Ada, and other poems ... Second edition

Front matter

ADA, AND OTHER POEMS. By MARY ANN BROWNE, AUTHORESS OF " MONT BLANC," &C. &C. Is not the life of Woman all bound up In her affections ? "What hath she to do In this bleak world alone? It may be well For Man, in his triumphal course, to move Uncumbered by soft bonds,— but we were born For love and grief. Mrs. Heimans. £rr0titr QRjitiav*. LONDON : LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN; HATCHARD & SON; AND W. BENN1NG. 1828. LONDON : PRINTED BY SAMUEL MANNING AND CO. LONDON-BOUSE YARD, ST. Paul's. DEDICATION. TO MY DEAR FATHER. Perhaps there may be little worth In these my lays, and nought of mirth — Too weak to gain a lasting name, Too fiail to live through years of fame ; I care not, if they pleasure thee, What is all other praise to me 1 I wish no meed — no praise above Those that are in thy smile of love ; I wish no richer boon for them Than thy fond tear — Affection's gem That dear, approving smile of thine, Is worth an age of fame's sunshine.

Let others struggle for the prize, I read my guerdon in thine eyes. Far worthier bards have gone before — Ages may bring us many more. Theirs be the picture's finished gTace, Mine the faint outline of the face ; Too slight to bear the colouring An abler hand might o'er it fling : It cannot of their tints partake — Still, thou wilt love it for my sake. Then be this simple lay of mine, An offering at Affection's shrine. M, A. B. Although the Authoress of the following- Poems is well aware, that the circumstances under which a book is composed are of little con sequence to the public at large ; she, nevertheless, thinks it advisable to state that the principal Poem (" Ada,") has been ready for the press upwards of twelve months, and has only been prevented appearing earlier, by her not wishing her works to follow each other too rapidly.

It may also be well to mention, that some of the minor Pieces have appeared in respectable periodical publications. Elms, Maidenhead Thicket, Berks. CONTENTS. PAGE Dedication . . . . iii Advertisement ..... v Ada ....... 1 The Painter . . . . . 75 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Sonnet, to Miss M. R. Mitford . . 101 The Native Land . . . . 103 Stanzas, suggested by reading " Death's Doings" . . r07 Woman's Heart . . . . . Ill Ballad ..... .115 Stanzas, written in Moore's " Irish Melodies" . 118 To Thomas Moore, Esq. . . 121 Memory . . . . ... 124 Flowers ...... 127 They are not there ! . . . . . 132 To James Montgomery, Esq. . . . 135 My Home ...... 137 The Discovery Ship .... r42 The Land of Love . . " . 145 The Sky 149 lone ....... 155 My Rest is in the Grave . , . . .152 The Happiest Time . . . . 162 The Cross by the Way-side .... 166 Canzonet . . . . . . 169 Music . . . . . .

Canto I

There is a fair Ionian isle, Where summer sunbeams love to smile, Where every flower is bright and soft, And sweetest fragrance steals aloft; Against whose shore the light waves beat, But leave no trace of their wild feet; b Where nature, prodigal of flowers, Holds her own court 'mid rosy bowers ; Where the soft radiant summer sky Spreads its ethereal canopy ; Deepening, while mellowing its hue, In its intensity of blue. And where each dark eye through its lash Shines like a gem of purest light, Or midnight stars that brightly flash Through the light clouds that veil the night. Where the horizon seems to melt in waves — An isle of beauty, but an isle of slaves. There is a ruin on that Isle, With moss and ivy overgrown, That cling around the .ancient pUe, And seem to claim it for their own.

It was not always so ; — -alas ! The owl hoots where the timbrels heat, And now the rude encroaching grass Grows where once wantoned snowy feet, The breeze sings nightly through the hall, Where softest accents used to fall. That ruin is the only spot, Throughout the fertile Isle, That is not gay, and that doth not Beneath the sunbeams smile. For when all else around is fair, Its turrets still are frowning there. These ruins once were lordly halls, And paintings fair adorned these walls ; And there were gorgeous canopies O'er rooms now open to the skies; And where the summer lightning gleams, Once beauty's eye shot milder beams. No one dared ask their master's name, Or whence he was, or why he came ; Their owner long had left these lands, They passed into a stranger's hands. There was a something in that man.

The keenest eye could never scan ;— A lurking something in his eye That would not brook a scrutiny. Noble and manly was the height. Misfortune could not ruin quite. He seemed like some tall forest oak, That bows not to the thunder stroke. Although the lightning's vengeful play Hath swept its fairest leaves away. The dark curls clustering o'er his brow. Were sprinkled with time's earliest snow ; And on his forehead darkly sate A frown of mixed contempt and hate; — Hatred for all who were more blessed, And scornful pity for the rest. Alas ! why is the human heart So full of strife, and guile and art ! Howe'er disguised, however fair, Deceitful passions still are there : Malice, that twines its serpent coil, And holds it in ignoble toil ; Envy, that weaves its bitter chain, And carries hatred in its train.

These, round the heart are thickly spread, And, though they slumber, are not dead. But there is one soft feeling still, Not guided by an earthly will, That e'en the darkest heart adorns ; A rose amidst surrounding thorns — A spark from heaven — so fair, so pure, In the heart's tempest 'twill endure ; 'Twill e'en survive the seraph hope, And scarcely leave the misanthrope. This radiant beam, caught from above — This star — this heavenly flame, is love ! And so 'twas in the stranger's soul, There still that feeling held control ; Though peace and hope had sighed farewell. That passion was unquenchable. The being he loved best on earth, Died when she gave a daughter birth : He saw that loved one breathe her last, Caught her last murmur as it past ; Heard the last faint half-stifled sigh, That wafted the pure spirit by ; Wiped the cold death-dew from her brow, Yet not one blessed tear would flow — One drop, to cool his frenzied brain ; One sigh, to bid him breathe again !

The groan, the sorrow unexpressed, Was locked within the anguished breast. He sate immoveably beside The couch of what was late his bride ; Took from her cold lips his last kiss, Then prest the marble hand in his. In vain the slave, who from her youth Had served him, tried her power to soothe To her kind words he listened not, But still seemed rooted to the spot; Until, to change the course of thought, The slave his new-born infant brought. He turned and started, and the child Looked in her father's face and smiled. That smile — that look — that sudden start, At once unlocked the fettered heart ; Through it paternal fondness rushed, And feeling's fountain freely gushed. But though stern Caspar freely wept, 'Twas not for her who calmly slept : He could not weep the dead, — but now The living caused his tears to flow : For Phoenix-like, one hope consumed, Another from its ashes bloomed.

Almost to heaven's will reconciled, Affection centred in that child, And bade him hope one day to trace In the sweet babe, her mother's face. She lived ! and Ada was her name, Her sainted mother bore the same : And when her father fondly gazed, When her dark eye to his was raised, Then she, for whom first flowed the tear, Became inexplicably dear ; — His happiest moments were, when she, A playful child, danced at his knee, And with her lisping voice would try To his caresses to reply ; And he to deck her raven hair Would wreath the rose and lily fair, And see her spend her sportive hours — The loveliest bud 'midst thousand flowers. In Ada's eye was that dark spell On which the poet loves to dwell ; Which threw around the heart a chain, To 'scape whose magic seemed in vain ; For as one tie was broken through, Another linked itself anew : Her cheek had not that settled rose That with some beauty deeply glows ; It was a rapid blush, that caught Its hue from every changing thought ; Each feeling tinged it as it passed, Each soft shade lovelier than the last.

