001, University of California

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Davis British Women Romantic Poets Series

Alonzo and Cora, with other original poems, principally elegiac

Scot, Elizabeth

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[Title Page]

ALONZO AND CORA.

ALONZO AND CORA ,
WITH
OTHER ORIGINAL POEMS,
PRINCIPALLY ELEGIAC.

BY

ELIZABETH SCOT,

By

BLACKLOCK

BURNS.

LONDON:

Printed and published by BUNNEY and GOLD,
Shoe-Lane ;
AND MAY BE HAD OF
RIVINGTON, St. Paul's Church-Yard; ROBINSONS, Paternoster-Row;
CADELL and DAVIES, Strand; EGERTON, Whitehall; and FAULDER,
Bond-Street. Likewise of CRUTWELL, Bath; TESSYMAN, York; and
CREECH, Edinburgh.

1801.

TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF ELGIN,

THIS COLLECTION OF POEMS
IS, BY PERMISSION,
AND AS A SMALL TESTIMONY OF GRATITUDE,
WITH THE UTMOST RESPECT AND ESTEEM,
INSCRIBED,
BY HER LADYSHIP'S MUCH OBLIGED,
AND MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT, THE EDITOR.

THE
LIST
OF
SUBSCRIBERS.

• ASHBY, George, Esq. Haselbeach-Hall, Northamptonshire.
• Ashby, Mrs.
• Abbey, Mr. Attorney at Law, Northampton.

• Beucleuch, his Grace the Duke of, Dalkeith House, Scotland, 4 Copies.
• Beucleuch, her Grace the Duchess of, 4 Copies.
• Bereford, John, Esq. Member for Dublin.
• Bereford, Mrs.
• Bridges, Mr. Merchant, Malden, in Essex.
• Brook, Mrs. de Capel, Great-Oakley-Hall, Northamptonshire.
• Brown, John, Lieutenant, 2 Copies.

  ---

  Page [viii]

• Buller, William, Esq. Maidwell-Hall, Northamptonshire.

• Cullen, Right Hon. Lady, Bristol, 2 Copies.
• Cockaine, Hon. Mrs. Rushton-House, Northamptonshire.
• Clarke, Joseph, Esq. Stamp-Office, Northampton.
• Clarke, Mr. Ditto.

• Dundas, the Right Hon. Henry, Melville-Castle, Scotland, 8 Copies.
• Dromore, the Right Rev. Bishop of, Ireland.
• Dickins, Francis, Esq. M. P. Wollaston-Hall, Northamptonshire.
• Dunkley, Mr. Northampton.

• Elgin, the Right Hon. Countess Dowager of, and Family, 20 Copies.
• Edmonds, Robert, Esq. Broughton-House, Northamptonshire.

F.

• Fletcher, Thomas, Esq. Rusden-Hall, Northamptonshire.
• Fletcher, Miss.
• Fletcher, Mr. Northampton, 2 Copies.

• Gates, Mr. Deputy-Register, Northampton.
• Goodwin, Rev. Mr. Rector of Weeden, Northamptonshire.

• Hanbury, William, Esq. Kelmarsh-Hall, Northamptonshire.
• Harden, Mr. Surgeon, Ditto.
• Harris, Mr. Northampton.
• Hereford, Mrs. Ditto.
• Hesketh, Mr. Ditto.

• Kildare, the Right Rev. Bishop of, Ireland.
• Kerr, Dr. Physician, Northampton.
• Keene, Rev. Mr. Brickstock, Northamptonshire.

  ---

  Page [x]

• Keene, Rev. Wrowe, Northamptonshire.
• Keene, Mr. Talbot, Northampton.

• Langham, Lady Dowager, London, 2 Copies.
• Langham, Sir William, Cottesbrooke-House, Northamptonshire.
• Lettice, Rev. Dr. Rector of Peasmarsh, Kent.

• Montagu, Lady Caroline, Dalkeith-House, Scotland
• Minto, the Right Hon. Lord, Embassador at Vienna.
• Mansel, Colonel, Thorpe, near Kettering, Northamptonshire.
• Manning, Miss, Northampton.
• Markham, Mr. Attorney at Law, Ditto.
• Miller, Rev. Mr. Vicar of All-Saints, Ditto.
• Meen, Rev. Mr. Bread-Street-Hill, London.
• Mortland, Francis, Esq. London, 3 Copies.

N.

• Northampton, the Right Hon. Earl of, Castle Ashby, Northamptonshire.
• Northampton, the Right Hon. Countess of.
• Nicholson, the Rev. Mr. Northampton.

• Percival, Hon. Mr. Member for Northampton, 2 Copies.
• Pringle, Mark, Esq. M.P. Haining-House, Scotland.
• Pringle, Mrs. Ditto.
• Pringle, Miss, Ditto.

• Rutherford, Major, Staff-Corps, Plymouth.
• Richmond, Dr. Physician, Bath.
• Reynolds, Rev. Mr. Rector of Little-Bowden, Northamptonshire.
• Reynolds, Mr. Jun. Northampton.
• Robinson, Mrs. Thrapston.

S.

• Spencer, the Right Hon. Earl of, Althorp, Northamptonshire.
• Strong, Rev. Mr. Archdeacon of Northampton, 2 Copies.
• Schaw, Alexander, Esq. Gun-Wharf, Plymouth.
• Schaw, Mrs. Ditto.
• Schaw, Miss, Ditto.
• Supple, Mrs. Great-Oakley, Northamptonshire.
• Seriven, Mr. Castle-Ashby, Ditto,
• Stoddart, Rev. Mr. Northampton.

• Tenney, Mr. Attorney at Law, Thrapton .

• Walcott, William, Esq. Oundle, Northamptonshire, 2 Copies.
• Wykes, Mrs. London.
• Wykes, Rev. Mr. Rector of Haselbeach, Northamptonshire.

  ---

  Page [xiii]

• Watkins, Rev. Mr. Vicar of St. Giles, Northampton.
• Ward, Mrs. Lincoln.
• Wilson, Mr. Northampton.
• Worge, Mrs. Relict of General Worge.

CONTENTS.

• PREFACE   [xvii]
• Scotia's Address to her Sister Anglia    1
• To a Friend    4
• The Shipwreck; or melancholy Fate of Capt. Pierce
       and his two Daughters    5
• Celadon and Mira, a Tale    10
• Solitude and Sadness, or The Deserted Lover    18
• Absence lamented    22
• The Deserted Mansion    24
• Eleonora    28
• The Lover's Complaint    35
• Edwin and Edith, a Legendary Tale    40
• Alonzo and Cora, a Tale, from Marmontel's Incas
       of Peru    64
• The Friendly Rescue    121
• The Consolation    123

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  Page [xvi]

• Leander and Hero, imitated from Musæus    124
• The Guidwife of Waukhope-House to Robert Burns,
       the Airshire Bard, Feb. 1787.   156
• The Answer    158
• A Letter from Thomas Blacklock to the Author,
       respecting Burns    162
• On the Birth of an Infant, an Extempore Effusion    164
• Glossary    165

PREFACE.

ELIZABETH SCOT, the author of these poems, was the daughter of David Rutherford, Esquire, Counsellor at Edinburgh; whose country-residence was Hermiston-hall, an ancient mansion in that neighbourhood. Our author was born at Edinburgh, 1729. Here she was early taught the Latin and French languages, and became a ready proficient in many branches of the belles lettres. Her predilection for poetry appeared at an early period. She courted the Muses from her childhood; and not only read, but wrote verses in her eleventh year. A copy, written at this early period, was found among her other poems.

It was no small gratification to her numerous and respectable friends, to mark the progress of her genius; improved, as it was, by culture, and strengthened by study. Her first friend and guide in the walks of poetry was Allen Ramsay. He tuned her yet unpolished lays. On his maturer

judgment and refined taste she reposed with confidence. In the number of her literary correspondents was Thomas Blacklock, the blind poet. He constantly mentioned Miss Rutherford as a writer, whose talents were superior, and whose poetry was deserving of praise. He was partial to the poem, entitled Solitude and Sadness; and called it one of the most beautiful little poems he had ever read.

Her acquaintance with Burns, and the just opinion she had formed of his abilities, appear from her letter to that poet. He, in his reply, expresses his obligations for the presents he had received, and applauds in the same verse the poetry and the plaid. These two letters, together with that of Blacklock, were never published till now. They may therefore be considered as a small accession to that interesting correspondence, which the late elegant edition of Burns's works comprises. It might have been expected that here, among other correspondents, the name of our author had obtained a place. Frequent and respectful mention is made in

these volumes of her ingenious friend Miss Williams; whose sonnet on the Mountain-Daisy the writer of these poems admired and transcribed. See Dr. Moore's 13th letter to Burns, where this sonnet is inserted in a Note.

Our poetess was no less celebrated for her personal attractions, than for her intellectual endowments. The youth, who shared her affections, and with whom she was supposed to have consented to pass the remainder of her days, was unfortunately drowned in his passage from Edinburgh to Ireland. The recollection of his disastrous fate clouded her future prospects. In this reverse of fortune she had recourse to poetry;
         --canit, & moestum Musâ solatur amorem.

To assuage the anguish of disappointment, and sooth her sorrows, she exchanged the sprightly for the mournful Muse, and gave a decided preference to elegy.

Our author, at rather an advanced period, married Mr. Walter Scot, a country-gentleman

of considerable property in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh.

Lest it should be conjectured from the late appearance of these poems, that their publication formed no part of the writer's design, it may be proper to mention, that some few poems, which are inserted in this collection, were corrected by herself with a view to the press. These, with some other poems, were intrusted to a friend, alike eminent for his talents and employments, to be revised by his care, and printed by his direction. But her friend's removal to a distance, and her own death in 1789, put a period to this projected plan, and the poems were returned to the Editor.
Northampton, June 1801.

POEMS, &c.

SCOTIA's ADDRESS
TO
HER SISTER ANGLIA.

    HAIL , happy Sister! great in arts and arms,
In manly valour and in female charms;
Whose classic sons the noblest honours claim,
And shine unrivall'd on the list of fame:
Say, wilt thou deign to mark these humble lays,
And kindly pardon, if thou can'st not praise?
Behold! my timid daughter blushing stands;
Her gift she proffers, but with trembling hands.
In antique garb has SCOTIA'S Muse too long
Disguis'd the sweetness of her native song:
Ev'n where her work the seal of genius bears,
The phrase uncouth disgusts your nicer ears.
At length a chosen band beheld the day,
Who clear'd the rust of ancient times away.

POPE'S music flows in * HAMILTON'S smooth lines;
With art correct each polish'd period shines.
While + HOME sublime attempts a higher strain,
And boldly dares the tragic wreath to gain.
An ancient minstrel's simple tale he chose:
Beneath his hands a noble fabric rose;
Where tragedy in all her pomp appears,
And claims applauding hands and melting tears.
The germs of genius BEATTIE'S numbers show,
And mark those buds that undistinguish'd grow,
Till to perfection the fair fruit aspires:
Our taste approves it, and our eye admires.
More might I add, who seek the Muses' fane
With equal powers, and equal honours gain.
Such are my sons; no daughter yet of mine
Had dar'd to court the favour of the Nine,

While ENGLAND'S fair distinguish'd honour grace,
And high in Fame's bright temple claim a place:
When, in the stillness of a wild retreat,
Far, far, alas! from genius' favourite seat,
Where * JED'S fair stream his woody borders laves,
Or pours thro' flowery meads his chrystal waves,
Your votary rose; and, warm with generous flame,
Strove to secure the meed of honest fame;
To follow where your daughters lead the way,
Last of the train, and listen to their lay:
Her harsher lines attune from their smooth strain;
From their full wreaths one humble sprig obtain;
From dark oblivion's gulf her name to save;
Adorn her life, and dignify her grave.

