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The lion trampled by an ass
From its vast bed profound with heaving throws This noble man must cross the main,
The mighty waste of weltering waters rose, And answer his foul charge to cold, ungrateful
O'er countless waves, now mounting, now deprest, Spain.
The ridgy surges swell with foaming crest,
Like Alpine barriers of some distant shore,
Now seen, now lost amidst the deafening roar; By India's gentle race alone
While, higher still, on broad and sweepy base, Was pity to his suffering shown.
Their growing bulk the mountain billows raise, They on his parting wait,
Each far aloft in lordly grandeur rides, And looks of kindness on him cast,
With many a vassal wave roughening his furrow'd Or touch'd his mantle as he past,
sides. And mourn'd his alter'd state.
Heaved to its height, the dizzy skiff “May the Great Spirit smooth the tide
Shoots like an eagle from his cliff With gentle gales, and be thy guide !"
Down to the fearful gulf, and then And when his vessel wore from land,
On the swoln waters mounts again, With meaning nods and gestures kind
A fearful way! a fearful state He saw them still upon the strand
For vessel charged with living freight!
Within, without, the tossing tempest's rage : Of savage wolves, yet reckless still,
This was, of all his earthly pilgrimage, Feel but the pain of present ill.
The injured hero's fellest, darkest hour, He saw the fate he could not now control,
Yet swiftly pass'd its gloomy power; And groan'd in bitter agony of soul.
For as the wild winds louder blew,
His troubled breast the calmer grew;
And, long before the mighty hand,
That rules the ocean and the land, And oft survey'd bis rankling chain.
Had calm'd the sea, with pious reverence fill'd The ship's brave captain grieved to see
The warring passions of his soul were still’d. Base irons his noble prisoner gall,
Through softly parting clouds the blue sky peer'd, And kindly sued to set him free;
And heavenward turn'd his eye with better feelBut proudly spoke the lofty thrall,
ings cheerd. “Until the king whom I have served,
Meek are the wise, the great, the good ; Who thinks this recompense deserved,
He sigh’d, and thought of Him, who died on holy Himself command th' unclasping stroke,
rood. These gyved limbs will wear their yoke.
No more the angry tempest's sport,
The vessel reach'd its destined port.
And treads again its well-known streets ;
A sight of wonder, grief, and shame
To those who on his landing came.
And he before his sovereign dame
The silence of his smother'd flame, Utters the storm its awful sound.
In words that all his inward anguish spoke. It groans upon the distant waves ;
The gentle queen's more noble breast O'er the mid-ocean wildly raves;
Its generous sympathy exprest; Recedes afar with dying strain,
And as his varied story show'd That sadly through the troubled air
What wrongs from guileful malice now'd, Comes like the wailings of despair,
Th'indignant eye and flushing cheek And with redoubled strength returns again : Did oft her mind's emotion speak. Through shrouds and rigging, boards and mast, The sordid king, with brow severe, Whistles, and howls, and roars th'outrageous blast. Could, all unmoved, his pleadings hear;
2 1 2
Save, that, in spite of royal pride,
Thus checker'd still with shade and sheen
At length, by wayward fortune cross'd, | And oft-renew'd and irksome strife Of sordid men,-by tempests tost, And tired with turmoil of a wanderer's life, He sail'd again for Europe's ancient shore, So willa high Heaven! to cross the seas no more. His anchor fix'd, his sails for ever furl’d, A toil-worn pilgrim in a weary world.
But if, at length, tired of their guests,
And thus the Hero's sun went down,
Or, should the ship, above, below,
The brightest rays of cheering shed,
That point to immortality ?
LXII. (So fancy trows,) when vex'd with worldly coil,
A twinkling speck, but fix'd and bright, And linger sadly by his narrow home;
To guide us through the dreary night, Repentant enemies, and friends that grieve
Each hero shines, and lures the soul In self-upbraiding tenderness, and say,
To gain the distant happy goal. “Cold was the love he did from us receive,”—
For is there one who, musing o'er the grave The fleeting, restless spirits of a day,
Where lies interr'd the good, the wise, the brave, All to their dread account are pass'd away,
Can poorly think, beneath the mouldering heap,
That noble being shall for ever sleep?
No; saith the generous heart, and proudly swells,Silence, solemn, awful, deep,
“ Though his cered corse lies here, with God his Doth in that hall of death her empire keep;
LADY GRISELD BAILLIE.
WHEN, sapient, dauntless, strong, heroic man! And sees the blazon'd trophies waving near ;a Ha! tread my feet so near that sacred ground !"