And sometimes the deep roseate blush Would o'er her clear, dark forehead flush, Like the light crimson clouds that fly Across the mellowed evening sky ; A form so slim, so very slight— The gossamer seemed scarce more light ; A breast, whose unembittered sigh Spoke to the heart in harmony ; A gentle smile, that, undefined, Stole its soft influence o'er the mind : That form — that sigh— that gentle smile, Proclaimed her loveliest of her isle. Ye doubted, if a thing so fair Was not a vision of the air. And now sixteen soft smiling springs Had waved o'er her their balmy wings ; And her fond father saw her grow, The only joy he had below. Of every other hope bereft, He still had one — a bright one — left ; Heaven had denied all other bliss, Yet in its mercy sent him this. This love his heart could not forsake, This feeling would not let it break.

It was a lovely eve, the breeze Sighed fondly through the cypress trees, And stole its perfume from the rose, That wrapt its red leaves in repose. And, in the distance, a white sail Spread to the mellow evening gale, Was gliding gently o'er the sea, That like a babe slept quietly. And there the crimson western sky, Tinged the deep waters with its dye ; And the fair Isle benesith those skies Shone like an earthly Paradise. And Caspar with his lovely child Looked on the evening star, that smiled From the red west, like a dew gem Upon a rose's diadem. A rapture seemed to fill his breast, And his sad heart was almost blest ; For while with that sweet maid he s.ite, He could not feel quite desolate ; And o'er his Ada fondly hung, While to her lute she sweetly sung — TO THE EVENING STAR. Star of the west ! thy dewy beam Looks o'er our mingled joy and woe — Reflected in the glassy stream Thou deign'st to light the world below ; While the waves ripple their reply To the low breeze's evening sigh.

Star of the west ! when nature sleeps, And the last glance of day is gone, And when the balmy dew-drop weeps, Thou shin'st and sparkiest there alone, And throw' st thy ray of silver light On the dun breast of coming night. Star of the west ! thy soft beams fall To light alike the prince and slave Impartially, they shine for all : The sailor wandering o'er the wave — The king beneath his canopy — And the poor serf, may gaze on thee. Star of the west ! whose glories burn, As if to guard while we are sleeping, Ere we retire, to thee we turn, And gaze where thou thy watch art keeping. Thy gentle influence o'er us shed, And with sweet slumbers bless our bed. And Thou, who mad'st the glorious star And guid'st it through its heavenly flight, Who guard'st us wheresoe'er we are, Through brilliant day or gloomy night ; Oh, shed around the willing heart, The light that never can depart !

She ceased — and the .angelic strain Seemed echoed by the breeze again. And, oh ! if angels can descend From heaven, on mortals to attend, They would have caught the closing tone, And borne it to the Eternal throne. c And then her father fondly pressed His child to his enraptured breast ; And kissed the cheek, whose rosy blush Glowed with a deeper, softer flush— For the best pleasure she could know, Was to console her father's woe. Alas ! he was too happy then — He ne'er must be so blest again ! He knew not of the storm that spread Its cloud o'er his devoted head. That hour was but a sunny dream. That shewed its fair delusive beam ; Too bright to dwell beneath the sky — Too fair to be reality. And Ada and her sire arose, Unconscious of their coming woes. They turned their steps towards their home, And talked of happy days to come.

But who can speak that maid's alarm, When a rude hand had seized her arm : Ere she could shriek, a sudden blow Had laid her helpless father low. Struck to the earth by villain hand, The crimson torrent dyed the sand ! And Ada saw no more,— her brain Reeled, and she lost all sense of pain ; And the scene swam before her eyes, And she became the Pirates' prize. Swiftly and silently they bore Their senseless captive to the shore, Where a boat waiting their command Shot like an arrow from the land ; Quickly they reached their vessel's side, That danced impatient on the tide ; c And still their prisoner moved not, — still She lay, all pale, and cold, and chill : They tried their efforts to restore To life, the helpless form they bore ; Until it seemed at length that life Might be triumphant in the strife, And the sweet maid began to give Signs that with care she still might live.

The struggling sigh, 'twist life and death, That either gives or takes the breath ; The first faint motion of the heart, That sends its thrill through every part ; The tremble over all the frame, Like flickerings of a new-lit flame; And the faint colour that just streaks With languid tints the pallid cheeks ; The quivering lips o'er which the breath Just trembles, like a rose-bud wreath Expanding in the smiles of spring, And kissed by zephyr's balmy wing : These all were there — and the fair lid Rose from the large dark eye it hid, And thought re-linked its broken chain, And Ada woke to life again ! She looked around, — but all was dark Save one pale lamp, whose tiny spark Shot a faint ray that showed the gloom That reigned around the cabin-room ; And all was silent as the grave, Save the light ripple of the wave Against the vessel's side, Or shout, that the night-breezes bore From the receding island-shore Across the foamy tide ; Or where, in slow succession fell The footsteps of the sentinel.

When a light phantom seemed to rise Before the prisoner's swimming eyes ; Its white hand trimmed the expiring light, And the pale flame again burnt bright, And the fair being seemed to glide Until it stood by Ada's side. Could it, indeed, be flesh and blood, That silently beside her stood ! — One kind hand raised the captive's head, The other smoothed the lowly bed ; That hand was fair, and soft, and warm. — It was indeed a human form ! Although so lovely, it might seem An image of some heavenly dream : Fair rose the stately swan-like neck, That bore the spoils of many a wreck, And the light auburn tresses strayed Around a brow that seemed but made To bear a royal diadem, Or ('twas as rich a treasure) — them. And tier's were those deep heavenly eyes, That but outdo the sapphire's dyes : For who on such orbs ever gazed, And felt not that his soul was raised Above the bounds of low desire, And mingled with celestial fire ; As if, while yet below 'twas given, In looking there, to look on heaven.

Such gentleness with beauty blending, In eyes that only spoke of love, She seemed a seraph-form descending, To guard o'er Ada from above. And the fair stranger tried to soothe The maiden, — and the hand of youlh Is always ready to receive The comfort soothing words can give. And those kind accents were a balm To Ada's soul — a gentle calm, Thrown for an instant o'er the sea, Though all beneath was misery. And then the thoughts of him she left. In her, of all he loved bereft, Sent like the lightning, their keen dart To rankle in her sorrowing heart ; That heart gave way with one deep sob, That through each fibre sent its throb — Big, thick, and fast, the tear-drops came, To cool the brain that seemed on flame. As mountain streams, when first they gush From their high prison, madly rush, Bearing whate'er would stop their course Forward with their tremendous force ; Yet when they reach the plain below, In pure unruffled streamlets flow : So 'twas with Ada's tears ! — her grief At first refused to find relief; Although the stranger by her side In kindest words to soothe her tried.

Until the first wild impulse gone, Her tears flowed calmly, gently on ; And then her fevered, throbbing head, Sank down again upon the bed ; She wept, till she no more could weep, And maddening thought was lost in sleep : Yet still the lovely stranger gazed, And her blue eye to heaven was raised, As if 'twas with a secret prayer, To melt the Pirate's heart, to spare A thing so beautiful — so fair ! And one pure pitying tear she shed — Then sate her down beside the bed To watch, till morning's glorious glance Should o'er the rippling waters dance. Ask you, how such a lovely frame, On board a Pirate's vessel came ; — Ask ye, if torn by force away From home, she had become their prey ; Or, if her duty bid her share A father's lot, a father's care ? Ah, no ! — 'twas none of these, that bore Fair Leila from her native shore. 'Twas none of these that bade her roam With lawless robbers, from her home, With them to traverse the blue wave ; She was no daughter — captive — slave, Except to one soft feeling, whose Dear bonds she never wished to loose. ', What cared she for all other bliss, So long as heaven still left her this ? — For this, she left her native land ; For this, she joined the pirate band ; For this, she still endured to rove : This feeling was — fond, faithful love !

She loved as woman seldom loves ; HeiJs was that feeling, caught from heaven That time and change never removes, From which the heart can ne'er be riven. For be the soul to madness driven, That feeling still would hold its sway ; The last beam o'er the shades of even', That lingering shows it once was day ! The being she adored was rude — Aye ! stern as the wild dashing sea, Till by her gentle voice subdued, He sank into tranquillity ; But 'twas but as the roaring wave, Stilled by a smiling summer's day, While many a venturous seaman's grave, And sunken rock, beneath it lay. He had been happy once ; but now Dark passions had disturbed his heart, And bred, and rankled there, although They could not tear its chords apart. 'Twas when life looked all fair, all bright, And the fond youth's untired eye, Gazed on the dazzling rainbow light Hope shed on sad reality ; 'Twas in that time of happiness, When every object seemed to bless ; A cloud rose in that fairy sky, To blot its pure serenity.

He had a friend, — alas ! that name Soon sank before a warmer flame ; The tie, by jealousy undone, Melted like frost before the sun ; It grew at length a bitter feud, And ended in a deed of blood. Outlawed, he left his native land, The Captain of a pirate band ! Leila, he loved in days of bliss, And would she now forsake in this ? Oh, no ! — that heart still fondly clung To his, for whom first passion sprung ; And when he left his friends, and home, An outcast pirate chief to roam, Where'er his restless footsteps bent, Still with him his sweet Leila went. The world might say she rashly loved — What cared she, if her heart approved ; And friends might blame the sacrifice — It seemed a great one to their eyes ; Alas ! they knew not how love binds Resistlessly the strongest minds ; They knew not how his fetters, thrown Round hearts, will make them all his own ; Else they would not have blamed the heart.

That from its dear one could not part ; Nor she, whose faith so firmly tried, Became the wandering Pirate's bride. .Still she was happy, — nothing yet She saw, that made her home regret ; And when she leaned upon his breast, Or when his lip to tier's was pressed, Then Leila felt most truly blest. She almost shared his stem delight, When winds and waters in their might Tossed the light bark upon the sea, Where still it floated buoyantly. The storm that scared the mariner, Appeared sublimely grand to her. How could she feel a doubt or fear, When her loved Pirate lord was near ! If aught could make his heart rejoice, It was the music of her voice — If aught could touch fond feelings' chord, It was the sweet, the liquid word That told she loved ; — and then would rise The dew in those long tearless eyes ; And while his Leila's cheek he prest, The sigh would leave his mournful breast.

He sighed not for the friends he left, He wept not that of them bereft ; He fled with her his native shore — She was his friend, his wife — and more ! He only sighed to think how she With him was wandering on the sea, — ■ To think, to one he still was dear ; This only moved the sigh or tear. And Leila, like a seraph shade, Sate by the captive island maid, And watched the tear that as she slept From the long jet-black lashes crept. Yes ; Ada slept, — but yet the mind By slumber's fetters unconfined, Was still awake : and Ada dreamed She saw again her native bowers ; And their fair buds and blossoms seemed, As bright as heaven's immortal flowers ; Birds poured their sweet songs on her ears, Soft as the music of the spheres ; When suddenly before her stood Her father, covered o'er with blood ! — Again she dreamt she was on the sea, And the winds and the waves slept quietly ; And she stood on a gallant vessel's deck, And all was so calm, that not a speck Slept on the bosom of the air, And every thing was bright and fair ; But suddenly a cloud arose, To disturb that tranquil scene's repose, And the storm-blast shrilly whistled and blew, And around the vessel the surges grew, And that bark amidst the showery spray, Was whirled like a leaf in an autumn day ; And the rest was all confused and wild, Like the early visions of a child ; Yet she thought that a strange and unearthly form.

That seemed to ride on the wings of the storm, i> Screamed in the terrified maiden's ear, Wordless sounds, that yet told of fear, That struck to her heart like a wild death bell, As if she had heard a funeral knell ; And as it seemed to seize her arm, She shrieked — and that cry dispelled the charm ; And the spirit and vision all past away, As she opened her eyes to the light of day ! END OF THE FIBST CANTO.