* WILLIAM HAMILTON of BANGOUR, Esq. an elegant Scotch Poet; whose Poems on several Occasions are comprised in one vol. 12mo. Edinburgh, 1760.

+ The author of Douglas . An interesting account of this celebrated tragedy and its author is given in the Biographia Dramatica , See also PERCY'S Scottish Ballad, Gil Morrice , and the Note. Vol. 3. pag. 99. 4 Ed.

* Our unassuming poetess represents herself as placed at a distance "from genius' favourite seat;" yet it is well known, that on the banks of "JED's fair stream" THOMSON delighted to saunter, and there courted with success his favourite Muse.

TO A FRIEND.

    HOW various are the parts, by heaven assign'd
To fill the motley drama of mankind!
To some 'tis given, apart from noise and state,
And all the pains and pleasures of the great,
To taste what joys to rural life belong;
The Muse solicit to inspire the song;
With simple swains to pass the careless day,
And gently trifle life's short dream away.
You nobler toils and harder tasks demand:
To plan the glory of your native land;
From listening senates to extort applause,
And guard the monarch's rights and country's laws,
Your rank, your name, your talents, heaven design'd
To bless your friends, your sovereign, and mankind,
Yet from these higher cares some moments spare;
Let friendless merit claim your fostering care:
'Tis yours to give to genius honours due;
Genius, that finds its noblest theme in you.

THE SHIPWRECK;

    ETERNAL Power! who rul'st with sovereign will
Who bid'st the tempest cease, and all is still;
In mercy hear us; stretch thine arm to save;
Oh! snatch my children from the whelming wave.
So pray'd the parent; but the prayer was vain;
The struggling vessel sinks beneath the main.
His hapless offspring cling around their sire,
Implore his aid, and in his arms expire.
Fair, faded blossoms! ere your prime destroy'd;
To you life just was shown, and ne'er enjoy'd.
+ In vain bright suns and purer skies invite;
In vain is Hymen sued to bless his rite.

* There is much pathos in this little poem. Every reader of sensibility and taste will feel himself disposed to sympathize with the suffering family. See an authentic account of this Shipwreck in a well-written Pamphlet, entitled A Circumstantial Narrative of the Loss of the HALSEWELL (East-Indiaman ), Capt. R. PIERCE, &c. Published by W. LANE, 1786. 20th Edit. LONDON.

+ This voyage was undertaken by the two ladies, with a view to their marriage and settlement in INDIA.

Dark is his torch, the lamp funereal burns;
His drooping garland scatter'd o'er your urns.
How oft, with beating hearts and eager eye,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

Train'd with a parent's care your tender youth,
And taught the love of goodness and of truth?
With many a prayer indulgent heaven address'd,
To form you beautiful, and keep you bless'd?
Two lovely plants! together thus ye grew,
Sweet to the sense, and grateful to the view.
But, when the harvest promis'd to repay
The tender cares of many an anxious day,
Relentless fate inflicts the fatal blow,
And all your springing glories levels low.

Perchance, ere yet the tale had reach'd her ears,
The pensive matron, sway'd with hopes and fears,
Her youngest joy close to her bosom press'd,
And thus th' unconscious innocent address'd:
Smile, my sweet babe; and cheer thy mother's heart;
Alas! thine own cannot partake her smart.
For us thy venturous father dares to roam,
Far from his tender spouse and happy home;
O'er boundless oceans distant climes explores,
Nor dreads the raging storm, nor treacherous shores.

Thou, all unknowing, saw'st thy father's face;
Nor sad, nor joyous at his last embrace.
But time will soon thy little powers display,
And dawning reason lend its feeble ray,
Then, when my dear-lov'd wanderer returns,
And all my soul with tender transport burns,
Wilt thou not catch the kindling joy from me,
And lisp his name, and hang around his knee?

Ah! gentle * HAMMET , what a task was thine!
How could thy lips the fatal words combine!
How in one moment every hope destroy,
And banish all her flattering dreams of joy!
Sad, tender office! when the bursting heart
Must o'er its sorrows throw the veil of art;
Must talk of comfort, while it inly bleeds,
And give the soothing balm its anguish needs!
But here the stroke too deep an entrance found:
Down sinks the lifeless victim on the ground.

In mercy stop--your cruel cares refrain--
Is life, is reason worth the wish of pain?
In death's deep slumber let her eye-lids close,
And her cold bosom feel no future woes.

* The gentleman who first acquainted Mrs. PIERCE with the disastrous event.

    Alas! how impotent is feeble man,
The darken'd maze of Providence to scan!
All, all are born to suffer and complain,
The sad associates doom'd of grief and pain;
And, ere the sympathetic tear is spent,
We are ourselves the wretches we lament.

CELADON AND MIRA;

RELENTLESS war, must still thy dreaded call
    The tender lover from his mistress part?
From beauty's eyes bid tears of anguish fall,
    And wring with fiercest pangs the gentle heart?

Ev'n in the rosy bower of pleasure laid,
    By fortune favour'd, and caress'd by love,
Thy martial sounds the ear of joy invade,
    And shake with terrour all the peaceful grove.

Say, will thy rage insatiate ne'er decay?
    Must nation against nation ever bleed?
Thy smoking wheels thro' carnage mark their way,
    And pale-ey'd famine thy dread steps succeed?

While yet one little spot mankind contain'd,
    Discord beneath the roof paternal rose,
With brother's blood a brother's hands were stain'd,
    And still the sanguine tide impetuous flows.

The noble CELADON , young, lovely, brave,
    Enamour'd, doted on sweet MIRA'S charms:
To her fair form each beauty nature gave,
    That youthful hearts with tender transport warms.

Her spotless mind, that needed no disguise,
    Each genuine feeling on her face impress'd;
Now pity's dew drops glisten'd in her eyes;
    The glow of friendship now each look confess'd:

Anon a sudden blush her cheek o'erspread,
    And love amidst the new-blown roses play'd;
And now at last the transient lustre fled,
    While the pale hue some tender fear betray'd.

Her gentle soul no jarring passion knew;
    'Twas form'd alone for pity, love, and joy;
Nor hatred, anger, pride, a direful crew,
    Could e'er the fair one's bosom-peace annoy.

The wish'd consent approving parents gave,
    And bad the hymeneal rites prepare:

And seldom had they join'd a youth so brave
    In tender union with a maid so fair.

But on the eve of that long-wish'd-for day,
    That should have bless'd him with his MIRA'S charms,
Stern honour's voice, which still the brave obey,
    Calls forth the hero to the field of arms

O grief of griefs! unutterable woe!
    And must hard fate these lovers dear divide?
Must he for war's dire scenes each bliss forego,
    And leave to wretchedness his weeping bride?

No time was given to take a last farewel;
    To plight fond vows, that ever true shall prove;
To mingle tears, and kiss them ere they fell;
    No parting gift's bestow'd, endear'd by love.

Now shines the hero on the embattl'd field,
    And seeks in danger's front renown to gain;
Bids softer love to fierce ambition yield,
    And victory's wreath supplant the lover's chain.

Yet, grac'd with all that charms the soldier's eye,
    Glory in vain his stedfast soul assails;
Still for his absent MIRA swells the sigh,
    And love o'er fierce ambition's power prevails.

Full oft he reason'd with his doubting mind;
    What! shall I tamely yield to love's soft sway?
Beneath th' inglorious shade of rest reclin'd,
    Waste youth's short, active hours in ease away?

Ah! no; be sloth's dull couch by cowards press'd,
    Whose abject hearts at glory's call ne'er rose;
Beneath his laurels should the hero rest,
    And, but on victory's bosom, seek repose.

Yet MIRA'S charms her soldier would inspire,
    And her dear hands adorn me for the field;
With love of glory all my bosom fire,
    And, like my guardian-saint, from danger shield.

When gay returning from victorious toils,
    What joy her fond approving eyes to meet!

Glow in the bright effulgence of her smiles,
    And lay with pride my laurels at her feet!

Oh! then be love and war together join'd,
    While each from each shall mutual succour share;
Beauty in valour's arms protection find;
    And love's fond smiles reward the brave and fair.

At length resolv'd he frames the fond request;
    While potent love each glowing line inspires,
To melt with tenderness his MIRA'S breast,
    At once to pity and partake his fires.

The fond request the gentle maid approves:
    Yes, dearest CELADON , I come, she cried;
Nor toils, nor distance shall divide our loves,
    Or keep me longer from thy faithful side.

His MIRA'S brother and his dearest friend,
    Thro' all the dangers of the distant way,
He prays the lovely traveller to attend,
    And safely to his longing eyes convey.

The tender parents fold her in their arms,
    And heaven with many an anxious prayer implore,
To guard their age's treasure safe from harms,
    And soon, and happy to their vows restore.

They part; the chariot flies with rapid speed;
    Yet all its speed to MIRA seems too slow;
While hopes and fears each other quick succeed,
    And bid each animated feature glow.

And now, approaching near the destin'd place,
    A martial band, slow moving, she espies;
And now, advanc'd within a shorter space,
    Born on their arms a wounded chieftain lies.

And need the muse inform the feeling heart,
    Who was the youth his sad companions bore?
She gaz'd! a boding sigh her fears impart;
    O heavens! my love! she cried, and could no more.

Now at her feet their mournful burden laid,
    Again he feebly lifts his dying eyes;

Their quivering beams are centred on the maid,
    And thus with feeble voice, and broken sighs:

'Tis past, my fair one; all our hopes are o'er;
    Thou com'st, alas! to catch my parting breath;
A widow'd bride thou tread'st this fatal shore,
    Ill-fated witness of thy husband's death.

Yet, MIRA , live to sooth a mother's woe:
    Tell her, her son with youthful ardour fir'd,
Not like a coward met the fatal blow;
    But, crown'd with conquest, at your feet expir'd.

Talk not of life, of hated life, she cried;
    And frantic sunk upon his bleeding breast:
Our union here tho' adverse fate denied,
    Yet join'd in death together shall we rest.

A beam of joy shone from his closing eye;
    A languid smile his clay-cold face o'erspread;
His gentle spirit, born on one deep sigh,
    From earth and all its miseries joyful fled.

As the ripe grass beneath the breeze reclines,
    When high the sun in noontide splendour glows;
All bright in silvery waves it floating shines;
    When, lo! a sudden cloud its darkness throws.

Thus changeful is the checker'd life of man;
    Full many are his griefs, his pleasures few:
'Tis hard, O heaven!--so short our little span.
    So short, alas! and yet so wretched too.

SOLITUDE AND SADNESS,

ONCE rosy pleasure bless'd my smiling hours,
    And all her scatter'd joys around me shed:
For me of balmy sweets she robb'd the flow'rs,
    And with her myrtle-wreath adorn'd my head.

Beneath my feet I saw the violet spring;
    I caught the fragrance of the morning-gale;
Each passing breeze bore sweetness on its wing,
    And scatter'd odours thro' the smiling vale.

Mine ear, still listening, heard the warbling notes,
    That from the wood the feather'd choir prolong;
Wild as themselves the tuneful cadence floats
    Of nature's sweetest, unassisted song.

Mine eye the opening dawn with joy survey'd,
    That streaks the eastern sky with crimson-hue,

When night's dark curtain thrown aside display'd
    All nature's beauties to my raptur'd view.

Then glittering dew-drops every stalk adorn,
    And tho' depending seem to fall away;
The pearly moisture hangs from every thorn,
    And gives new freshness to the trembling spray.