Our busy thoughts thy noble nature scan,
Whose active mind, its hidden cell within, He stops and bows his head :-“ Columbus resteth
Frames that from which the mightiest works begin; here!”
Whose secret thoughts are light to ages lending, LVIII.
Whose potent arm is right and life defending, Some ardent youth, perhaps, ere from his home
For helpless thousands, all on one high soul deHe launch his venturous bark, will hither come,
pending :Read fondly o’er and o'er his graven name
We pause, delighted with the fair survey, With feelings keenly touch'd, -with heart of flame; And haply in our wistful musings say, Till wrapp'd in fancy's wild, delusive dream,
What mate, to match this noble work of heaven, Times past and long forgotten, present seem.
Hath the all-wise and mighty master given ? To his charm'd ear, the east wind rising shrill,
One gifted like himself, whose head devises Seems through the Hero's shroud to whistle still. High things, whose soul at sound of battle rises, The clock's deep pendulum swinging, through the Who with glaved hand will through arm’d squadblast
rons ride, Sounds like the rocking of his lofty mast;
And, death confronting, combat by his side; While fitful gusts rave like his clamorous band, Will share with equal wisdom grave debate, Mix'd with the accents of his high command.
And all the cares of chieftain, kingly state ? Slowly the stripling quits the pensive scene,
Ay, such, I trow, in female form hath been And burns, and sighs, and weeps to be what he has
Of olden times, and may again be seen, been.
When cares of empire or strong impulse swell LIX.
The generous breast, and to high deeds impel; 0! who shall lightly say that fame
For who can these as meaner times upbraid, Is nothing but an empty name!
Who think of Saragossa's valiant maid ? Whilst in that sound there is a charm
But she of gentler nature, softer, dearer, The nerve to brace, the heart to warm,
Of daily life, the active, kindly cheerer ; As, thinking of the mighty dead,
With generous bosom, age, or childhood shielding, The young, from slothful couch will start,
And in the storms of life, though moved, unyieldAnd vow, with lifted hands outspread,
ing; Like them to act a noble part ?
Strength in her gentleness, hope in her sorrow,
From better days to come, whose meek devotion 0! who shall lightly say that fame
Calms every wayward passion's wild commotion ; Is nothing but an empty name!
In want and suffering, soothing, useful, sprightly, When, but for those, our mighty dead,
Bearing the press of evil hap so lightly, All ages past, a blank would be,
Till evil's self seems its strong hold betraying Sunk in oblivion's murky bed,
To the sweet witchery of such winsome playing ; A desert bare, a shipless sea ?
Bold from affection, if by nature fearful, They are the distant objects seen,
With varying brow, sad, tender, anxious, cheerful, The lofty marks of what hath been.
This is meet partner for the loftiest mind,
With crown or helmet graced,-yea, this is womanLXI.
kind! 0! who shall lightly say that fame
Come ye, whose grateful memory retains Is nothing but an empty name!
Dear recollection of her tender pains Then memory of the mighty dead
To whom your oft-connd lesson, daily said, To earth-worn pilgrim's wistful eye
| With kiss and cheering praises was repaid ;
To gain whose smile, to shun whose mild rebuke, With stealthy steps I gaind the shade
But little dreaming in his mind
ventured.” Like the slight willow, now aloft, now bending,
And with an eager, joyful look
Her eyes up to his visage cast,
His changing countenance to scan,
She saw his eyes through teardrops raise
Had to the sternest, darkest skeptic given And to my short and faithful lay give ear. Some love of human kind, some faith in righteous
I. Within a prison's hateful cell,
What blessings on her youthful head Where, from the lofty window fell,
Were by the grateful patriot shed, Through grated bars, the sloping beam,
(For such he was, good and devoted,
And had at risk of lise promoted
His country's freedom and her faith,
Nor reckoning made of worldly skathe,)
How warm, confiding, and sincere, Deep in the shade, by low-arch'd door,
He gave to her attentive ear With iron nails thick studded o'er,
The answer which her cautious sire Whose threshold black is cross'd by those
Did to his secret note require :Who here their earthly being close,
How after this with 'quiries kind, Or issue to the light again
He ask'd for all she left behind A scaffold with their blood to stain,
In Redbraes' tower, her native dwelling, Moved something softly. Wistful ears
And set her artless tongue a-telling, Are quick of sense, and from his book
Which urchin dear had tallest grown, The prisoner raised his eyes with eager look,
And which the greatest learning shown, “ Is it a real form that through the gloom appears ?”.
