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Oh! should it please the world's supernal King, And pendent from its dismal top
And all without was calm;
Yet Gondoline enter'd, her soul upheld Sit, a lorn spectre, on yon well-known grave,
By some deep-working charm. And mix its moanings with the desert wave.
And as she enter'd the cavern wide,
The moon beam gleamed pale,
And she saw a snake on the craggy rock GONDOLINE.
It clung by its slimy tail.
Her foot it slipp'd, and she stood aghast, The night it was still, and the moon it shone
She trod on a bloated toad; Serenely on the sea,
Yet, still upheld by the secret charm, And the waves at the foot of the rifted rock
She kept upon her road. They murmur'd pleasantly,
And now upon her frozen ear When Gondoline roam'd along the shore,
Mysterious sounds arose ; A maiden full fair to the sight;
So, on the mountain's piny top, Though love had made bleak the rose on her cheek, The blustering north wind blows.' And turn'd it to deadly white.
Then furious peals of laughter loud ller thoughts they were drear, and the silent tear Were heard with thundering sound, It fill'd her faint blue eye,
Till they died away in soft decay, As oft she heard, in Fancy's ear,
Low whispering o'er the ground. Her Bertrand's dying sigh.
Yet still the maiden onward went, Her Bertrand was the bravest youth
The charm yet onward led, Of all our good King's men,
Though each big glaring ball of sight And he was gone to the Holy Land
Seem'd bursting from her head. To fight the Saracen.
But now a pale blue light she saw, And many a month had pass'd away,
It from a distance came, And many a rolling year,
She follow'd, till upon her sight, But nothing the maid from Palestine
Burst full a flood of flame. Could of her lover hear.
She stood appall'd; yet still the charm Full oft she vainly tried to pierce
Upheld her sinking soul ; The Ocean's misty face;
Yet each bent knoe the other smote, Fall oft she thought her lover's bark
And each wild eye did roll. She on the wave could trace.
And such a sight as she saw there, And every night she placed a light
No mortal saw before, In the high rock's lonely tower,
And such a sight as she saw there,
No mortal shall see more.
A burning caldron stood in the midst,
The flame was fierce and high, “Oh! tell me but if Bertrand live,
And all the cave so wide and long And I in peace will die."
Was plainly seen thereby. She wander'd o'er the lonely shore,
And round about the caldron stout The Curlew scream'd above,
Twelve wither'd witches stood : She beard the scream with a sickening heart
Their waists were bound with living snaken Much boding of her love.
And their hair was stiff with blood. Yet still she kept her lonely way,
Their hands were gory too; and red And this was all her cry,
And fiercely flamed their eyes : “Oh. tell me but if Bertrand live,
And they were muttering indistinct And I in peace shall die."
Their hellish mysteries. And now she came to a horrible rift,
And suddenly they join'd their hands, All in the rock's hard side,
And utter'd a joyous cry, A bleak and blasted oak o'erspread
And round about the caldron stout The cavern yawning wide.
They danced right merrily.
And now they stopt; and each prepared
To tell what she had done, Since last the Lady of the night
Her waning course had run. Behind a rock stood Gondoline,
Thick weeds her face did veil, And she leaned fearful forwarder,
To hear the dreadful tale.
The first arose : She said she'd seen
Rare sport since the blind cat mew'd, She'd been to sea in a leaky sieve,
And a jovial storm had brew'd. She callid around the winged winds,
And raised a devilish rout; And she laugh'd so loud, the peals were heard
Full fifteen leagues about.
Upon the roaring wave,
To see her husband's grave.
It was her only child,
Her heavy heart beguiled.
A father and his son ;
Was old and woe-begone.
And the bark could no more it 'bide,
How the poor devils cried.
And then she told, how she bored a hole
In the bark, and it fill'd away:
And some did vow and pray.
The sailors their strength did urge ;
And the winds sung their funeral dirge. She threw the infant's hair in the fire,
The red Aame flamed high,
They danced right merrily.
The task that Queen Hecate had set her.
Had never accomplish'd a better. She said, there was an aged woman,
And she had a daughter fair, Whose evil habits fill'd her heart
With misery and care. The daughter had a paramour,
A wicked man was he,
Did murmur grievously.
To murder ber old mother,
And wanton with her lover.
The mother clasp'd her orphan child
Unto her breast, and wept ; And, sweetly folded in her arms,
The careless baby slept.