Cheering the sun, in beamy radiance bright,
    When on the earth his fervid ray descends:
Pleasant the slow approach of sober night,
    Whose mantle grey its cooling shade extends.

The silvery moon how lovely! and the train
    Of lucid orbs, that round her throne revolve,
And gild with vivid gems th' etherial plain!
    Who, save their Maker, can their path resolve?

O ye fair objects, once ye knew to please;
    Why to my sense delightful now no more?
Say, charm ye only in the days of ease;
    Nor for the wretched have one bliss in store?

Ill can the tearful eye your charms survey;
    Grief's thickest fog o'erclouds whate'er I see;
By me unheard is PHILOMELA'S lay;
    The lily's snowy hue delights not me.

For thou, with whom these objects charm'd, art gone:
    Pleasing with thee bright suns and evenings fair;
Thy beamy eyes, which bright as PHOEBUS shone,
    Dispell'd the frigid damps of gloomy care.

Pleasing with thee the music of the grove,
    Or tinkling streams, that o'er the pebbles stray;
More pleasing far thy voice, inspiring love,
    Whose soothing strains beguil'd the tedious day.

The flowers you cull'd were fairer to my sight;
    The fruit you gather'd richer to the taste;
From you each object pleas'd with new delight;
    All came from you with double beauty grac'd.

Ah! cruel fate, could nothing less atone
    Thy savage rage, or glut thy dreadful pow'r?

Wilt thou unpitying hear the heart-felt groan,
    Nor smile propitious on the passing hour?

Sure less than this had been sufficient woe:
    Hadst thou on every limb inflicted pain;
Or wasted down my strength with pining slow;
    Or stung me with the taunts of cold disdain:

Ev'n poverty, and all the dreaded tribe
    That on the meagre sons of want attend;
The biting jest, the sullen brow of pride;
    The dear-bought favours of a selfish friend;

These ills I could have born, one treasure left;
    Fate's darts had only reach'd th' ignobler part;
Of every outward bliss of life bereft,
    Joy still had triumphed in my faithful heart.

ABSENCE LAMENTED* .

    COME thou, th' APOLLO who my song inspires,
And warms my breast with more than poets' fires;
For whom my numbers still are taught to flow,
And every line with artless rapture glow;
Whose praise alone with fond delight I hear,
Whose blame is all the censure that I fear.
Whom can I wish, remote from thee, to please?
Without thee life is but a slow disease.
Tell me, oh! tell, why absent thou so long,
Source of my joy, and author of my song?
When far from thee, with fears and doubts oppress'd,
What sad forebodings fill'd my anxious breast!
How slow the cold unpleasing moments roll!
What cheerless clouds benight my drooping soul!
Come with the powerful magic of thine eye,
And bid those fears and doubts for ever fly:

Dispel and chase those cheerless clouds away,
Thou sun, whose presence only gives me day.
'Tis thus the wretch, who, freezing near the pole,
Sees six slow months in cold and darkness roll,
With rapture views the blest return of light,
Forgets the horrours of his half-year's night,
Hails the bright orb, with grateful transport fir'd,
Absent so long, and oft in vain desir'd.

* The person, whose absence is here lamented, and who is the subject of other Elegies, is ORAN. See The Lover's Complaint , and the Note on that name.

THE DESERTED MANSION* .

* An amiable character, a friend to our author, compelled by series of unexpected misfortunes to quit his hereditary seat, is pathetically lamented in this elegy.

AT first, the favour'd parents of mankind
    Delighted rov'd thro' EDEN'S fragrant bow'rs;
Where spring and autumn, in sweet union join'd,
    Form'd all the year, and led the smiling hours.

The trees at once their fruit and blossoms show'd;
    Pour'd forth their treasures, and still promis'd more:
The happy owners cropp'd the plenteous load,
    Nor fear'd that waste would dissipate their store.

How long this happy state, for ever gone,
    Was man's blest lot, it boots not now to say;
Then ages all unnoticed might have flown:
    Swift flies the hours, when sorrow keeps away.

Unlike those heavy moments oft we fell,
    With anguish loaded, disappointment, pain;

Ah me! how slow the circling seasons wheel,
    That bring nor hope, nor pleasure in their train.

Too soon, alas! the blissful moments fled,
    When with averted looks, reluctant, slow,
By heaven's fell minister of vengeance led,
    They enter'd on a world of pain and woe.

All wild and comfortless the prospect lay;
    Each region unexplor'd, and all unknown,
Weary they wandered through the pathless way,
    While conscious guilt still gave the heart-felt groan.

Too many an hapless son has felt their pain,
    When, banish'd from the dear domestic home,
He casts behind a wishful look in vain,
    Doom'd thro' an hard, unfeeling world to roam.

What pain to leave each favourite haunt so dear,
    Where oft in musings sweet he wont to rove!
To leave the favourite tree he lov'd to rear,
    That spread so fair the glory of the grove!

The fertile field his care unceasing fed,
    Where bounteous CERES wav'd her golden store;
The flowery lawn his stately herds o'erspread;
    The hill his fleecy wanderers whiten'd o'er;

Yet stronger ties the man of feeling bind:
    Here friendship brighten'd oft the tedious hour;
And social mirth, with social kindness join'd,
    Would all their various charms united pour.

'Twas here the lovely partner of his heart
    A double radiance threw o'er every scene:
'Twas here the smile of love, devoid of art,
    Heighten'd each joy, and soften'd every pain.

'Twas here the tender fruit of chaste delight
    First saw the day, and breath'd the vital air:
'Twas here their opening graces charm'd the sight,
    And grew, and bloom'd beneath a parent's care.

Now lost, for ever lost, each kindred scene;
    Whose dear ideas, woven through the heart,

Fortune may try to sever, but in vain:
    Tho' every nerve be strain'd, they cannot part.

Ev'n tho' oblivion brought her languid aid,
    And o'er the past a transient darkness threw;
Too faithful memory still pierc'd the shade,
    And brought each dear, departed joy to view.

When smiling plenty bless'd his cheerful dome,
    Oft did he urge the weary wanderer's stay;
Oft bid the houseless stranger find a home,
    And strew with roses sorrow's thorny way.

Ah! must he now the needful aid require,
    His scanty fortunes can no more bestow?
Must he from life's gay eminence retire,
    And mingle with the humble crowd below?

Ye, to his blood by kindred bands conjoin'd,
    With tenderest care your needful aid impart;
Think, what nice feelings swell the high-born mind;
    Prevent his wish, but do not wound his heart.

ELEONORA* .

* ELEONORA, daughter of the great earl of LEICESTER, was betrothed to LEWELLYN, prince of WALES; but, intercepted in her voyage thither by EDWARD the first, she was kept a prisoner in his court till the prince should perform his homage to the ENGLISH monarch. In this situation she is supposed to have written these lines.

O THOU ! to whom each thought unchanging tends,
To thee these lines a wretched captive sends.
In vain did love our tender hearts unite;
Hymen in vain prepare the nuptial rite:
His torch extinguish'd, torn his flowery chain,
Far other bands thy hapless bride detain.
A cruel tyrant's hate our bliss destroys,
And withers, ere their bloom, our promis'd joys.

    The gay-rigg'd vessel spread her silken sails,
And skimm'd the level deep with prosperous gales.
Some power, to love propitious, smooth'd the seas;
The sportive zephyrs breath'd a gentle breeze.
Round the tall bark the strong-wing'd herons fly;
And the loud sea-mew sends a hoarser cry.

Fearless around the finny nations play,
And bask and wanton in the solar ray:
Now to the view their silver scales unfold,
Or azure coats, bespangled thick with gold.
Fearless of ill, we gaze with curious eyes,
To mark where WALLIA'S woody mountains rise.
Already fancy views the rocky strand,
And joyful crowds, that hail us safe to land.
First, to my longing eyes the prince appears;
High o'er the throng his graceful form he rears;
With rapturous joy receives me from the main,
The destin'd partner of his happy reign.

    O ye false hopes, that cheated mortals trust:
Ye baseless fabrics, form'd of painted dust;
At distance seen, ye charm the unwary eye;
But, ah! our eager grasp delusive fly.
While thus secure we gayly glide along,
Sooth'd with the dashing waves and seamen's song,
Like stone fierce tiger, ambush'd for his prey,
The hostile vessel intercepts our way.
To us, unarm'd, and unsuspecting ill,
Useless alike the attempts of force or skill.

    O EDWARD , born the scourge of all my race;
EDWARD , the author of my dire disgrace;
By thee my warlike father press'd the plain;
By thee my brother fell, untimely slain.
An infant exile by thy dread command,
Ere scarce I saw, I lost my native land:
A foreign clime the helpless wanderer bred,
By strangers cherish'd, and by strangers fed.
What wretched fate my adverse star ordains,
That gives me back my country, but in chains?
Dear native isle, long lost, alas! and mourn'd;
I come, a captive to thy shores return'd.
Freed from his thraldom is the inglorious crew,
Alone must I the tyrant's vengeance rue,
Yet 'twas LEWELLYN'S pride he strove to tame;
And thro' my wrongs facilitate his aim:
Else had the haughty EDWARD'S eagle-eyes
Look'd down contemptuous on so mean a prize.
For thy lov'd sake what various ills I prove!
With threats the tyrant would subdue my love.
In vain his threats my faithful heart assail;
Nor fears, nor flatteries o'er my truth prevail.

    In vain their winning arts the courtiers try
And strive to shine in ELEONORA'S eye.
Tho' theirs the studied phrase, the smile of art,
Thine is the honest courtship of the heart.
No more they boast the open manly grace,
That once adorn'd each free-born BRITON'S face.
In ASIA'S silken robes their limbs are drest;
And on their bosoms shines the embroider'd vest.
Their waving locks ambrosial sweets exhale,
And gayly wanton in the whispering gale.
In starry belts their gaudy swords are worn,
And less defend their wearers than adorn;
A haughty race, luxurious, vain and proud,
At feasts intemperate, in riots loud.
Hence WALLIA'S simple manners they despise,
And view her hardy sons with scornful eyes.
The tyrant EDWARD , fond of lawless sway,
Would force each free-born nation to obey.
For this he dares to shake the GALLIC throne,
And claim unconquer'd SCOTIA for his own.

    Ev'n now unwelcome rumours reach mine ears;
Pierce my sad heart, and fill my soul with fears;

That thou art doom'd this haughty lord to greet,
And fall an abject vassal at his feet.
Too well I know LEWELLYN'S generous soul
But ill can stoop to EDWARD'S stern control;
That, ever true to honour's sacred laws,
Thou liv'st the faithful champion of her cause.
Tho' I these generous sentiments approve,
Yet sure some claims belong to tender love!
If haughty EDWARD'S mandate you deride,
Here must your captive lover long abide;
And, left in hopeless bondage, waste away
The tedious night, the slow-consuming day;
Till youth, and all its transient glories fled,
She sinks forgotten with the nameless dead.

    Thy people's dangers thy compassion claim:
When such the motive, who the deed can blame?
Tho' true their hearts, and warlike are their hands;
Yet few in number are thy faithful bands.
Ah! think how wide-extended EDWARD'S reign;
How circumscrib'd, alas! thy small domain.
Judge not, that ENGLISH valour I o'errate;
'Tis from their numbers I predict thy fate.

When swarms of locusts overspread the plain,
All human force and human skill are vain:
The crowds resistless seize their destin'd prey;
And sure destruction marks their dreadful way.
Not glory claims alone the fighting field;
More lasting honours prudent counsels yield.
In vain may strength her fearless front oppose,
While wisdom's gentler arts disarm her foes.
Oft, when the hand of brutal courage fails,
The winning power of eloquence prevails.