Of lesson, sermon, psalm, and note,
And Sabbath questions learnt by rote,
And merry tricks and gambols play'd The form that quickly by him stood;
By evening fire, and forfeits paid, Of stature low, of figure light,
I will not here rehearse, nor will I say, In motion like some happy sprite ;
How, on that bless'd and long-remember'd day, Yet meaning eyes and varying cheek,
The prisoner's son, deserving such a sire, Now red, now pale, seem'd to bespeak
First saw the tiny maid, and did admire, Of riper years the cares and feeling
That one so young, and wise, and good, and fair, Which with a gentle heart were dealing.
Should be an earthly thing that breathed this nether “ Such sense in eyes so simply mild !
E’en let my reader courteously suppose,
| That from this visit happier days arose; beguiled ?”
Suppose the prisoner from his thraldom freed, III.
And with our lay proceed. « No; from the Redbraes' tower I come ; My father is Sir Patrick Hume ;
VII. And he has sent me for thy good,
The damsel, glad her mission'd task was done His dearly honour'd Jerviswood.
Back to her home long since had blithely gone ; Long have I round these walls been straying And there remain'd, a meek and duteous child As if with other children playing;
Where useful toil, with play between, Long near the gate have kept my watch
And pastime on the sunny green, The sentry's changing time to catch.
The weeks and months of passing years beguiled.
XIII. Scotland the while convulsive lay
Pleased had you been to have beheld, Beneath a hateful tyrant's sway;
Like fire-sparks from the stricken stone, For James's bigot mind th' ascendant gain's, Like sunbeams on the raindrop thrown, And fiercely raged blind ruthless power;
The kindling eye of sweet Griseld, While men, who true to conscience' voice remain'd, When thus her mother spoke, for known Were forced in caves and dens to cower;
Was his retreat to her alone. Bereft of home, or hold, or worldly wealth,
The wary dame to none beside
The dangerous secret might confide.
Betide me good or ill:
Nor witch-fires, dancing in the dark,
For I will think, the while, I do God's blessed will.
I'll be his active Brownie sprite,
To bring him needful food, and share his lonely And there our former thrall, the good,
night.” The firm, the gentle Jerviswood Again was pent with sickness worn,
XIV Watching each pulse's feebler beat
And she, ere stroke of midnight bell, Which promised, ere the fated morn,
Did bound her for that dismal cell;
And took that haunted, fearful way
She never by herself had past,
Or e’en athwart its copse-wood cast Our maiden's sire, must to the tempest bend.
A hasty glance, for dread of seeing He too must quit his socia) hearth,
The form of some unearthly being. The place where cheerful friends resort,
But now, far other forms of fear And travellers rest and children sport,
To her sacred sight appear, To lay him on the mouldering earth;
And, like a sudden fit of ague, move her ; Through days of lonely gloom to rest his head
The stump of some old, blasted tree, With them, who, in those times unblest,
Or upright stone, or colt broke free Alone had sure and fearless rest,
To range at will the dewy lea,
Seem lurking spy or rustic lover,
| Who may, e'en through the dark, her secret drift Sad was his hiding place, I ween,
discover. A fearful place, where sights had been,
She pauses oft.-" What whispers near?
The babbling burn sounds in my ear.
Some hasty form the pathway crosses :
'Tis but a branch the light wind tosses. A place, where midnight lights had shone
What thing is that by churchyard gate, Through charnel windows, and the glancing
That seems like spearman tall to wait? Of wandering flame, on church-path lone,
'Tis but the martyr's slender stone
Which stands so stately and alone:
Why should I shrink? why should I fear?
The vault's black door is near.” Hemlock and dock of deep dull green,
And she with icy fingers knock'd, That climbing rank the lintels screen,
And heard with joy the door unlock'd, What time the moon is riding high
And felt the yawning fence give way, The very hounds went cowering by,
As deep and harsh the sounding hinges bray. Or watch'd afar with howling moan;
XVI. For brutes, 'tis said, will see what meets no human
But to describe their tender meeting,
Tears shed unseen, affection utter'd
In broken words, and blessings mutter'd,
With many a kiss and kindly greeting, A heart of heavy cheer had then,
I know not; would my feeble skill Listening her household's hum of life,
Were meeter yokemate to my will ! And thinking of his silent den. “0! who will to that vault of death,
XVII. At night's still watch repair,
Then from the struck flint few the spark, The dark and chilly sky beneath,
And lighted taper, faint and small, And needful succour bear?
Gave out its dun rays through the dark, Many his wants, who bideth lonely there !" Ton vaulted roof and crusted wall: