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To paint that being to a grovelling mind Were like portraying pictures to the blind. 'Twas needful even infectiously to feel Her temper's fond and firm and gladsome zeal, To share existence with her, and to gain Sparks from her love's electrifying chain, Of that pure pride, which less'ning to her breast

Life's ills, gave all its joys a treble zest, Before the mind completely understood That mighty truth-how happy are the good!

Even when her light forsook him it bequeathed Ennobling sorrow; and her memory breathed A sweetness that survived her living days As odorous scents outlast the censer's blaze. Or if a trouble dimmed their golden joy, 'Twas outward dross, and not infused alloy: Their home knew but affection's looks and speech

A little Heaven, above dissension's reach. But 'midst her kindred there was strife and gall;

Save one congenial sister, they were all Such foils to her bright intellect and grace, As if she had engrossed the virtue of her

race.

Her nature strove the unnatural feuds to heal,

Her wisdom made the weak to her appeal; And though the wounds she cured were soon unclosed,

Unwearied still her kindness interposed. Oft on those errands though she went, in vain, And home, a blank without her, gave him pain

He bore her absence for its pious end.But public grief his spirit came to bend; For war laid waste his native land once more,

And German honour bled at ev'ry pore. Oh! were he there, he thought, to rally back

One broken band, or perish in the wrack! Nor think that CONSTANCE sought to move or melt

His purpose: like herself she spoke and felt:

Your fame is mine, and I will bear all woe
Except its loss!-but with you let me go
To arm you for, to embrace you from the
fight;
Harm will not reach me hazards will
delight!-
He knew those hazards better; one campaign
In England he conjured her to remain,
And she expressed assent, although her heart
In secret had resolved they should not part.
How oft the wisest on misfortune's shelves
Are wrecked by errors most unlike them-
selves!

That little fault, that fraud of love's romance, That plan's concealment, wrought their whole mischance.

He knew it not preparing to embark,
But felt extinct his comfort's latest spark,
When, 'midst those numbered days she made
repair

Again to kindred worthless of her care;
'Tis true she said the tidings she should
write
Would make her absence on his heart sit
light;
But, haplessly, revealed not yet her plan,
And left him in his home a lonely man.
Thus damped in thoughts, he mused upon
the past:

'Twas long since he had heard from UDOLPH last,

And deep misgivings on his spirit fell, That all with UDOLPH's household was not well.

'Twas that too true prophetic mood of fear That augurs griefs inevitably near, Yet makes them not less startling to the mind, When come. Least looked-for then of human kind,

His UDOLPH ('twas, he thought at first, his sprite)

With mournful joy that morn surprised his sight.

How changed was UDOLPH! Scarce THEODRIC durst

Inquire his tidings, he revealed the worst.
At first, he said, as JULIA bade me tell,
She bore her fate high-mindedly and well,
Resolved from common eyes her grief to hide,
And from the world's compassion saved our
pride;

But still her health gave way to secret woe, And long she pined-for broken hearts die slow!

Her reason went, but came returning, like The warning of her death-hour-soon to strike;

And all for which she now, poor sufferer! sighs,

Is once to see THEODRIC ere she dies.
Why should I come to tell you this caprice?
Forgive me! for my mind has lost its peace.
I blame myself, and ne'er shall cease to
blame,

That my insane ambition for the name
Of brother to THEODRIC founded all
Those high-built hopes that crush'd her by
their fall.

I made her slight a mother's counsel sage,
But now my parents droop with grief and age;
And though my sister's eyes mean no rebuke,
They overwhelm me with their dying look.
The journey's long, but you are full of ruth;
And she who shares your heart, and knows
its truth,

Has faith in your affection, far above
The fear of a poor dying object's love.-
She has, my UDOLPH, he replied, 'tis true;
And oft we talk of JULIA-oft of you.
Their converse came abruptly to a close;
For scarce could each his troubled looks

compose,

THEODRIC.

When visitants, to CONSTANCE near akin,
(In all but traits of soul) were ushered in.
They brought not her,nor midst their kindred

band

The sister who alone, like her, was bland; But said and smiled to see it gave him pain

That CONSTANCE would a fortnight yet
remain.