    Yield then, LEWELLYN ; own this potent lord;
And EDWARD is thy friend, thy bride restor'd:
Peace shall again revisit WALLIA'S shores;
And smiling plenty pour her ample stores.
Loving and lov'd, our days shall glide away;
And, join'd in death, one tomb receive our clay.
But, if these peaceful counsels you despise,
Let them not sink me in LEWELLYN'S eyes;
If not your praise, your pity let them move;
Nor too severely blame the faults of love.

Too plain my fond advice, which love reveals,
And shows the pangs my trembling bosom feels.
For, ah! no dauntless heart this breast contains;
Nor MONTFORT'S courage swells his daughter's veins:
To all my sex's fears and doubts resign'd,
Myself the weakest of the weaker kind.
I dread, alas! thine honour's rigid claim;
Yet more I dread thy censure and thy blame.
Let heaven my future destiny decide,
If EDWARD'S captive, or LEWELLYN'S bride;
Still may thy love my pride, my boast remain,
To bless my freedom, or to gild my chain.

THE LOVER'S COMPLAINT.

    ME , from the source of every comfort torn,
Condemn'd in pensive solitude to mourn,
Me, a devoted prey to pain and grief,
E'en the false flatterer hope denies relief.
Oh! look propitious on these lines, that flow
From love sincere and undissembled woe.
No certain aim my wishes now pursue;
To weep and mourn is all I now can do.
In sorrow sunk, dismay'd by hopeless love,
Thro' fancy's endless labyrinth I rove;
Review those happy scenes of past delight,
Where oft you sooth'd mine ear and charm'd my sight.

    When winter's rage the smiling year deforms,
And blackens all the skies with gathering storms,
Spring's opening dawn the dismal prospect cheers,
When she, in smiles array'd, serene appears.
But will no spring for me its joys renew,
And chase the gloom of sorrow from my view?

For me has fate no happy time in store?
Will joy and * ORAN greet mine eyes no more?
Each well-known spot recals you to my mind,
Where oft you walk'd, or where you oft reclin'd.
But, absent you, I gaze on empty air,
Yet think I hear your voice, and see you there.
Lovers these unavailing arts essay,
When fancy gives what fortune takes away.

*ORAN is a fictitious name; under which our author meant to conceal the object of her affections. He was an IRISHMAN of distinction. On his return from EDINBURGH to his own country by sea, he was unfortunately drowned. The recollection of this disastrous event was too deeply impressed on the writer's mind, to be erased by time. It set the colour of her life, saddened her future prospects, and produced its influence on her writings. For it disposed her to prefer the mournful Elegy; where disappointed lovers are permitted to complain, and where the tears of sorrow may be shed without reprehension.

    As some fond mother, who distracted eyes
Her dying babe, yet scarce believes it dies;
Views each faint sign of life with dire delight
And obstinately hopes in nature's spite:
Thus, when thy cruel coldness I survey'd,
When first I found my easy faith betray'd,

Alarm'd, and still reluctant to believe,
I tried each art that could my fears deceive:
Hop'd what I wish'd, and form'd thee to my mind,
Of truth tenacious, and for ever kind.
But soon the sad conviction grew too strong;
For falsehood, tho' it please, supports not long.
Yet, say? what wonder, thou shouldst win the heart,
Endow'd by nature, and adorn'd by art.
I thought thee best, as comeliest of thy kind,
A faultless form with every virtue join'd.
Oh! had the work been perfect, as it seem'd;
Prais'd for its beauty, for its worth esteem'd;
On thee each eye with fond delight had hung,
Each ear had caught the music of thy tongue.
Why, led astray by vanity and youth,
Could'st thou with treacherous aims dissemble truth?
Why try each pleasing charm, each winning art,
To pierce with grief a fond believing heart,
Whose warmest vows were all to heaven address'd,
To crown thy wishes, and pronounce thee bless'd?
Thy fond endearments more than all I priz'd,
And, if but ORAN lov'd, the world despis'd.

    Too long, alas! by dire misfortune cross'd,
On a wide sea of adverse chances toss'd,
In thee I hop'd one faithful plank to find,
And brave secure the rage of wave and wind:
On this I trusted all that yet remain'd,
Safe from the shipwreck I so late sustain'd.
Ah! foolish hope, and, Ah! believing maid,
By thine own truth and honest heart betray'd:
For soon dark clouds of ever-during night
Swept all the pleasing vision from my sight.
Thus, when the merchant, in pursuit of gain,
Attempts the dangers of the faithless main,
Lo! sudden storms his air-built hopes betray,
And all his wealth becomes at once their prey,
To one rich casket still he fondly cleaves,
And, grasping that, the rest to ruin leaves:
This dearest to his soul, and valued most,
Consoles him for the mighty treasures lost.
But if some swelling wave ev'n this denies,
And sweeps his darling casket from his eyes,
Despondent now, he strives with fate no more,
But fainting gives the hopeless struggle o'er:

All lost for ever he resigns his breath,
And seeks a last and safe retreat in death.

    If souls above with fond affection glow,
If spirits mingle in affairs below,
To me, kind heaven, one happy lot assign;
To guard my best-lov'd ORAN still be mine.
For ever near him let my soul preside,
Repel each danger, and each action guide;
Direct what path to shun, and what pursue;
From errour and from passion clear his view.
No distance then thy presence shall deny,
Nor shall this hated form offend thine eye;
But, veil'd in some soft mist of melting air,
Be still invisible, tho' ever near.

EDWIN AND EDITH* ;

ADOWN yon fair sequester'd vale
    A silver stream meandering flows;
Thick on its banks the primrose pale,
    And sweet the azure violet blows.

Around yon rock's high pointed side
    Its arms the fragrant woodbine twines;
The brier-rose in blushing pride
    To paint the fairy scene combines.

Fierce Boreas' rage was all unknown,
    That blasts the hope of infant spring;
Far to less favour'd regions flown,
    He spreads not here his dusky wing.

* The author's talents no where shew themselves to greater advantage than in this little poem. The tale is interesting, and will be read with pleasure by every judge of elegiac poetry.

A simple, but a spacious dome
    The traveller's eye delighted view'd;
'Twas oft the weary wanderer's home,
    Whom want and wretchedness pursu'd.

'Twas guarded by an ancient wood,
    That stately raised its reverend head;
The boast of ages long had stood,
    And wide its friendly shelter spread.

An aged chieftain there abode,
    Safe from the storms of public strife:
He long had left ambition's road,
    To taste the sweets of rural life.

His youth, for gallant feats renown'd,
    Had earn'd sweet peace to gild his age;
And wove the victor's wreath, that crown'd
    The hoary temples of the sage.

As the young blossoms' roseate hue
    Adorns the apple's wither'd arms,

Thus by his side a daughter shew,
    Fair as the dawn, her opening charms,

Ah! wherefore was thy polish'd cheek
    Ting'd with the rose's softest die?
Why shone in beams so heavenly meek
    The star of morning in thine eye?

Ill-fated maid! thy hapless charms
    Shall every future bliss destroy;
Fill thy soft bosom with alarms,
    Nor spare a father's only joy.

'Twas May, when zephyrs wake the morn,
    And birds their warblings wild renew:
From the sweet bosom of the thorn
    All lucid hung the pearly dew.

While from the east, serenely mild,
    The sun an humid beam display'd;
Far round the growing splendours smil'd,
    And glittering on the waters play'd.

By waking dreams of sleep bereft,
    To taste the freshness of the dawn,
Her downy couch sweet EDITH left,
    And lightly brush'd the dewy lawn,

And now she seeks the deepening shade,
    Led by the hand of love unknown;
And fondly deems, mistaken maid!
    She wanders thro' the woods alone;

What form is this, that meets her eyes,
    Beneath the aspen's quivering shade?
Lock'd in the arms of sleep he lies;
    His bow unstrung beside him laid.

The wanton zephyrs fan his hair,
    And half his glowing cheek conceal;
Green is the vest he seems to wear:
    She tries a nearer look to steal.

Say? dost thou in these forests dwell,
    And chase thy sylvan prey, she cries?

No longer, envious sleep, conceal
    The starry lustre of his eyes.

A sportive Sylph, that heard the pray'r,
    Brush'd from his lids the slumberous dew:
He starts, he wakes; at once the fair
    All radiant rushes on his view.

In wonder lost they silent stand;
    Her head declin'd her blushes hide;
Unheeded, from her trembling hand,
    The flowery half-form'd chaplet glides.

At length the rapturous youth began:
    Hail, lovely queen of this fair shade!
Low at your feet behold a man,
    Who here a hapless wanderer stray'd.

Oh! lead me to those favour'd seats,
    That gladly own thy gentle sway;
And, while this faithful bosom beats,
    With joy thy mandates I'll obey.

For thee, in summer's fervid heat,
    I'll glow beneath the burning sky;
And, when the storms of winter beat,
    The raging heavens for thee defy.

Oh! stranger, cease, the virgin said;
    Only a simple maid you see;
Who deem'd within this lonely shade
    Her steps from mortal eyes were free.

But to my sire thy tale unfold;
    No harsh denial need'st thou fear;
His breast to pity ne'er was cold;
    The child of sorrow claims his tear.

The stranger's cause when EDITH pleads,
    The indulgent sire will sure comply;
The bosom, form'd for generous deeds,
    Such fond requests can ill deny.

Long time beneath Sir OSMOND'S roof
    The youth a favour'd guest remain'd;

And, tho' his tongue conceal'd the truth,
    His eyes his secret soul explain'd.

A thousand nameless deeds of love,
    By lovers' eyes alone descried,
Too well for EDITH'S quiet prove
    The tender truth his fears would hide.

For her he sought the earliest flower,
    That joys the vernal sun to meet:
He twin'd for her the shadowy bower,
    From sultry skies a shelter sweet.

If, like the virgin-goddess drest,
    She midst the hunter-train was found,
Anxious he show'd what path was best,
    Or taught her dart to give the wound.

It chanc'd, as on a summer-day
    The burning sun was mounted high;
Direct he shot his fervid ray;
    All cloudless shone the azure sky.

Sooth'd by the coolness of the stream,
    Beneath an alder's verdant shade
She lay, and mark'd the dancing beam,
    That on its dimpl'd bosom play'd.

Led by the sympathetic power,
    Which lovers' souls doth sweetly bind,
Young EDWIN wander'd near the bower,
    Nor knew his love within reclin'd.

At once, to shun the sultry heat,
    He sunk beneath the cooling grove;
The birds their warbled lays repeat;
    And thus he join'd the song of love:

O nymph, possess'd of every charm,
The coldest breast with love to warm,
        Say, must I ever know
The day bereft of all delight;
The sleepless, slow-consuming night;
        And waste in hopeless woe?

What canst thou hope, thou wretch forlorn,
From all the ties of kindred torn,
        Who parent never knew?
The savage hand, that gave thee birth,
Doom'd thee a vagabond on earth,
        And cast thee from her view.

And will Sir OSMOND'S only child,
On whose high birth fair fortune smil'd,
        To thee direct her eye?
Yet still some secret whisper tells,
The tide within these veins that swells,
        Perhaps may flow as high.

Let then my deeds my birth proclaim:
The brave can win themselves a name,
        That with renown shall live:
The victor's wreath my shame shall hide,
And force the scornful tongue of pride
        Unwilling praise to give.

Inspir'd by EDITH'S beauteous eyes,
Ah! might I hope her love the prize,
        What dangers were too great?
But let me uncomplaining prove
What valour can, inspir'd by love;
        And leave the rest to fate.

The whispering gale, that round them play'd,
    To wondering EDITH'S listening ear
The sadly-pleasing strain convey'd:
    She dreaded, yet she wish'd, to hear.

