Poems

CANTO I. Far distant from all other isle

Beneath the sun's eternal smile,

Surrounded by a placid sea

As green as emerald, and free

From raging storm and blust ring gale

(That rend to shreds the spreading sail),

Which never yet the stranger's prow

Had cleft from Nature's dawn till now,

The lovely island Chlora stood.

On her fair shore unhallowed feud

Had ne'er unsheathed contention's sword,

Nor stained with blood the tender sward ;

Nor ever war's destructive rage,

In any time or any age,

CHLORA.

Had left upon her blooming face

The marks of ruin and disgrace ;

Nor, kindling with resentful ire,

Had raised the torch of anger's fire,

To sweep away from each fair plain

Those verdant forests that remain,

The glory of ten thousand years ;

Nor torn the flood of sorrow's tears

From the pale mother's bursting eye,

When her children murdered round her lie-

When her husband, welt 'ring in his gore,

Stains with his blood the reeking shore ;

Nor ever had her lofty hills,

All sparkling with a thousand rills,

Echoed to other sounds than those

Which softly rise at evening's close —

The voice of revel from the vale,

Borne gently on the whispering gale.

Arrayed before the palace-gate, The nobles on their steeds await ;

CHLORA.

And one was there of blackest jet, That one alone unmounted yet.

The gates unfold — the king descends, And joyous mingles with his friends. He comes with youth's elastic steps, And on his neighing charger leaps ; He scans their ranks, each head is bared, No eye to meet his glances dared; Each lance is pointed to the ground, Each steed in silence reined around, While thus he speaks :

" My nobles, now To me uncover not the brow, But point your lances, and prepare To rouse the lion from his lair. In sceptered state I come not here jSTow as your master, but your peer ; Ready alike the toil to bear, The danger of the chase to share."

The island king had scarcely yet Attained the years of man's estate : b 2

CHLORA.

But learning stored his eager mind, And wisdom all its thoughts refined. And yet his heart for love was formed, His breast with friendship's ardour warmed, His spirit softened at the spell

Of loveliness ; the deep-drawn sigh Of injured innocence would fill

His tender heart with sympathy. But deeds of infamy or shame His soul to vengeance would inflame ; And deeply would his spirit bleed, Till punishment atoned the deed. His form was noble as his mind, — As lofty and as unconfined.

Youth's health and fervent blood were there, And manhood's strength without its care. The lightness of the bounding deer, The lion's proud contempt of fear ; His godlike mien and lofty brow, His glancing eyes that shone below, Proclaimed the soul that burnt within — A soul that scorned the ways of sin.

CHLORA.

The bugle echoes loud and shrill;

The coursers dash along the hill,

Fleet as the wind the summit gain.

They pass ; and now along the plain,

With flying feet and flowing mane,

They spring; and in their viewless speed,

While the meadow trembles 'neath their tread,

O'er many a hill and vale they sweep,

As tempest o'er the rolling deep.

" Arise ye, and follow The joys of the chase, Ere beaming Apollo

Hath dimmed his bright face ;

While the zephyrs are pure

And the sky is serene, And nought of obscure

Or darkness is seen.

For who knows the morrow, What pangs it may bear 1

CHLORA.

What grief or what sorrow Our bosoms may tear?

Arise, then, while pleasure Sits bright on each face ;

For where is the treasure That rivals the chase?"

Again the bugle echoes shrill, Its notes resound from hill to hill. Boused at its voice, the lion starts Upon his feet, and round him darts His angry eye ; when, from a hand Unseen among the assembled band, An arrow pierced his tawuy mane. To fury maddened by the pain, His foaming jaws give forth a sound That makes the forest tremble round. An instant looks he on his foes, An instant views their well-armed rows, Then glancing round him in disdain, Bounds swiftly o'er the wooded plain.

CHLORA.

He flies, and after him with speed Each huntsman spurs his neighing steed.

Hard on his steps the hunters fly For many a league with hue and cry ; But one proud steed of jet — the king's —

With ardour burning, urged by skill, Outstripping all, as swift as springs

The lightning's flash from hill to hill, Pursues the flying victim. Lo ! The king leans forward, bends his bow ; The arrow, aimed with skilful eye, Cleaves the bright air, nor glances by, But sinks deep in his reeking hide, And quivers in his* panting side. He stops, and as the crimson gore Flows from the wound, he wakes a roar Loud as the thunder-clap that peals On Pindus' summit. Bound he wheels — His eyeballs glare upon the king — He crouches down to make his spring, —

He springs, but swifter than the eye

Can follow in its course doth fly

The unerring dart. Its glancing steel

His headlong progress must arrest ; And, armed with death, his fate must seal.

It sinks deep in his ample chest; — Backward he tumbles on the ground, His life's blood pouring from the wound. Again he rises, and again In madness shakes his clotted mane; His eyes in savage wildness glare, His tail in frenzy beats the air. Again, again, to spring he tries ; But his members fail him, and he lies Convulsed and weltering in his gore — One fearful cry — -'life, all is o'er.

Scarce had the echoes died away

That answered to the monster's roar ;

Scarce the responses ceased to play Between the mountains and the shore ;

Scarce had he reined his panting steed; Or touched the verdure of the mead, When gazing round him with surprise,

He sees nor steed nor huntsman by; Nor in the vale, nor on the rise,

A trace or sign to shew them nigh, For, in the excitement of the chase, With ardour glowing in his face, Companions all were left behind, As far in distance as in mind.

As Phoebus yet had scarcely driven His golden car o'er half the heaven, And weariness began to steal

Over his frame, upon a bed

Of fragrant flowers his limbs he spread, And sleep did soon his eyelids seal He slept; and ere he woke again, The sun was drooping towards the main ; And as he lay, a balmy breath,

In sweetness stealing through the vale,

Poured on his ear a voice of wail, — A trembling note of grief or death.

He listens as the breezes waft

That murmured voice so sweet and soft ;

Then starting from the mossy ground,

Directed by the gentle sound,

He strikes into the thickest wood,

Where trees impenetrable stood.

The wood soon opens in a plain, Extending to the wide, wide main ; But near him, what the clustering trees Had hitherto concealed, he sees A strong and gloomy fortress rear Its time-worn turrets, which appear The remnant of some vanished year. The king regards with silent awe ; Ne'er such stupendous pile he saw, Nor ever was aware before Such structure stood on Chlora's shore. To its dark towers he draws more near, And with amazement views and fear; For he could not deem that such a tower Was built but by immortal power.

Its height, its strength, each massy stone Denied the hand of man alone.

Hark ! still that murmur swells the gale ; What, Heaven ! what is that voice of wail, That, trembling from the castle walls, So sadly on his senses falls'?

" They say, alas, the soul is free ; That though the frame delay, Compelled by bonds of slavery, The spirit soars away.

Say, is there freedom to the dove

That sported on the gale, Whose joyous limbs forget to move,

Whose glittering pinions fail ?

Then, is there freedom to the soul

That can no longer soar On wings of hope ; for which no goal,

No prize is beaming more'? c

True, chains of iron can never bind, Though framed with direst skill,

The subtle essence of the mind, Or bend the sovereign will;

But when upon the billows tossed

Of terrible despair, When joys are flown and hope is lost,

And all is blackness there;

When all around is endless night Upon that dreary waste,

When not a beacon sheds its light To guide us to our rest ;

When helpless, hopeless, and alone We struggle in its wave,

With not a star to cheer us on, No hope beyond the grave, —

Then in what anguish of distress The shrinking soul must bleed ;

CHLOKA.

Oh, say not thou 'tis fetterless, — 'Tis then a slave indeed."

The voice is hushed, upon his ear No more its accents tremble clear. He waits, that he may hear again Its mournful tones ; but waits in vain. No answer lingers ; all is still, Save whispering gale and murmuring rill. But patience soon his mind forsakes ;

Since that sweet voice is heard no more, His own the chilling silence breaks,

And thus his thoughts their current pour.

" By yonder heaven, by yonder sky, By yonder orb that glows on high, By this broad earth on which I stand, I now entreat thee — nay, command, Whate'er thou art, or fiend or fay, Or mortal or immortal, say Why thou hast visited this shore, Where never stranger stood before.

If born of Heaven, T own thy power ;

If sprung of Satan, I defy thee ; If mortal, and misfortunes lower,

I'll bear thee hence, or perish by thee."

His tongue was mute; but soon again He hears that melancholy strain.

" Almighty Father ! do I hear Sweet music stealing on mine ear From human lips'? — is man so near? It seems, methinks, a mortal voice ; Its tones recall departed joys, Sweet happiness for ever gone ; Alas, I am indeed alone !

Yet, 'tis not so ; it may not be ; No mortal here can wander free. Where crime and malice spread their blight, Oh, what can bloom to glad the sight? How oft have I dreamed An accent was heard, And hope hath oft gleamed At the sound of a word ■

When the sullen moan Of the dying gale

Trembles cold and lone On the clanking mail, That rusts in darkness on each long wall; That moulders, that totters, but cannot fall. Oh, would that corruption's fingers of rust Could lay these dark towers low in the dust ; That the lightnings of heaven, the volcanoes that burst In earth's bosom might shatter these turrets accursed. In the midst of the ruins my latest breath Would bless the dark hour that brought me death."

" Oh, answer, whosoe'er thou art ; Thy griefs, if such thou hast, impart ; For know a heart is beating here Can feel for sorrow's scalding tear; And more, if dangers round thee press, — If thou art bound and in distress, A hand is here can lend its aid, Can point the spear and wield the blade, And will to serve a weeping maid. c2

My word hath power to raise a band Faithful in heart and strong in hand. If such be needed to oppose, They shall, though spirits be our foes."

" Again I hear that voice, again It strikes mine ear distinct and plain. Oh, can my senses still deceive,

And can that voice be fancy still % Can it but seem? and must I grieve,

And bear in silence every ill1? Too clear it sounded for a dream, Too oft repeated thus to seem. Speak, then, oh, speak ; a human tongue

Brings sweetest music to mine ear, Sweeter than that which once among

Lamented friends I loved to hear."

" Yes, lady, 'tis the voice of man That breaks the gloom that reigns around thee ;

The voice of one whose prowess can Destroy the fetters that have bound thee.

CHLORA.

Aweary from the ardent chase,

By fate impelled, I reached this place ;

And I, the monarch of this isle,

Viewed what I ne'er had seen, this pile, —

This giant pile of gloomy stones,

And heard the soft and trembling tones

Of thy silvery voice, that sadly fell

From the cold black wall of thy silent cell.

" Then 'tis no fancy ; 'tis no gleam Of foolish hope's too transient dream. From human lips a human tone I hear responsive to mine own. Within this dungeon cold and drear, How could I hope again to hear The notes that in my happier days Ne'er sounded but to speak my praise? How could I hope, alone and sad, In fetters bound, in sackcloth clad, — How could I, shut from smiling day, From nature's sweets, from Phoebus' ray, —

In sickness, misery, and pain, How could I hope for joy again? Yet like a shore that from the sea

Doth greet the hope-sick mariner, Or like a momentary ray

That gilds the waste of waters drear, Amidst my misery I bless This fleetest ray of happiness."

" Say, lady, say what cruel lot Hath placed thee on this dreary spot. What fiend hath raised his lawless hand To chain thee on a foreign strand? What wretch can own a heart so sere To all that makes existence dear, As thus to spurn a maiden's tear?"

" Why should I, prince, impart my grief To one who never suffered woe ; For who shall minister relief To maladies they cannot know?

Brought up iu courts, and born to power,

The monarch of a happy isle, Thou hast not drunk affliction sour,

Thou art not skilled in paltry guile ; And niayst thou ne'er, by tasting, know The misery of hopeless woe.

I once was happy, once was gay, But like a dream, 'tis passed away ; For towers of strength, and walls of might, Enclose me here in endless night, And oceans deep unceasing roar Between me and my natal shore. Yes; I was joyous once, and gay,

Nor long ago — to me an agej Nor deemed I then my joys for aye Should fade like autumn tints away,

To feed revenue and foster rage ! The daughter of a king, like thee I lived in bright prosperity : Untaught in crime, the sense of shame To me was but a hated name ;

And vice, like tales of reptile bands, Whose venom poisons distant lands, Would strike a shudder through my frame, Yet seemed so far from my pure lot, That with the shudder 'twas forgot, — A transient cloud that crossed the mind, But left all sunny still behind. My father dear, with anxious eyes, Watched my gay years from childhood rise ; In me he centered all his care, For me he breathed each murmured prayer ; I was his joy, his hope, his pride, No child had he to love beside. But childhood vanished, and in frame And feelings woman I became; I sported still, and still I bloomed, But, oh, my happiness was doomed ! Among the lords and princes who About me smiled my heart to woo, A wizard strong and dead to shame Upon me urged his odious flame.

I loathed his sight and spurned his vows — Oh, never could I be his spouse ! In vain I strove his search to elude, Where'er I wandered, he pursued; And still the fiend his passion pressed, Though still I shunned him like the pest ;■ — Enough — the unequal contest ceased. And now, my error to atone, —

That error, that I loved him not, — His cruel power hath bid me moan

My life away in this dread spot ! His tyrant hand hath chained me here Within this dungeon cold and drear, For ever shut from genial day, To weep eternity away, Unless my broken heart relent, And I to be his bride consent. Now day by day, strong armed for ill,

He haunts my dismal cell, And strives to bend me to his will

By torments terrible !

But never — Oh, he comes again, To rack me with unearthly pain."

" Who comes1? who haunts thee thus, sweet maid? Whoe'er it be, my hand and blade Are here to succour — "

" Vain thine aid !"

Exclaims the lady in despair, With groans of pain that rend the air ; " In vain, in vain — no mortal power Can bear me from this gloomy tower !"

" Maiden," he cries, with flashing eye, " I'll strive to save thee, though I die !"

He stops, for he hears her weep again As though in agony and pain; He hears her cry in such thrilling strains, That the life-blood curdles in his veins. Her shrieks his soul with fury fire, He draws his sword from its sheath in ire ; .

CHLORA.

He flies to aid her, but in vain,

For how shall he her dungeon gain1?

How through the walls of massive stone

Shall hew his way unhelped, alone 1

Alas, he feels he cannot save

The captive from her living grave !

Again, but helplessly, he cries,

While the tear-drop trembles in his eyes,

" Oh, maiden, say ! by heaven, oh, tell

Who, who can save thee from magic spell !'

Her cries of terror and despair Still fall upon his aching ear ; But now her wailings all decrease, And for a time her torments cease. Yet soon again he hears her strain :

" Fly, stranger, from this gloomy spot, Waste not thy pitying breath ; For ne'er canst thou avert my lot, Nor turn the shaft of death !

D

Nor thinkest thou what hand of might Thou darest thus oppose, —

What pestilence and withering blight Thou'rt raising for thy foes !"

" Oh, answer, lady fair ! if not, I'll rest in this unhallowed spot Until I perish, or I be Bound down in cruel chains with thee I"

" No hand can save me from the grave, No human power, alas !

But all alone in grief I moan, In tears my moments pass;

Except — but that may never be — - The fairy queen could know;

But, oh, how little dreameth she What torments round me now !

She dwells across the briny wave, Ten thousand leagues away;

Yet, though all-powerful to save, My grief cannot allay ;

For none who know my woes dare go

Across the heaving deep, Or dare oppose the blasts that blow,

And o'er its bosom sweep.

And did one dare, 'twould all be vain —

In vain it were to try ; For he must perish in the main,

Or of wasting famine die !"

Murmuring melts away the sound, And cheerless silence reigns around; No more, no more the lady speaks, No more the chord of sorrow wakes. The king aloud impatient cries, But not a word her voice replies; He cries, entreats, and cries again,

Nought answers but the mountains high.

At length, as all his fond hopes die, New thoughts inspire his burning brain :

" Can she be dead?" for then in vain

The attempt to free her from her chain. —

But no ; he thinks, and rightly thinks,

By dread fatigue o'ercome, she sinks ;

That for a space her senses leave,

To wake once more to pine and grieve.

And feeling well that man's frail hand

Immortal might can ill withstand,

Now that to calmness he returns,

And his breast no more with frenzy burns,

He leaps upon his neighing steed,

And urges to its utmost speed,

Regardless of the gory plain

Where lay the prize his hand had slain,

The bleeding trophy of his skill.

He bounds o'er vale and stream and hill,

Determining, in vessel frail,

O'er ocean's wide expanse to sail,

And either to the fairy queen

Disclose the crimes his eyes had seen,

And thus on chance and her rely,

Or nobly in the attempt to die.

Such thoughts revolving in his soul, Where hopes and fears dispute control, He reached his marble palace, bent, When night its gloomy veil had rent, In spite of tears and sighs and sorrow, On hastening forward on the morrow, — On leaving all the sweets of home, A houseless wanderer to roam.

d2

CANTO II. The morning breaks on Chlora's hills

The mists of darkness fade, In music dance her hundred rills,

That wander in the shade ;

The gilded tenants of the skies

Now raise their joyous song, To hail the morning as it flies

In loveliness along.

The flowers that drooped the blushing head

Beneath the veil of night, In sweetness now their odours shed,

To hail the dawning light.

A voice of wailing rends that shore, Where never wail was heard before :

CHLOEA.

The prince — a prince whose gentle mind

A nation's heart to his could bind

With love — is gone; his light canoe

Is fast departing from their view.

He, forward leaning on his hand,

Looks sadly towards his native land;

He looks with sorrow and regret,

And trembles at impending fate.

Swiftly he passes by each spot,

The lofty hill, the shady grot,

That gave but now to sense and sight

Unbounded pleasure and delight;

And as each haunt that home endears

From his sad vision disappears,

His cheeks roll down a flood of tears !

Still steers he on — still to his eyes The rocks, the cliffs, decrease in size; And now the land, so bright and gay, Long distance veils in mournful grey. He gazes on the misty shore Till his eye can bear to gaze no more;

Then sinks his head upon his breast, His arms are on his bosom prest, Silent he sits, nor moves nor speaks, And scarce a sigh the silence breaks. Thus long he rests, consumed with grief, Ere his sad mind obtains relief: He groans ; then starting from his seat, He gazes back, — no shore to greet His eye appears, for all around, As far as mortal eye can bound, Extends the wide and pathless main, One mighty, liquid, heaving plain. And here he rides upon the billow, Far, far away from home's sweet pillow, - Far, far from home's endearing ties, And far from mortals' anxious eyes !

" Farewell, my lovely isle,

Farewell, ye haunts of pleasure ! Though fairer shores may smile To yield their richer treasure,

Though deeper skies may meet A brighter ocean's swell,

They cannot prove so sweet As thine, — yet, Fare-thee-well !

Though warmer suns may shine,

Though purer breezes blow, Though fairer flowers than thine

In richer tints may glow, Their bounteous gifts shall ne'er

Thy softer charms dispel — Oh ! none can be so fair

As thine — yet, Fare-thee-well !

I love thee, Isle of Glory,

I love thy smiling streams, I love thy mountains hoary

That drink the noonday beams ; I love each shady grove,

Each sweetly silent dell — Oh ! none I e'er can love

As thine — yet, Fare-thee-well !

Farewell, my island home !

Though o'er the bounding sea Fate bids my vessel roam,

I shall remember thee.

My tears for them I love

In vain I strive to quell — Oh ! who can ever prove

So dear — yet, Fare-thee-well !

Farewell to all who love me,

Adieu to friend and foe • The sky is bright above me,

The ocean rolls below; My vessel, free and light,

Bounds o'er the billows' swell, The storm may rise ere night —

Still, still, oh ! Fare-thee-well !

I love thee, Isle of Beauty, Thou daughter of the morn ;

I grieve to part, though duty Forbids me to return ;

The ocean wide will sever,

And tempests round me yell, Yet, if I part for ever,

For ever Fare-thee-well ! "

Still, still liis bark glides swiftly on, And soon his bitterness is gone; And as he sails, his joy returns, Again his breast with courage burns ; He thinks not of the shore that's left, Nor of the comforts he's bereft, But looks with hope to gain the aid Of the fairy queen for that sweet maid, Who, bound by magic's powerful spell, Lies pining in her dungeon-cell.

For many a day and many a night, By scorching sun and pale moonlight, He'd sailed along the dark-blue sea, But still no bound there seemed to be. The hopes that had his strength sustained. His glowing visions, hourly waned ;

CHLORA.

And though the sea was bright and calm. And gentle breezes fell like balm Upon his spirit, yet the bloom Of youth was overcast with gloom : He felt, he knew the sparkling wave Must prove ere long his lonely grave. At times he thought to turn him back, Retrace his long and doubtful track; At times, to end his woes and pain By plunging in the restless main. The first, alas ! he saw would be In vain. To cross once more the sea — The path he had so long pursued To wander back, with scarcely food For one poor meal, were madness nigh, And he of lingering want must die ! And should he perish, she must fall;

While, stretched along the clammy stones, Her lips in vain for mercy call,

Her spirit breathes unceasing groans ; Whereas, if Fortune should permit, Some friendly shore might greet him yet,

And he might gain the fairy's aid, And for his tortnres be repaid, And clasp the maiden to his heart, Oh, never, never more to part !

On, on he went ; but as he flew The mass of heaving waters through, The deep grew still, the breezes fell, Nor longer did his bark propel; The sun no more with smiling face, As was his wont, the sky did grace, But rose each morn and set each night One small round globe of smothered light ; And as the crimson ball each day Scowled fiercely o'er the stagnant sea, All nature shrunk beneath the gaze, And ocean withered in the blaze. ' The prince — alas! his food is gone, Of water he hath tasted none ; His lips, his throat, are parched with thirst, His eyeballs from their sockets burst ;

E

He tries to hide him from the sun, But still its fury bursts upon His frenzied brow ; where'er he turns, Destruction frowns and nature burns. He leans his forehead o'er the side, And laves it in the rolling tide ; But, oh ! it brings him no relief, Nor cools his temples or his grief, For it is hot and clammy too ; But, heavens ! discloses to his view A shoal of sharks that round him swim, And gaze in hungry rage on him. He sinks upon the seat with fright, His heart's blood curdles at the sight ; He tries to weep, no tear will come ; He tries to speak, his voice is dumb ; His blood-shot eyes roll in despair, He gasps for breath the scorching air, He stretches forth his hand to take The empty vase his thirst to slake, And lifts it to his shrivelled lip, And long he sips, or tries to sip.

But all in vain — no moisture's there! He casts it from him in despair; And as it cleaves the poisoned air, And sinks into the blackened deep, At once the sharks in hundreds leap, And as they turn to snatch, disclose Their ravening jaws all armed with rows Of pointed teeth ; and as away They slink from their expected prey, They fix their greedy eyes on him. Sick at the sight, his orbs wax dim, Each withered limb to move refuses, His mind its wonted vigour loses, And sinking down — 0 blest reprieve! — His eyelids close, his senses leave.

How long bereft of sense he lay, Nor he, nor any one can say; But when he woke he found him stiff And helpless stretched along the skiff, And all his torture fierce returned, — His tongue for drink still vainly burned,

His shrivelled limbs were scorched and frail, Uncooled by shower or soothing gale. But, oh ! his torture ends not here — He hears with horror and with fear A troop of vultures round him fly, With flapping wings and greedy cry, And pictures to his tortured mind His bones all bleaching to the wind, While they who feasted on his corse And drank his blood ere yet the source Of life was dry, unwilling yet The smallest morsel to forget, Each bone turn over one by one, And leave to whiten in the sun — 'Twas too much for his mind to bear. The force of terror and despair Gave strength to every blighted limb, And new light to his vision dim; He started up, and saw with dread The vultures wheeling round his head; But as he screamed they flew away, And, disappointed, left their prey.

Yet still lie gazed ; and, lo ! anon Two lovely birds, whose plumage shone With gold and silver hues, sail by, Dispersing fragrance as they fly. He watches long this happy pair, Their gentle gambols in the air — Oh, it is sweet to see again, When we have crossed the swollen main, And gasped in agony for breath, And felt the chilling hand of death, To see the things on land we've seen, However poor, however mean ! — As thus he watched their cheerful play, And heard them carol sweet and gay, A murmur trembled on his tongue, His thoughts ran thus, and thus he sung : —