Canto II

'Twas morning — and the glorious sun was risen From his bright chamber in the rosy east, Bursting, as if with joy, his misty prison, To shine upon the ocean's sparkling breast; The last star feebly twinkled in the west, A light breeze rippled o'er the dancing sea, The sentinels retired to seek their rest, The blood-red pennant floated buoyantly, And thus the pirates sang, in their wild ecstasy. d SONG. Swiftly o'er the waters glides Our gallant stately bark, Like a noble swan she rides Over the billows dark ; Are our hearts less glad and free, Do they dance less merrily ? She hath dashed through many a sea, While high the white foam flew, While the winds howled tumultuously, Yet still she laboured through ; O'er her deck washed many a wave, Are our souls than her less brave ? Lightly flutters from her mast, The signal we obey ; No other duty holds us fast, We own no other's sway : 'Neath that pennant we'll maintain Our rule o'er the unmeasured main.

Now the glorious light of day Shines upon the wave, Gilding with its golden ray Many a seaman's grave : Do our thoughts less brightly glow, Or in narrower channel flow P No ! we still will hold our reign Over the waters wide ; Courage, for our queen retain, And danger for our bride : Fearless, we'll give away our breath, Nor e'er be captives, but to death ! Such was the song, that with the rising sun, Rose from each pirate's voice and lips, save one, Who stood in silent reverie apart, As if some weight lay heavy on his heart ; Watching, as stately on her way she dashed, Each little wave, that 'gainst their vessel splashed, Or, as upon his brow the showering spray Fell, with his hand just wiping it away ; Slender and active was that pirate's form, And darkened was his brow — for many a storm, And burning sun, had shed their deep tint there, And bronzed a face that once might have been fair.

But though embrowned by many a sunny sky, Unaltered was his limbs' strict symmetry ; So delicately slight, ye might have deemed That Lama was not of the sex he seemed ; Dark were the lashes that he seldom raised, Except when for some daring action praised ; And then, a passing flush would tinge his cheek, And die again, as vivid lightnings break From their high prison in the gloomy sky, And quickly born, expire as instantly. Although no manliness his form displayed, His voice was only heard to be obeyed ; — His accents fell as evening echos fall, Each word as gentle and as musical ; Mingled and blended with a harsher tone, The dullest might perceive was not his own ; Yet through his actions breathed the misanthrope. Oh ! was it blighted love, or blasted hope ; Or sorrow stepping o'er the bounds of time, Had seared the blossom ere it reached its prime ; Or, was it guilt that struck the fatal blow D — None knew the truth, though many sought to know No word, no question could the tale betray ; If asked — he only frowned and turned away ; Or if they strove to gain it by their wile, His only answer was a bitter smile ; Yet was he ever foremost in the fight, Its rage and tumult seemed his chief delight.

How would his dark eye kindle, when the hand So delicate, yet steady, swayed the brand ; Then through his veins the blood would quickly gush, And the deep colour o'er his dark cheek flush ; And as new life within him seemed to glow, How would he rush along to meet the foe ! But sometimes milder feelings had their turn — Feelings that told he was not always stern ; Often, when grappling with his enemy, The tear resistlessly would fill his eye, Although he strove to crush the weakness down, And veil the feeling in a darker frown. Oh ! pity is a seraph, which can bring The tear from e'en the soul's most secret spring ; The breast that once was known to gentleness, Must still awake to pity, at distress ; She is the last to leave the heart, — alone, She will exist there, though e'en love be gone.

Howe'er we strive the emotion to conceal, It still is there ; — the human heart must feel; Although of every tie on earth bereft, Its hope destroyed, and not a pleasure left, Still, like the ivy o'er a mouldering stone, She clings around the soul — and will be known. Known, in the tear-drop, that unbidden starts ; Known, in the sigh that breathes from withered hearts : Aye ! though they will not own soft pity's name, Still in their soul she lives, and works the same. E'en Lama sometimes felt its tender force, Although he strove to stay it at its source : In his whole conduct something you might scan Of more than woman — and of less than man ; And sometimes through its dark veil gleamed a mind, That surely once was noble and refined ; And through the misanthropic mask appeared A heart, not callous quite, but deeply seared ; For when his comrades were all joy and glee, He never joined in their rude revelry.