For sure, she thought, a soul so brave,
    A form endu'd with so much grace,
No mean original could have:
    He must be sprung of noble race.

Ah! saw my father with my eyes;
    (But so, alas! few fathers see)
The pride of titles he'd despise,
    And own superior worth in thee

'Twas thus, tho' loving and belov'd,
    The pair with hopeless passion pin'd:
Ah! blind to fate! which cruel prov'd,
    Beyond what ruthless love divin'd.

PART II.

SIR OSMOND'S youth in camps was bred,
    And manly sports still pleas'd his age:
Beneath his spear the wolf had bled;
    His arm had dar'd the boar's fell rage.

'Twas on a cheerful harvest-morn,
    With heart elate, and spirits gay,
Rous'd by the clangour of the horn,
    Sir OSMOND sought his silvan prey.

His jovial troop o'erspread the plain,
    Each in his hunter's vest of green;
But none of all the youthful train
    Could vie with EDWIN'S noble mien.

The beauteous EDITH too was near,
    Well skill'd her milk-white steed to guide;
Who, pleas'd his lovely charge to bear,
    Toss'd his fair mane with conscious pride.

And now the boar in view appears;
    With rage inflam'd he rends the ground;
The ready hunters point their spears,
    And draw the bow to give the wound.

Sir OSMOND urg'd with all his speed,
    Regardless of declining age,
Among the first his fiery steed,
    And dar'd the foaming monster's rage.

The boar all furious rolls his eyes,
    His eyes, that flash with living fire;
Like darts his prickly bristles rise;
    He whets his tusks with vengeful ire.

A lance the dauntless OSMOND flung,
    Deep fix'd it quiver'd in his side;

The reeking blood impetuous sprung,
    And all the field with crimson died.

Stung with the pain, his fury boils;
    He rushes headlong on the foe;
Agast the fearful steed recoils,
    And lays his hapless rider low.

Alas! thou hast no son of love
    With youthful arm thy life to save:
Yes, EDWIN ; he a son shall prove,
    And snatch thee from a sudden grave.

Quick as the lightning's flash he sprung;
    He pierc'd the monster's rugged breast:
He fell; the echoing forests rung,
    As earth his giant-carcass press'd.

All round the youthful victor drew;
    Tho' envious all repeat his name;
The prostrate foe with wonder view,
    And rend the skies with loud acclaim.

Yet trembling EDITH'S silent praise
    To EDWIN'S heart is far more dear;
Her eyes to heaven he saw her raise,
    And fervent drop the grateful tear.

The aged chief with beating heart
    Long held him in a strict embrace;
Oh! more than son, we ne'er shall part--
    And tears of joy bedew'd his face.

Henceforth with all a father's love
    Sir OSMOND'S eyes the youth regard:
Oh! if thy birth shall noble prove,
    My EDITH shall thy worth reward.

Grant me, kind heaven! a son like thee;
    Whose arm may prop my failing age;
And gentle EDITH'S guardian be,
    When OSMOND leaves this mortal stage,

But, ah! I fear, ignoble birth
    Doth all thy gallant deeds debase:

Alas! that valour, and that worth,
    May not the brave possessor raise.

Let me from EDWIN frankly claim
    The story of his life to know:
Not treasure is my sordid aim;
    A gentle name's my only vow.

'Twas at the peaceful evening-hour,
    When, freed from each intrusive guest,
In social talk they sought the bow'r,
    And OSMOND thus the youth address'd:

I know my EDWIN'S generous heart
    Will mean distrust of friends despise:
The soul of virtue needs not art,
    But fairest shows without disguise.

Say, is it friendship, ill return'd,
    Reluctant makes thee, EDWIN , rove?
Or hath thy gentle bosom burn'd
    With all the pangs of hopeless love?

My faithful heart its part shall bear,
    If thou, my son, hast cause to grieve:
Oh! let me then thy sorrows share,
    Divide, and thus thy grief relieve.

With thee my soul no secret knows:
    So shall my faithful tongue relate
The tender story of my woes;
    For I have felt the stings of fate.

My early years were bred to arms,
    When WILLIAM , SCOTLAND'S glory, reign'd;
And, when fierce EDWARD spread alarms,
    My sword its meed of honour gain'd.

But, ah! that heart, which fear'd no foe,
    All-powerful beauty soon subdu'd:
Nor sigh'd I long in sullen woe;
    The fair one smil'd, when OSMOND woo'd.

She smil'd, but, ah! her sire denied,
    The potent lord of LIDDIS-DALE ;

In all the pomp of wealth and pride
    He rul'd o'er many an hill and vale.

But can a father's stern commands
    The powerful voice of love control?
Or break those strong, tho' silken bands,
    That bind the lover's captive soul?

The timid maid, if love's her guide,
    Nor wiles shall want, nor dangers fear;
From prying eyes her steps shall hide,
    And lull secure the watchful ear.

We met: not long, ere new alarms
    Our hearts with deeper woes oppress'd;
Her father mark'd her alter'd charms,
    And, ah! the cause too truly guess'd.

Shut in a tower from mortal sight,
    His hapless daughter captive lay;
For me she wept the sleepless night;
    For me she pin'd the cheerless day.

All impotent to bring relief,
    Nor force, nor art the means supply:
'Twas all I could, I shar'd her grief,
    And wish'd, but wish'd in vain, to die.

Six times within that tower forlorn
    She saw the moon renew her light;
When my ill-fated babe was born,
    All in the gloomy noon of night.

A stranger (so her sire ordains)
    Is charg'd the outcast babe to bear
Far distant from his native plains,
    Where kindred voice he ne'er shall hear.

Ere sever'd yet to meet no more,
    One sacred pledge she must impart;
A bracelet from her arm she tore,
    And plac'd it near his little heart.

Oh! take, she cried, this gift of love:
    When reason lends her searching light,

This may thy high-born lineage prove,
    And guide thy doubtful steps aright.

'Twas the first gift I gave my fair:
    Two bleeding hearts together join'd;
A cherub fluttering light in air;
    A myrtle-wreath with roses twin'd;

A bracelet--say? exclaim'd the youth?
    To what rash hope would I aspire?
Two bleeding hearts? mysterious truth!
    'Tis here--and OSMOND is my sire.

He spoke; the father's eager eyes
    With silent gaze his features scan;
Now hope, now fear alternate rise,
    Till thro' his soul conviction ran.

Then with what transport to his heart
    He press'd his long-lamented boy!
How vain all language to impart
    The vast, the immeasurable joy!

Ah! short-liv'd bliss! thus phantoms melt,
    And from the touch delusive fly:
Think, what the tender EDWIN felt,
    When his lov'd EDITH met his eye!

But now his struggles to reveal,
    It far exceeds my simple lay;
And more the gentle heart can feel,
    Than can the power of words display.

Cold, pale, as monumental stone,
    So EDITH stood in speechless woe;
Her bosom heav'd not with a groan;
    From her fix'd eye no tear did flow.

Silent they stood, when EDWIN rais'd
    His head to take one parting view;
Wild with despair, he frantic gaz'd:
    --Adieu for ever! O adieu!

And farewell thou, my sire belov'd;
    Long sought, alas! but found too late:

My inauspicious love hath prov'd
    More fatal than the deadliest hate.

He spoke, and vanish'd from their sight;
    (His swelling heart brook'd no reply)
Hid in the murky shades of night,
    In honour's arms resolv'd to die.

Good OSMOND sunk beneath the blow;
    Thus, after many a storm withstood,
The bolts of Jove at length bring low
    The ancient glory of the wood.

Of all she lov'd, or priz'd, bereft,
    No well-known face of kindred near,
Behold the weeping EDITH left
    Extended o'er a parent's bier!

Around her stand her mournful train,
    And share their dear-lov'd mistress' grief;
But all their tears, their cares are vain;
    Nor tears, nor cares can bring relief.

Time only can with lenient hand
    O'er sorrow throw a softer shade;
Or holy hope, at heaven's command,
    Descend to give the mourner aid.

'Twas night, when now the flatterer, sleep,
    Where fortune smiles, his favour shows;
But leaves the wretch forlorn to weep,
    Nor shuts those eyes, whence sorrow flows.

When, lo! the wandering EDITH'S sight
    A radiant cherub's form beheld;
His flowing robe of purest light;
    His hand a palm triumphant held.

Hail, gentle maid! I bring sweet peace
    I come, thy sorrows to dispel;
To give thee from life's toils release,
    And guide thy steps where angels dwell.

Within the bosom of that grove,
    Where oft to heaven thy soul was rais'd,
Ere yet a wretched mortal's love
    To earth thy purer thoughts debas'd;

There shall thy future days be spent;
    Far off each mortal wish shall fly;
Till heaven reclaim the life it lent,
    And call thee to thy native sky.

Obedient to the voice divine,
    Nor wealth, nor state can bribe her stay:
All fortune's gifts she can resign,
    And go where angels point the way.

The world was all a dreary waste;
    Its honours were not worth her care;
Its pleasures only brought distaste;
    She saw no longer EDWIN there.

Thus EDITH left her father's halls;
    Those festive scenes of gay delight,
Where oft at feasts and courtly balls
    The song and dance prolong'd the night.

And here this sacred mansion rose,
    Where pale-ey'd maids their vigils keep
Beauty her flowery robe foregoes;
    And pleasure learns to fast and weep.

The pensive nun this story told:
    And, see! she said with tearful eye,
Beneath yon weeping marble cold,
    The once-lov'd EDITH'S ashes lie.

There, in the solemn dead of night,
    From angel-harps soft airs are play'd:
There forms are seen, all heavenly bright,
    While yet the world is wrapp'd in shade.

O'er it the silent lapse of years
    With speed unmark'd has wing'd its way:
Now time's corrosive hand appears,
    And draws the traces of decay.

Not beauty's self alone must bow,
    But all the feeble props of fame:
The bust, the arch he levels low,
    And blots from sight the victor's name.

ALONZO AND CORA;

* Marmontel's Incas , or the Destruction of the Empire of Peru , has of late engaged the public attention. For the popular Tragedy of Pizarro is, we are told, founded on incidents, recorded in that novel. But our author's poem was written long before Kotzebue's dramatic piece made its appearance. Both are derived from the same source. From this work of Marmontel, which to some readers may seem tedious, our poetess has selected the most splendid parts. She has chosen for the subject of her Poem the adventures of two faithful, but unfortunate lovers; whose complicated distresses, as here described, cannot fail to awaken sensibility, and excite the tenderest sympathies.

    WHEN o'er the western world IBERIA'S bands
With blood and rapine stain'd their guilty hands;
When frantic priests with zeal's unhallow'd fire
Saw the pale victims of their rage expire;
And madly dream'd their love of heaven to show
By filling earth with misery, guilt and woe;
A gentle youth there was, whose generous mind
Felt for the wretchedness of all mankind.
Love in his bosom ever gave the law;
A brother in each Indian's form he saw.

In vain he strove their fury to control,
And melt to soft humanity of soul:
Nor prayers, nor threats their savage hearts could move,
And all his tender cares successless prove.
Resolv'd no more to view a scene of woes,
With power alone to pity, not oppose;
With horrour fill'd, he left the guilty crew,
His fate in distant regions to pursue.

    Far to the south a mighty empire lay;
A happy monarch there extends his sway;
His people blessing, by his people blest,
A filial homage every heart confess'd.
No SPANIARD yet had trod these happy climes,
Alike unknown their courage and their crimes.
Thro' various toils the fearless youth explores,
With noblest views inspir'd, these peaceful shores;
To warn them of the neighbouring empire's fate,
The direful tale of SPANISH guilt relate;
From chains, or death the harmless race to save,
Ensure their freedom, or partake their grave.