As manfully it roar'd,
And threw it overboard.
And onc night as the old woman
Was sick and ill in bed, And pondering sorely on the life
Her wicked daughter led, She heard her footstep on the floor,
And she raised her pallid head, And she saw her daughter, with a knife,
Approaching to her bed.
I have not long to live,
Thy sins I may forgive.
And the murderess bent to kiss her cheek,
And she lifted the sharp bright knife. And the mother saw her full intent,
And hard she begg'd for life.
And to have seen the mother's pangs
"T was a glorious sight to see ; The crew could scarcely hold her down
From jumping in the sea.
And it was soft and fair :
To have had such lovely hair.
But prayers would nothing her avail,
And she scream'd aloud with fear, But the house was lone, and the piercing screarns
Could reach no human ear.
And she said, the father in his arms
He held his sickly son, And his dying throes, they fast arose,
His pains were nearly done.
And though that she was sick and old,
She struggled hard and fought; The murderess cut three fingers through
Ere she could reach her throat.
And she throttled the youth with her sinewy hands, And the hag she held the fingers up, And his face grew deadly blue :
The skin was mangled sore, And his father he tore his thin grey hair, And they all agreed, a nobler deed And kissed the livid hue.
Was never done before.
And she threw the fingers in the fire,
The red flame flamed high,
They danced right merrily.
To Holy Palestine;
Than they had all seen in nine.
Drew nearer to the flame.
Her hapless lover's name.
Insensible the maiden lay
Upon the hellish ground,
At intervals around.
She cast a horrid glare :
And all was stillness there.
And through an awning in the rock,
The moon it sweetly shone,
Which dismally did moan.
As it rush'd the rocks between,
The breast of Gondoline
The hag related then the sports
Of that eventful day,
Full fifteen thousand lay.
She said that she in human gore
She plunged in, the torrent moan'd Above the knees did wade,
With its accustom'd sound, And that no longue could truly tell
And hollow peals of laughter loud The tricks she there had play'd.
Again rebellow'd round. There was a gallant-featured youth,
The maid was seen no more..But oft Who like a bero fought;
Her ghost is known to glide, He kiss d a bracelet on his wrist,
At midnight's silent solemn hour,
Along the ocean's side.
WRITTEN ON A SURVEY OF THE HEAVENS, IN THE
MORNING BEFORE DAY-BREAK.
Ye many twinkling stars, who yet do hold
Your brilliant places in the sable vault Him dead in holy land.
Of night's dominions - Planets, and central orhs And to have seen how he did writhe
of other systems ;-big as the burning sun When this her tale she told,
Which lights this nether globe,-yet to our eye
Small as the glow-worm's lamp ! To you I raise It would have made a wizard's blood Within his heart run cold.
My lowly orisons, while, all bewilder'd,
My vision strays o'er your etherial hosts; Then fierce he spurr'd his warrior steed,
Too vast, too boundless for our narrow minų, And sought the battle's bed:
Warp'd with low prejudices, to unfold, And soon, all mangled o'er with wounds, And sagely comprehend, thence higher soaring, He on the cold turf bled.
Through ye I raise my solemn thoughts to Him,
The mighty Founder of this wondrous maze, And from his smoking corse she tore
The great Creator! Him! who now sublime, His head, hall clove in two,
Wrapt in the solitary amplitude She ceased, and from beneath her garb
Of boundless space, above the rolling sphere
Sits on his silent throne, and meditates.
Hymn to the golden harps his praise sublime,
Repeating loud, “ The Lord our God is great!' The scalp was nearly skinn'd.
In varied harmonies.—The glorious sounds
Roll o'er the air serene.—The Æolian spheres, "T was BERTRAND's Head!! With a terrible scrcam, Harping along their viewless boundaries, The maiden gave a spring,
Catch the full noto, and cry, “The Lord is great !". And from her fearful hiding-place
Responding to the Seraphim-O'er all, She fell into the ring.
From orb to orb, to the remotest verge The lights they fled—the caldron sunk,
Of the created world, the sound is borne, Deep thunders shook the dome,
Till the whole universe is full of HIM. And hollow peals of laughter came
Oh! 't is this heavenly harmony which now Resounding through the gloom.
In fancy strikes upon my listening ear,
And thrills my inmost soul. It bids me smile That at the sound the winds forgot to rave,
Spirit of her!
With the stream that sweeps below. Divinely swelling
The pensive empress of the solemn night,
Fitful, emerging from the rapid clouds, Oh! when reflecting on these truths sublime,
Shows her chaste face in the meridian sky. How insignificant do all the joys,
No wicked elves upon the Warlock-knoll
Dure now assemble at their mystic revels;
It is a night, when from their primrose beds,
Are known to rise and wander on the breeze, The hours devoted by the world to rest,
Or take their stand by the oppressor's couch, And needful to recruit exhausted nature ?
And strike grim terror to his guilty soul. Say, can the voice of narrow Fame repay
The spirit of my love might now awake, The loss of health? or can the hope of glory
And hold its custom'd converse. Lend a new throb unto my languid heart,
Mary, lo! Cool, even now, my feverish aching brow,
Thy Edward kneels upon thy verdant grave, Relume the fires of this deep-sunken eye,
And calls upon thy name.-The breeze that blows
On his wan cheek will soon sweep over him
Wild and most sorrowful.—His cheek is pale:
The worm that play'd upon thy youthful bloom, Give a new zest to bliss, or chase the pangs
It canker'd green on his.—Now lost he stands, Of everlasting punishment condign?
The ghost of what he was, and the cold dew Alas! how vain are mortal man's desires !
Which bathes his aching temples gives sure omen How fruitless his pursuits ! Eternal God!
Of speedy dissolution -Mary, soon Guide thou my footsteps in the way of truth,
Thy love will lay his pallid cheek to thine,
And sweetly will he sleep with thee in death.
A LETTER IN HUDIBRASTIC VERSE.
SUPPOSED TO BE SPOKEN BY A LOVER AT THE
GRAVE OF HIS MISTRESS.
OCCASIONED BY A SITUATION IN A ROMANCE.
Mary, the moon is sleeping on thy grave,
You bid me, Ned, describe the place
A table wanting just lwo legs,
And should it e'er become so cold One end sustain'd by wooden pegs ;
That these it will no longer hold, A desk-of that I am not fervent,
No more may Heaven her blessings give,
I shall not then be fit to live.
TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE.
Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire! And saw'd by me in all directions ;
Whose modest form, so delicately fine, So small, Sir, that whoever views 'em
Was nursed in whirling storms,
And cradled in the winds.
Thee, when young Spring first question'd Winter's Of oddities upon the floor,
sway, A pair of globes, electric balls,
And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Scales, quadrants, prisms, and cobblers' awls,
Thee on this bank he threw
To mark his victory.
In this low vale the promise of the year,
Serene thou openest to the nipping gale, But stay,--I nearly had left out
Unnoticed and alone,
Thy tender elegance.
So virtue blooms, bronght forth amid the storms Of heads, and coins, and silver medals
Of chill adversity: in some lone walk And organ works, and broken pedals,
or life she rears her head, (For I was once a-building music,
Obscure and unobserved ;
While every bleaching breeze that on her blows All out of one primordial root;
Chastens her spotless purity of breast,
And hardens her to bear
Serene the ills of life.
TO THE RIVER TRENT.WRITTEN ON RECOVERY
ONCE more, oh Trent! along thy pebbly marge Whether 't was Pope, or Coke, or Bum,
A pensive invalid, reduced and pale, I never yet could justly learn :
From the close sick-room newly let at large, But knowing well, that any head
Wooes 10 his wan-worn cheek the pleasant gale. Is made to answer for the dead,
O! to his ear how musical the tale (And sculptors first their faces frame,
Which fills with joy the throstle's little throat ; And after pitch upon a name,
And all the sounds which on the fresh breeze sail' Nor think it aught of a misnomer
How wildly novel on his senses float! To christen Chaucer's busto Homer,
It was on this that, many a sleepless night, Because they both have beards, which, you know,
As, lone, he watch'd the taper's sickly gleam, Will mark them well from Joan and Juno),
And at his casement heard, with wild affright, For some great man, I could not tell
The owl's dull wing and melancholy scream, But Neck might answer just as well,
On this he thought, this, this, his sole desire, So perch'd it up, all in a row
Thus once again to hear the warbling woodland choir. With Chatham and with Cicero.
Then all around, in just degree,
With these fair dames, and heroes round,
Where, far from cities, I may spend my days,
May pity man's pursuits, and shun his ways.
List to the mountain-torrent's distant noise,
I shall not want the world's delusive joys ;
Shall think my lot complete, nor covet more ;