Vexed by their tidings, and the haughty view
They cast on UDOLPH as the youth withdrew,
THEODRIC blamed his CoNSTANCE's intent.-
The demons went, and left him as they went,
To read, when they were gone beyond recall,
A note from her loved hand, explaining all.
She said, that with their house she only staid
That parting peace might with them all be

made;

But prayed for love to share his foreign life,
And shun all future chance of kindred strife.
He wrote with speed, his soul's consent to say:
The letter miss'd her on her homeward way.
In six hours CONSTANCE was within his arms:
Moved, flushed, unlike her wonted calm of
charms,

And breathless-with uplifted hand out-
spread-
Burst into tears upon his neck, and said,-
I knew that those who brought your message
laughed,

With poison of their own to point the shaft;
And this my one kind sister thought, yet
loth

Confessed she feared 'twas true you had
been wroth.

But here you are, and smile on me: my pain
Is gone, and CONSTANCE is herself again.
His ecstacy, it may be guessed, was much,
Yet pain's extreme and pleasure's seemed
to touch.

What pride! embracing beauty's perfect
mould;
What terror! lest his few rash words, mis-
told,

Had agonized her pulse to fever's heat:
But calmed again so soon it healthful beat,
And such sweet tones were in her voice's
sound,

Composed herself, she breathed composure
round.

Fair being! with what sympathetic grace
She heard, bewailed and pleaded JULIA's case;
Implored he would her dying wish attend,
And go, she said, to-morrow with your
friend;

I'll wait for your return on England's shore,
And then we 'll cross the deep and part no

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more.

To-morrow both his soul's compassion drew TO JULIA's call, and CONSTANCE urged anew That not to heed her now would be to bind A load of pain for life upon his mind. He went with UDOLPH-from his CONSTANCE went

Stifling, alas! a dark presentiment.

Some ailment lurked, even whilst she smiled,
to mock

shock.
His fears of harm from yester-morning's
Meanwhile a faithful page he singled out,
route,
To watch at home, and follow straight his

should show:
If aught of threatened change her health

With UDOLPH then he reached the house
of woe.

That winter's eve how darkly Nature's
brow

now!
Scowled on the scenes it lights so lovely

The tempest, raging o'er the realms of ice,
Shook fragments from the rifted precipice;
And whilst their falling echoed to the wind,
The wolf's long howl in dismal discord joined,
clouds
While white yon water's foam was raised in

shrouds:
That whirled like spirits wailing in their

Without was Nature's elemental din-
And beauty died, and friendship wept, within!
Sweet JULIA, though her fate was finished

half,

laugh-
Still knew him-smiled on him with feeble

And blest him, till she drew her latest sigh!
But lo! while UDOLPH's bursts of agony,
And age's tremulous wailings,round him rose,
What accents pierced him deeper yet than
those!

'Twas tidings-by his English messenger
Of CONSTANCE-brief and terrible they were.
She still was living when the page set out
doubt.
From home, but whether now, was left in

Poor JULIA! saw he then thy death's relief—
grief?
Stunned into stupor more than wrung with

It was not strange; for in the human breast
Two master-passions cannot co-exist,
And that alarm which now usurped his brain
Shut out not only peace, but other pain.
'Twas fancying CONSTANCE underneath the

shroud

That covered JULIA made him first weep loud,
And tear himself away from them that wept.
slept,
Fast hurrying homeward, night nor day he

soul's, saint
Till, launched at sea, he dreamt that his

Clung to him on a bridge of ice, pale, faint,
O'er cataracts of blood. Awake, he bless'd
The shore; nor hope left utterly his breast,
Till reaching home, terrific omen! there
The straw-laid street preluded his despair—
The servant's look-the table that revealed
His letter sent to CONSTANCE last, still sealed,
too clear
Though speech and hearing left him, told

That he had now to suffer-not to fear.
He felt as if he ne'er should cease to feel-
A wretch live-broken on misfortune's wheel:

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Her death's cause he might make his peace | And when your grief's first transports shall
with Heaven,
subside,