    And now his toils and weary wanderings past,
He views the fair PERUVIAN plains at last.
These sweet abodes no adverse seasons fear,
Nor summer burns, nor winter freezes here.
Eternal spring unbounded fragrance show'rs;
Its ripen'd stores eternal harvest pours.
The labourer chooses when to sow his grain;
When of its golden load to ease the plain.
The boughs at once their fruit and blossoms show;
And, while they give, still promise to bestow.
Here from unclouded skies the lord of day
Pours on these favour'd climes his purest ray:
Here to his name a thousand altars rise,
And waft their curling incense to the skies.
In QUITO chief, their monarch's bright abode,
They in distinguish'd state adore the God.
High o'er the subject town his temple stands,
And seems the work of more than mortal hands.
Here thick as stars the vivid diamonds blaze,
And golden suns emit their dazzling rays:
The splendid roof, with burnish'd silver bright,
Steams from afar, and strikes the wondering sight.

The holy priesthood, all of regal race,
On golden altars purest offerings place;
The fairest fruits and cakes of finest grain:
No bloody rites the spotless shrines profane.
Twelve beauteous virgins, of the royal line,
With pious awe attend the rites divine.
Their lucid robes in waves redundant flow,
Bright as the moon, and white as falling snow;
The ample folds a mystic zone confines;
With stars emblaz'd the radiant circle shines.
A dazzling sun on each fair bosom glows;
The brightest gems its mimic rays compose;
Their flowing tresses flowery chaplets bind,
And soft in graceful ringlets fall behind.

    As near ALONZO to the city drew,
The stately fabric struck his wondering view:
Towers, temples, domes in gay confusion rise,
And raise their glittering summits to the skies.
His generous soul with tender pity glows,
While down his cheek a stream of sorrow flows.

O righteous heaven! he deeply sighing said,
Shall these fair dwellings in the dust be laid?
I hear the helpless matron's dying groans;
I see their infants dash'd against the stones:
The wretched people midst the ruin fall;
And death and desolation cover all.
O God! these ills avert, my aims approve,
And guard this people with a parent's love.

    Now twilight spread her mantle o'er the skies,
And hid the stranger's form from prying eyes.
Arriv'd, before the palace-gate he stands,
And free admittance to the king demands.
The generous prince, whose unsuspecting soul
No guilty fears, nor coward's doubts control;
Who felt himself the friend of human kind,
And therefore fear'd in none a foe to find;
Whose virtues, like firm guards, defend his breast;
Admits with confidence the stranger-guest.
His kingly form the stranger-guest admir'd,
With reverend awe and filial love inspir'd.

The king with equal love the youth survey'd,
By nature's hand in every grace array'd.
His form the towering cedar of the grove;
His eyes the radiance of the star of love:
His cheeks th' unsullied rose of youth display;
Round his fair front his ebon tresses play:
Her finest polish culture's hand bestow'd,
And the full piece with perfect beauty glow'd.

    Mildly the king began: O youth unknown,
Of form and feature so unlike our own;
Say, what wide regions hast thou wander'd o'er?
What wonderous chance has brought thee to our shore?
ALONZO thus return'd: Great king, whose sway
The happy nations of the south obey,
Far, distant far, my native country lies,
And other stars beholds and other skies.
Tho' nature's choicest gifts enrich my home,
Yet curst ambition taught her sons to roam;
Myself, the associate of a desperate band,
In hour ill-fated left my natal land.

Immeasurable seas we travers'd o'er;
And reach'd at last devoted INDIA'S shore.
The helpless natives fell an easy prey,
And blood and ruin mark'd our dreadful way.
But, ah! my faltering tongue relates with pain
Their cruel wrongs, and our eternal stain:
The sacred temples of their Gods o'erturn'd;
Their virgins ravish'd, and their cities burn'd;
Their captive monarchs dragg'd in shameful chains,
Or slow expiring midst the torture's pains.
Here let me draw oblivion's darkest veil,
Nor wound thee further with so sad a tale.
Each art I tried their fury to oppose,
And strove to lessen wretched INDIA'S woes.
In vain, alas! unable to endure
The sight of miseries I could not cure,
With horrour fill'd I fled the guilty train,
While ties of blood and country pled in vain.
These dogs of war now hither bend their way,
And mark thee out already for their prey.
What wilds, what mountains have I wander'd o'er,
With painful steps to reach this distant shore;

The envenom'd serpent's deadly haunts explor'd,
And plung'd in gulfs, where foaming cataracts roar'd;
To show what gathering storms around thee frown,
And threat thy people's ruin and thine own.
If, as loud fame reports, I pleas'd shall find,
That every kingly virtue fills thy mind;
That in thy people's good thou find'st thine own,
The sordid tyrant's selfish views unknown
That mild benevolence hath fram'd thy laws,
And justice from thy throne oppression awes;
My heart and fortune I with thine unite.
Thy friend in council, and thy chief in fight.
For all thy threaten'd dangers well I know;
The arts, the courage of thy ruthless foe.
But if injustice marks thy guilty reign;
If injur'd innocence complains in vain;
Illegal robbers lord it o'er the land,
And force the hard-won bread from labour's hand;
If bloody rites thy cruel Gods require,
And slaughter'd captives at their shrines expire;
Henceforth I fly the hated haunts of men,
And seek the desert and the lonely den;

In solitary wildness waste the day,
Or, join'd with tigers, rend my bloody prey.

    O sacred truth! without the aid of art;
Thy voice resistless wins the human heart.
Tho' strange the tale, the king its truth confess'd;
Clasp'd in his own, ALONZO'S hand he press'd:
Welcome, he cried, my warriour and my friend,
To guide in councils, and in camps defend.
Thy words confess, within thy youthful mind
The hero's fire with temperate wisdom join'd:
But heaven, when great achievements are decreed,
Still forms the hero for the destin'd deed.
But now, releas'd from former toils and care,
Let strengthening food thy wasted powers repair
In balmy sleep awhile forget thy woes,
And taste secure the blessings of repose.

    While sunk in sleep his couch ALONZO press'd,
A weight of woes o'erwhelms the monarch's breast:
He fears his people's ills, he fears his own;
Grief follows grief, and groan succeeds to groan.

At length religion to his view display'd
The cheering hope of heaven's protective aid.
Pleas'd he resolves, when night's pale lamps retire,
To seek the sacred temple of his sire,
And there his suppliant vows and offerings pay
To him, the glorious ruler of the day;
Implore him to avert the threaten'd fate,
And smile propitious on his once lov'd state.

    Soon as the orient glow'd with early red,
The anxious king forsook his wakeful bed.
Instant the priests are summon'd to prepare
The holy rites of sacrifice and pray'r.
The pious monarch seeks the sacred fane;
His kindred Incas form a solemn train;
Whilst, with distinguish'd marks of honour grac'd,
ALONZO near the royal hand was plac'd.
With gold and gems the splendid temple blaz'd;
High rose the roof, on silver columns rais'd.
Full in the centre shone the lord of day;

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

First of the train is vivid Mercury seen,
And next the star of love's celestial queen.
Then the fair Earth, with verdure crown'd, appears;
A middle course the happy planet steers;
Nor in too fierce a blaze intense she glows,
Nor distant freezes in eternal snows.
Still by her side, the radiant queen of night
Sheds o'er her darken'd hours a friendly light,
When in the blue expanse she glows serene,
And with a milder lustre gilds the scene.
His fiery beams wide darting from afar,
Shines the bright planet of the God of war.
Still further Jupiter's huge form appears;
His varied sides the unceasing tempest tears:
Four silver moons their circuits round him run,
Whose fainter light supplies the absent sun.
Far wider still, immers'd in cold and night,
Pale Saturn sheds abroad a bluish light.
Five radiant moons around his orb are born,
Whose gloomy sides two shining zones adorn;
Their borrow'd beams a lambent light display,
And cheer his darkness with a feeble ray.

    While round him, as a guard in awful state,
The inferior priests and holy virgins wait,
High in the midst the sovereign pontiff stands,
And thus his God adores with lifted hands:
    Thou! round whose throne eternal splendours shine,
The boundless empire of the skies is thine.
Thou! pride of heaven, from whose bright presence flow
Life, beauty, warmth, and every bliss below;
Where now are fled those twinkling orbs of light,
That spangled-o'er the gloomy veil of night?
When from the vast expanse thy beams retire,
Thou bad'st them light their ineffectual fire:
In the full blaze of thy effulgence drown'd,
No more their place in yon bright arch is found.
As now they sink beneath thy potent eye,
So may thy people's foes confounded fly:
Our prayers accept, all threaten'd ills remove,
And guard our sovereign with a parent's love.

    The sacred virgins next their voices raise,
And thus the God in songs of rapture praise:
Soul of the world! didst thou thine aid deny,
Eternal shades would hide yon azure sky;
The fertile earth become a barren waste,
Amidst a gloomy void of darkness plac'd;
Thy genial warmth the face of nature cheers;
Thro' all her various bounds delight appears.
The yielding deep in liquid silver flows;
The moistened air with balmy sweetness glows;
The melting clouds descend in kindly show'rs;
Prolific earth unbounded plenty pours.
Oh! may thy smiles propitious round us shine,
And still a grateful people's praise be thine;
Those dreaded ills avert, that round us threat,
And save us from the frowns of angry fate.

    The virgins ceas'd; yet still ALONZO'S ear,
With fond delight enraptur'd, seem'd to hear;
Beauty and harmony their charms unite,
His soul to ravish, and his eyes delight.

But one, divinely fair above the rest,
With rapturous tumults fir'd his youthful breast.
With equal love and equal charms inspir'd,
The beauteous nymph the stranger's form admir'd.
Low to the ground her timid eyes she throws,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    Now from the finish'd rites, in solemn state,
The attending Incas on their monarch wait;
And slow retiring from the sacred fane,
The virgins seek their calm recess again;
Where gentle CORA , so was nam'd the fair,
Had pass'd a life devoid of joy or care.
The listless evening scarcely brought repose;
On the dull morn the day unwish'd-for rose.

No golden dreams of pleasure sooth'd her rest;
No hope now flutter'd o'er her languid breast;
Cold as the fleeces of the ALPINE snow,
And smooth as lakes, whose waters never flow.
But, ah! no longer is her still retreat
Of calm indifference the peaceful seat.
It seems a dreadful prison, that surrounds
A wretch reluctant in its hated bounds.
To the dear absent youth in melting strains
She tells her fond desires and tender pains;
Deep in her memory imprints each grace,
The form majestic, and the beauteous face.
    And must, she cries, must all these dreams of love
Like shadows flit, and still delusive prove?
Why did I view those charms I must adore,
If now condemn'd to bless my sight no more?
Yet, Oh! ere death for ever close these eyes,
Come, my beloved, and hear my latest sighs;
View the dire ravage of thy fatal charms,
And let me breathe my last within thine arms.
Tho' here confin'd my wretched form remains,
My soul indignant all restraint disdains:

Still, still to thee it flies with fond delight;
Nor bolts, nor walls our hearts can disunite.
Thy form alone creative fancy sees,
And hears thy voice in every passing breeze.
Oh! could my fond ideas real prove,
And one blest moment grant me all thy love;
I for that moment life would freely give,
And when you ceas'd to love, would cease to live.
All-gracious power, canst thou enjoy my pain,
And hear well pleas'd a hapless wretch complain?
Thou know'st the fatal vow, by which I'm tied;
My lips confess'd it, but my tongue denied;
Forc'd to obey, too fearful to oppose,
Tho' nature's voice against compulsion rose.
Oh! break the fatal band, and leave me free;
Unwilling votaries are unworthy thee.
Too fond, too frail my feelings to subdue,
One glance, alas! my weak resolves o'erthrew:
Nor vows, nor dread of death my soul restrain,
And reason lifts her feeble voice in vain.

    Now pale, extended on the ground she lay,
And clos'd her weeping eyes to shun the day:

Asham'd to view the God she had betray'd,
She wish'd in darkest night her guilt to shade.
But soon ALONZO to her thought returns;
Anew the flame with force resistless burns;
Anew the swelling tide of sorrow flows,
While thus in wild complaints she breathes her woes:
    What fatal rashness, barbarous sire, was thine?
What equal rashness, wretched maid, was mine?
Why didst thou force me from thine aged side?
Why in a prison's gloom thy daughter hide?
I would have watch'd thy wishes as they rose,
Thy toils divided, and have sooth'd thy woes;
Blended with mine an husband's cares and fears,
And propp'd with tenderness thy drooping years.
As the young scions lift their verdant head,
And round the aged trunk their freshness spread;
So, blooming round thee, had thy joyful eyes
Beheld from us a youthful race arise.
Ah! vain delusion! never shall mine ear
The fond, the sacred name of mother hear:
No child of mine these eyes shall ever see,
Hang on thine arm, or twine around thy knee.

For me in vain the stream of pleasure flows,
Lost to the sweetest joys that nature knows
Beauty and youth, her choicest gifts, are vain,
And life itself is one continu'd pain.

    That rapid lightning, whose pervading fires
In youthful bosoms kindle fond desires,
With force resistless lanc'd its keenest dart
At once thro' CORA'S and ALONZO'S heart.
Struck with a thousand nameless charms, he gaz'd,
Till thro' his soul the flame triumphant blaz'd;
Her flowery age, her sweet bewitching face,
Her rapture-moving voice, her modest grace.
The sacred rites reluctant he surveys,
And envies ev'n the power to whom she prays.
Long as the beauteous vision bless'd his sight,
His eyes insatiate rov'd with fond delight:
When seen no more, the pensive youth retires,
And carries in his breast the hopeless fires;
Impatient, restless, nought has power to please,
Nor friends, nor solitude his anguish ease:

Those objects, once so dear, seem tasteless all,
And scarce his bosom beats at glory's call.
Resolv'd at last, his reason's aid he claims,
Abjures his passion, and his madness blames.
But weak is reason, weak are efforts found;
He tugs the dart, but deeper makes the wound.
One tender glance had fatally inspir'd
Delusive hopes, that all his wishes fir'd.
Her solemn vow, the cloister's lofty wall,
A watchful guard, in vain his heart appal.
He view'd them all, and all their power confess'd;
But when doth hope desert the lover's breast?
Yes; 'tis denied me to possess her charms;
A dreadful vow excludes me from her arms;
Yet to explore her wishes in her eyes,
Nor priest, nor vow that harmless bliss denies.
If, as she knows I love, she love imparts,
What mutual joys will then unite our hearts!

    But time at length his wandering sense restor'd;
He saw his guilty passion and abhorr'd.

What! midst a pious, hospitable race,
Shall he religion's sacred laws disgrace?
A virtuous monarch, and his dearest friend,
Shall he with sacrilegious rage offend?
But, ah! far more than all, shall he expose
The dear-lov'd object to the worst of woes?
Shall he behold in infamy expire
The wretched victim of his rash desire?
Love at the dread idea trembling fled;
And hope dejected hung her pensive head:
Virtue anew resum'd her rightful sway,
And taught reluctant passion to obey.

    One evening, to assuage his tender woes,
And sooth the love-sick pangs that yet arose,
By chance directed, or by love betray'd,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

The arching boughs, that shunn'd the noontide glare,
On all around diffus'd a solemn air.
This scene the youth with kindling transport view'd,
And felt his fond desires at once renew'd.
And art thou there, for ever dear, he cries?
O envious shades! that hide thee from mine eyes.
Ye happy gales, that round my fair one play,
Soft to her ear her lover's sighs convey;
Tell her, while peace to her each morning brings,
And gentle slumbers wait on evening's wings;
Of her bereft, he solitary strays,
And wastes in hopeless wretchedness his days.
But, ah! perhaps she too like me complains;
Nor love, nor pity dare to break her chains.
High are these hated walls, severe her spies;
But love like mine these feeble bars defies.
'Twere brave, 'twere generous sure, in such a cause,
To burst these gates, and scorn a tyrant's laws.
    But, trembling at the deed, which love inspir'd,
To reason's voice he listen'd, and retir'd.

Just heaven! he cries, is this the glorious aim,
For which to these far distant climes I came?
Profess'd a hero, pious, just and brave;
Now a vile ravisher, his passion's slave?
Thus struggling virtue yet her rights maintain'd,
And soon triumphant o'er his soul had reign'd,
But envious fate a snare too powerful laid,
And brought to dying love compassion's aid.

PART II.

    HAPPY the land, round which the ocean flows,
Whose ebbing waves its fertile soil compose.
The shepherd fearless leads his flocks to feed;
In peace the cheerful labourer sows the seed.
But curst that clime the billows never lave,
Whose lofty hills the clouds indignant brave.
Unhappy those, who till the treacherous soil;
Oft shall they mourn their ill-requited toil.
Rich fruits and flagrant flowers luxuriant show,
But hide the dreadful gulf that yawns below.

The secret fires, that all within devour,
O'er the fair surface boundless plenty pour.
A fatal gift! see, earth tremendous rends,
And wide its jaws a dread abyss extends.
Such QUITO'S plains appear'd, as nature's pride;
Such flames destructive in their bosoms hide.
    'Twas on the evening of a sultry day;
The parting sun shot forth a fiery ray.
Still was the air, no gently fanning breeze
O'er-curl'd the lake, or whisper'd thro' the trees;
Scarce to the shore the languid, billows crept;
And all the elements in silence slept.
Around the fertile fields the busy swains
Or till, or sow, or reap the ripen'd grains.
For all the various labours of the year
United on these smiling fields appear:
Birth and maturity together grow;
At once the bud expands, the clusters glow.
Within their dome retir'd, the vestal fair
A curious texture from the wool prepare:
Their snowy hands the slender threads divide,
Or thro' the web the rapid shuttle guide.

    When all is still, a sudden, hollow sound
Bursts from the fierce volcano's dread profound;
Deep as, when pent within their echoing cave,
The struggling tempests in hoarse murmurs rave;
Eager at once o'er earth and air to sweep,
And high in watery mountains heave the deep.
Loud, and more loud, the rattling thunders rise,
Roll thro' the air, and echo to the skies.
The trembling earth the dire convulsion feels;
A pitchy cloud the face of heaven conceals;
The mountain bursts, the wreathing flames aspire;
Adown its side descends the liquid fire;
O'er hills of snow its dreadful course it bends,
And sure destruction on its route attends.
Now from the mountain's burning entrails torn,
On whirling flames the shatter'd rocks are born;
Thro' the thick gloom the sparkling shivers fly,
As fiery meteors shoot along the sky:
Wild desolation reigns, and dread dismay;
The boldest hearts with terrour melt away.
The fearful priests or from their temples fly,
Or prostrate at their altars trembling lie.

The sacred virgins from their cloister run,
And try in flight the threaten'd fate to shun.
But soon the wall with horrour strikes their eyes,
And ev'n the wretched hope of flight denies.
They lift their suppliant hands, and all dismay'd,
In vain they pray, and call in vain for aid.
Amidst this scene of horrour and affright,
ALONZO towards the enclosure took his flight.
Their plaintive cries with anxious heart he hears,
Yet for his CORA 's danger only fears.
'Tis thus, with fluttering heart, the tender dove
Hangs round the prison that confines his love.
'Tis thus the lioness disdains to fly,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

The bold attempt propitious darkness shrouds,
And safely wraps him in a veil of clouds:
For light was none, save when the mountain's blaze
Shot thro' the dismal gloom its transient rays.
But, ah! how faint a beam will oft suffice
To guide the ardent lover's piercing eyes.
He saw by starts the fear-distracted maids,
Like nightly phantoms, gliding thro' the shades.
Love taught him to distinguish from the rest
That form, so deeply on his heart impress'd.
Not fear, nor darkness self those charms conceal'd,
That to the lover's eye the fair reveal'd.
With cautious tenderness the youth drew near,
Lest sudden transports might encrease her fear,
Soft as the accents of the amorous dove,
His faltering tongue pronounc'd the fears of love:
    My CORA , sure, some guardian power befriends;
He watches o'er her, and from ill defends.
The affrighted Vestal heard with new amaze:
Earth shook, the mountain sent a sudden blaze;
That for a moment chas'd the shades of night,
And gave at once ALONZO to her sight.

Impell'd by fondness, or by fear oppress'd,
She trembling sunk upon her lover's breast:
Around the fainting maid he threw his arms,
And strove to dissipate her wild alarms.
O thou, whose beauties my fond heart subdu'd,
That blissful hour, when first thy form I view'd;
For whose dear sake alone I value breath,
Quick let me guard thee from the scene of death.
Nor less his accents than her fears persuade;
Half in his arms he bears the trembling maid.
Pensive they stray'd, no word the silence broke;
At length, recovering utterance, CORA spoke:
    I know not where my devious footsteps lead;
Nor who thou art, companion of my speed.
Ah! see, he cries, thy lover and thy friend,
Who only lives to love thee and defend.
Haste; let me lead thee to some safe recess,
Where joy and freedom all our days shall bless.
Thus she: Ah! tell me rather where to fly,
And hide my guilt from every human eye.
Thy sex renounc'd, yet here with thee I stray,
Myself dishonour, and my God betray.

    O my soul's joy! the ardent youth rejoin'd;
Calm the wild terrours of thy timid mind;
From danger to escape, and life to save,
Is the first law unerring nature gave.
What vows, what ties, but must to that resign?
Nor guilt, nor shame, too fearful maid, are thine.
But, ere the curtains of the night are drawn,
Ere the faint twilight ushers in the dawn,
Back to the prison shall I guide thy way,
While yet no busy tongues thy flight betray.
    But now the fury of the storm was o'er;
The flames were sunk, the mountain ceas'd to roar,
And earth to tremble; while a gentle breeze
Dispell'd the rolling clouds by slow degrees;
The sky again its azure tint resum'd,
The silver moon the mountain's top illum'd;
The warring elements obey'd their lord,
And peace to nature was anew restor'd.

    Meanwhile ALONZO and the tender maid
Along these rich and beauteous meadows stray'd;

Where the full trees their loaded boughs declin'd,
And in a leafy arch their branches twin'd:
The quivering moon-beams, darting thro' the shade,
A brighter verdure o'er the fields display'd.
The smiling scene to soft repose invites,
And sooths each various sense with soft delights.
O'erspent with wandering, and with heat oppress'd,
The weary lovers here resolve to rest.
The swelling moss a fragrant couch supplied,
That with the down's luxurious softness vied.
Beneath their feet a crystal fountain play'd,
And thro' the matted grass meandering stray'd.
High o'er their heads thick-woven shades depend,
Whose yielding boughs with purple clusters bend.
ALONZO cull'd the fairest and the best,
And to her lips their melting sweetness press'd.
The luscious jambo, that with honey vied,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

How fair appears yon radiant orb of light,
But late in gloomy horrours hid from sight!
How soft and still these vernal scenes appear,
Where desolation's reign deform'd the rear!
To me far sweeter thus to view thy charms,
All warm and glowing from thy past alarms.
Sure, heaven itself my guiltless flame approves,
And with this happy moment crowns our loves.
The earthquake's rage, the fierce volcano's fire,
To aid two tender lovers' bliss conspire:
The awful darkness of this fatal night
From all her guards conceals my CORA'S flight.
But soon the blissful moments will be o'er;
Those blissful moments time can ne'er restore:
Oh! bid me then be blest, my love, he cried;
And be thou blest, the love-lost maid replied.
    She spoke: nor longer reason held the rein;
Religion, honour, virtue, pled in vain.
Love o'er their minds his soft delusion threw,
And hid the dread futurity from view.