Absolved from guilt, but never self-forgiven. I call upon your strength of soul and pride
The ocean has its ebbings-so has grief. To pay my memory, if 'tis worth the debt,
'Twas vent to anguish, if 'twas not relief, Love's glorying tribute-not forlorn regret:
To lay his brow even on her death-cold cheek. I charge my name with power to conjure up
Then first he heard her one kind sister speak: Reflection's balmy, not its bitter cup.
She bade him, in the name of Heaven, forbear My pard'ning angel, at the gates of Heaven,
With self-reproach to deepen his despair: Shall look not more regard than you have
'Twas blame, she said, I shudder to relate,
given
But none of yours, that caused our darling's
fate;

Her mother (must I call her such?) foresaw,
Should CONSTANCE leave the land, she would
withdraw

Our House's charm against the world's
neglect-

The only gem that drew it some respect.
Hence, when you went, she came and vainly
spoke

To change her purpose-grew incensed, and
broke

With execrations from her kneeling child.
Start not! your angel from her knee rose
mild,

Feared that she should not long the scene
outlive,

Yet bade even you the unnatural one forgive.
Till then her ailment had been slight,or none;
But fast she dropped, and fatal pains came on:
Foreseeing their event, she dictated
And signed these words for you. The letter
said-

“THKODRIC, this is destiny above
Our power to baffle; bear it then, my love!
Rave not to learn the usage I have borne,
For one true sister left me not forlorn;
And though you 're absent in another land,
Sent from me by my own well-meant
command,

Your soul, I know, as firm is knit to mine
As these clasped hands in blessing you now
join:

Shape not imagined horrors in my fate-
Even now my sufferings are not very great;

To me; and our life's union has been clad
In smiles of bliss as sweet as life e'er had.
Shall gloom be from such bright remem-
brance cast?

Shall bitterness outflow from sweetness past?
No! imaged in the sanctuary of your breast,
There let me smile, amidst high thoughts
at rest;

And let contentment on your spirit shine,
As if its peace were still a part of mine:
For if you war not proudly with your pain,
For you I shall have worse than lived in vain.
But I conjure your manliness to bear
My loss with noble spirit-not despair:
I ask you by our love to promise this,
And kiss these words, where I have left a kiss,
The latest from my living lips for yours."-

Words that will solace him while life

endures:

For though his spirit from affliction's surge
Could ne'er to life, as life had been, emerge,
Yet still that mind whose harmony elate
Rang sweetness, even beneath the crush of
fate,-

That mind in whose regard all things were
placed
In views that softened them, or lights that
graced,-
That soul's example could not but dispense
A portion of its own blessed influence;
Invoking him to peace, and that self-sway
Which Fortune cannot give, nor take away:
And though he mourned her long, 'twas with
such woe,

As if her spirit watched him still below.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

LOCHIEL'S WARNING.

WIZARD.-LOCHIEL.

WIZARD.

LOCHIEL! LOCHIEL, beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle-

array!

They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom
and crown;
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them
down!

Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the
slain,

And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.

But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,

For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in What steed to the desart flies frantic and
fight.

far?

'Tis thine, oh Glenullin! whose bride shall | They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,

await,

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And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.

Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock!

Let him dash his proud foam, like a wave on the rock!

But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd

Clamanald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan-array—

WIZARD.

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day!
For dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God would reveal:
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring
With the blood-hounds that bark for thy
fugitive king.

Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath,

Behold where he flies on his desolate path! Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight:

Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on flight!

the moors:

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where?

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished,

forlorn,

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding

and torn!

Ah no! for a darker departure is near: The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier;

His death-bell is tolling: oh! mercy, dispel Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims.

Accursed be the faggots that blaze at his feet,

Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale

LOCHIEL.

False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled

my clan;

LOCHIEL.

-Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale:

Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms For never shall Albin a destiny meet,

are one!

So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat.

HOHENLINDEN.

strewed in their gore,

Though my perishing ranks should be

Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten On Linden, when the sun was low,

shore,

Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe!

And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

A NAVAL ODE.

YE Mariners of England!
That guard our native seas;

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe,

And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave;

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the flood below;
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of the scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed.
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills, with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steed, to battle driven.
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few, shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, Boatman, do not tarry;
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry.

Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?

O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

And fast before her father's men

Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather.

His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover?

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