    Now to their eyes each object fairer show'd;
More fresh the earth, the moon more radiant glow'd:

The opening blooms a richer scent exhal'd;
A secret charm o'er every sense prevail'd.
Sure, love, said CORA , owns this blissful seat,
Why wander to explore a new retreat?
These groves, these flowery meadows seem to say,
Ah! where in search of pleasure would ye stray?
Can cooler shades, or purer streams appear,
Or richer fruits, than what invite you here?
    For ever, O my love, the youth rejoin'd,
May'st thou each various scene as blissful find.
But further from thy prison must we fly,
Before to-morrow's dawn salutes the eye.
I know not where our wanderings now shall end,
Nor what at last our future fates intend.
But, blest with thee, each scene affords delight,
The desert blossoms, and the gloom is bright.
With joy and sorrow mix'd, the fair one heard,
And mingled tears and smiles at once appear'd.
Why, gracious Heaven, with boding sighs, she cried,
Why are our joys to bitterness allied?
His name, till now unknown, she asks to hear,
And with the dear-lov'd sound delights her ear.

In various talk the happy moments flew;
They spoke of all they wish'd, and all they knew.
Of SPAIN he talk'd, and all those pleasures show'd,
That from refinement and from knowledge flow'd.
With her ere long he hop'd those joys to share,
And see her charms outshine IBERIA'S fair;
When ties more sacred should their hearts unite,
And pure religion sanctify delight.
At last soft slumbers o'er their eyelids creep,
And each emotion is subdu'd by sleep.

    Soon as the morning-star proclaim'd the day,
The feather'd songsters pour their early lay.
Wak'd with their strains, ALONZO lifts his eyes,
While wrapt in sleep his beauteous partner lies;
In silence hangs enamour'd o'er her charms,
While every look with tender transport warms,
Her rosy lips, yet smiling with delight,
A fervent pressure from his own invite;
Her fragrant breath, than opening, blooms more sweet,
His amorous soul impatient springs to meet.

CORA awakes, her radiant eyes unseals,
And to her lover brighter day reveals.
Confus'd emotions all her soul possess,
And joy and shame by turns her looks confess.
    And do I still, she cried, behold thy face?
As soft she sunk within his fond embrace.
I dream'd, my love, thou wert for ever gone,
And I abandon'd, wretched, and alone.
Ah! cease to wound with doubts thy gentle heart,
Returns the youth; we meet no more to part.
But, see! the unwelcome morn already glows;
Ah! haste, my love; how fearful light it grows!
Let us yon mountain's lofty side ascend,
And trust to heaven, whose cares to all extend:
There may we now the sweets of freedom prove;
Freedom, the best of blessings, next to love.
And dare I hope, she cries, where freedom reigns,
In pathless forests, or in desert plains,
Unseen, unknown, with thee alone to dwell;
And, thee possessing, bid the world farewell?
But ah; I dread--in bitterness of woe
Her voice is lost, the tears of anguish flow.

The cause unknown, amaz'd ALONZO hears
Her tender moan, and sees her streaming tears;
In softest phrase conjures her to explain
What may relieve, or whence proceeds her pain.

    But how, alas! the fatal cause impart,
And plant a dagger in her lover's heart?
His hand she press'd, and to his listening ear
Utter'd her griefs, and bade the truth appear:
    My lov'd ALONZO , my soul's only joy,
Must I so soon our dawning bliss destroy?
My heart the keenest pangs of anguish tear,
And thine, alas! an equal part must bear.
Tho' by the strictest bands our souls are tied,
A dreadful vow compels us to divide.
Love pleads, and pleasure spreads in vain her charms;
A God more powerful tears me from thine arms;
With fury fir'd, he threatens to destroy
And take due vengeance for our guilty joy.
Farewell, ALONZO --O my bursting heart!
Farewell, my love; we must for ever part!

Just heavens! am I awake! ALONZO , hear;
Ah! think not for myself alone I fear:
But know, my guilt, O blind inhuman law!
Must on my parents sure destruction draw.
For me their lives are pledg'd; and can I fly,
A perjur'd wretch, while they in tortures die?
Ah! hapless pair! he cries, accurst of heav'n!
Outcasts of earth, to shame and misery driv'n!
Why not, long since, the fatal truth reveal?
Why from mine eyes the dreadful gulf conceal?
But leave me--go--no more my honour move;
Nor rack me with thy grief, thy guilt, thy love.
O heavens! and must I drive her from my arms?
Must I renounce her hardly tasted charms?
Detain her--must I then a monster prove,
And with her parents' blood cement our love?
She goes--inhuman--stop--Ah! see me die!
And art thou, CORA , in such haste to fly?
With pity mov'd, his wild despair she sees,
Sinks at his feet, and trembling clasps his knees.
Her griefs, her charms his former flame renew;
And gushing tears their moisten'd cheeks bedew.

Resolve, she cries, resolve, ere yet too late,
To save my parents from impending fate.
Methinks already I behold the fire,
Where father, mother, children must expire.
Thus he: Ah! now the war of nature's o'er;
Reign, reason, reign, and love shall plead no more.
Her hand he seiz'd, reluctant o'er the plain
They measur'd now their former course again,
Those walls to reach, where thou, poor, perjur'd maid!
In vain shalt seek thy shame and guilt to shade.
Love, till this fatal night, in CORA'S breast
Seem'd like an image, by a dream impress'd,
A vague idea, a delusive fire,
Delirium wild of uncontroll'd desire.
    Amidst the horrours of that fatal night,
No prying eye had mark'd the Vestal's flight;
Who, if by love and favouring fortune bless'd,
Few dangers fear'd, and small remorse express'd.
Far other thoughts ALONZO'S bosom fill,
Prescient of woes, he dreads approaching ill.
He trembled, lest the busy hand of time
Should soon reveal their passion and their crime.

The sweetest sound that blesses human ear,
A parent's sacred name, he dreads to hear,
The joys so fondly sought his torment prove;
He blames his rashness, and detests his love.
Ah! guilt! fell poison, bane of our repose!
Thou turn'st the dearest blessings into woes:
Thy fatal gifts are wretchedness and pain,
Remorse, and miseries, an endless train.

PART III.

    MISFORTUNE'S stings transfix the purest heart,
And souls, unknown to guilt, with anguish smart.
Not virtue can secure the good man's state,
Nor shield his fortune from the frowns of fate.
A nobler guard she gives the tranquil mind,
Meek in prosperity, in ills resign'd.
Domestic discord griev'd the royal breast:
An elder brother sought his crown to wrest.
The conquer'd lands their royal sire had won,
He gave the portion of his younger son.

The elder's bosom burns with envious rage;
Revenge and war his furious soul engage.
The threaten'd mischief eager to prevent,
The king to CUSCO 's court ALONZO sent,
To sooth his brother's rage, to peace invite,
And 'gainst a foreign foe their arms unite.
In vain ALONZO tries each art to move,
And touches every string of fear and love:
The vengeful monarch's brutal rage remains,
And kindred ties and foreign foes disdains.
To QUITO'S regal seat the youth returns:
His unsuccessful cares the monarch mourns;
Reluctant bids his faithful chiefs prepare
Their fearless warriours for the impious war.

    And now the tribes, by various chieftains led,
In shining ranks around the sovereign spread.
Each warlike hand the deathful spear assumes;
High on their temples wave the nodding plumes.
With martial pride the SPANISH hero trod,
Chief in command, and graceful as a god.

Fain would the Muse ALONZO'S deeds recite,
How wise in council, and how brave in fight!
What manly eloquence his tongue inspir'd!
What love of glory all his bosom fir'd!
How still, where danger press'd, the foremost found,
His arm victorious scatter'd deaths around!
How prostrate foes his lenity would praise,
Whose hand, that crush'd them, was alert to raise!
Thus the true hero softens wars alarms;
His valour conquers, but his mercy charms.
Yet from such scenes the Muse indignant flies,
And turns from blood and war her pitying eyes.
She unambitious strives in humbler strains
To sing the pleasures of the simple swains;
To paint the beauties of the vernal grove,
Or tell a tender tale of hapless love.
Suffice to know, that to ALONZO'S care
The king commits the conduct of the war;
Bids him from wanton murderous deeds abstain,
Nor with a brother's blood pollute the plain.
With ardour fir'd, the hero's bosom glows;
Nor strength, nor stratagem his course oppose.

At length their sovereign, captiv'd by his hand,
No longer dares the conquering chief withstand.

    While deeds of glory, and love's cogent claims
Urged different pleas, and point to different aims;
In sad suspense ALONZO'S mind is held,
Till bold ambition is by love expell'd;
Till the soft passion reigns without control,
And owns no rival power in CORA'S soul.
In solitude's unvaried scene immur'd,
Her joy and sorrow love alone procur'd.
But now no more the ideal picture glows
With fancied raptures and imagined woes;
It shifts to real miseries and pain;
No heart could brook them, and no strength sustain.
The tender thefts of love, so long conceal'd,
Relentless time to public fame reveal'd.
The zealous priests, inflam'd with holy rage,
Unheard-of mischiefs to the state presage;
Unless due vengeance for the offence be giv'n,
To mitigate the wrath of angry heav'n.

A band deputed on the sovereign wait,
And the dire tale of vestal guilt relate.
They urge the sacred justice of the cause,
And gloss with piety their murderous laws.
The king, with horror struck, the story hears;
And much he pities, but still more he fears;
And, tho' reluctant, yields the guilty dame
To public punishment and endless shame,
Heavens! could fierce priests, with zeal's relentless fire
A prince so just, so merciful inspire?
Mad superstition, fury fierce and blind,
Thou blott'st each human feature from the mind!

    On the sad eve of that disastrous day,
Which to the world must CORA'S guilt display,
With conquest crown'd, without one hostile scar,
The youth returns triumphant from the war;
His ardent soul with generous pride elate,
And all unconscious of this stroke of fate;
Yet oft a secret dread his joy suppress'd,
And strange forebodings fill'd his anxious breast.

The king receives the youthful chief with praise,
And hears his lips relate in modest phrase
The glorious deeds his faithful troops had done,
What countries conquer'd, and what battles won.
Now to the king perform'd all honours due,
He gladly from the applauding crowd withdrew.
In sleep he seeks forgetfulness of pain;
But oft implores the gentle power in vain.
The power at last the wish'd-for bliss bestows,
And lulls him for a while in soft repose.
Not long o'er every sense this bliss prevails;
For lo! a sudden noise his ear assails.

    As yet the dawn diffus'd a glimmering light,
And morning hover'd on the rear of night:
Before his couch a reverend form appears;
Pale is his face, and wet with recent tears:
His form, like some tall ruin, strikes the sight;
Few are his scatter'd locks, and silver-white:
Graceful, erect, majestic in his woe,
Silent he stands, no word has power to flow.

At length to speak his quivering lips essay,
And thus the voice of sorrow finds its way:
    'Tis CORA'S father now before thee stands;
Receive my dying daughter's last commands.
Tho' doom'd to fall the victim of thy crimes,
A tale of sorrow to succeeding times,
She dreads lest thou our bitter lot may'st share:
Leave us, unhappy youth, our woes to bear.
He ceas'd: no more the powers of voice remain;
No more his feeble knees his weight sustain.
With dread and wonder struck, A