The poetical works of John Snowden Hopkins, containing Alberto, an epic poem; Delascus, a dramatic poem; together with miscellaneous poems

Contents

PAGE.

Alberto — Canto 1, 5

"2, • .... 25

CANTO I. "Seem they grave or learned ?

Why, so didst thou— seem they religious ? Why, so didst thou ; or are they spare in diet, Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger, Constant in spirit, not swerving vpith the blood, Gamish'd and deck'd in modest compliment, Not working with the eye without the ear, And but with purged judgment trusting neither ? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.

Shakspeare.

I. America ! "my own, my native land ! "

The birth-place of Alberto as of me,— The soil that holds its fathers' ashes, and

The champions of her cause and liberty ; Great in her greatness— girded with the band

Of freedom, forged in her sons' unity — The proud heirs of freedom, the heritage Bequeathed by patriot- father and by sage.

II. America ! if I, a son of thee, should

In too boastful tone thy own greatness sing.

And pamt thy beauties in a selfish mood. It is the feehng which from thee doth spring,

The feeling which I'd lose not if I could. But have it still around my spirit cling.

Blend with my being and existence — and

Bind me closer with thee, my native land.

What though a wayward wight Alberto be — His heritage is freedom — and his home

The land where lives the spirit of liberty ; The passion and the will he had to roam.

And the dark waters of the bounding sea

In their own might and beauty round him foam ;

He hath departed — and in distance dies

The land that first did greet his infant eves.

The bark that bears him from each native scene. But not from fancy's eye doth distance hide

His home and country — but are smiling seen Through mem'ry's cell to open far and wide.

Bringing hack feelings time may never wean. But live within the heart and chainless mind. Close with the very web of fife entwined.

Canto I.] ALBERTO.

V,

Around him heave the waters of the deep, And on the vessel speeds her foaming way ;

The moon in heaven seem her watch to keep. And sheds on Ocean's bosom many a ray.

The waters in their strength and pride doth leap, Ev'n as the reinless wild steed on his way.

Or proud eagle in his heaven-ward flight.

The heir of freedom, courage and of might.

But he left not his home without a sigh.

For there was much had claim on his young heart.

And even to dim with tears his dark eye ; When thus he from his country did depart.

He struggled with a feeling which doth try, A feeling we contend with, when apart

We live from what we love — and feel, and deem

That all we love and left, we'll not redeem.

But, adieu, — and perchance a last adieu — For life's a taper of so weak a flame,

A breath may puflf out — and the waters blue May be his sepulchre — yet man for fame

Will hazard all things, and all things subdue To crown his own ambition with a name ;

And if such be the hero of my lay.

It may be 'warded to him in his day.

VIII.

He had been happy on the rolling deep.

Beneath his native, or a foreign sun. Could he have in oblivion learned to steep

The recollection, the memory dear of one — Of one who for him wept, and still may weep ;

And these memories were of youth — and none There are so deep and dear — and none that bring The past so full — so bright — to which we cling.

And night reigns — reigns, but not in darkness — light And beauteous hang the heavens o'er the sea —

And the fired* waters bounding in their might Are not in darkness veiled — on them stream the

Moonbeams all soft, and beautiful and bright. Wherein as in all, is imaged Deity.

Upon his harp Alberto flung his hand.

And sang adieu to home and native land.

"Land of my birth, farewell —

Perchance farewell forever ; Round my bark the waters swell.

And fast the light winds gather,

* This phenomenon is visible under different circumstances ; I have seen it in both clear and cloudy weather.

Cantol.] ALBERTO.

"Friends of my soul, adieu, I may not meet ye more, A long farewell to you.

And to my native shore.

"On, on before the wind Glides swift my bark away.

And no light is left behind The long departed day.

"Night hath drawn her veil around The waters of the deep.

That send forth the stunning sound As they convulsive leap.

"Not wilder heave the waters.

Than doth my bosom heave —

And at memory falters.

Yet, yet I cannot grieve.

"No tear shall dim my eye.

Though commotion fill my breast-

And the struggling sigh.

Shall be forever suppressed.

2^"

10 H0PKINS3 WORKS. [Canto I.

"Though gloom is on my brow.

And sorrowful my heart.

To grief I will not bow.

Though all save life depart."

X.

Thus to his land he poured his sad farewell. Albeit in humble and in untaught strain —

And on the ocean breeze it softly fell ;

But his lyre and heart were changed — in vain

He strove to wake the strain he loved too well. The melody of heart, ere Wight, or pain

Had damped its fire, and crushed the very tone

Which was the voice of its feelings deep alone.

XI.

Of hope and love alone these feelings were.

The heart their Eden, their home and birth-place.

Colouring existence with a hue so fair

And bright, and beautiful, that earth's dim face

Seemed but heaven's own loveliness to wear. Which time nor fate might dim not, nor efface ;

And they were breathed unto their idols, who

Lent them half the breath of being they drew ;

Canto I.J ALBERTO. 11

But 'twas to poison — 'twas to know and feel Such holy feelings canker from their birth.

For they within tliemselves a tone conceal That finds no answering harmony on earth.

And turns upon themselves when once the seal Is broke that bound them, and they find a dearth

In things that were their idols and their shrine,

Which their own holiness had made divine.

XIII.

His mind in its impassioned moments threw. An ideal world around him, like the dream

Of inspiration, where each vision's hue

And form was that of beauty, such as we deem

Not of on earth, nor in its brightness knew. Nor may be known by such as him, who seem

With beauty all to blend — in beauty but enshrined

The bright and pure creations of the mind.

XIV.

Things in creation lend the mind their hue. And give the heart a deep voice and a tone

(Which time nor pain may crush not, nor subdue) By which to make its own pure feelings known

In hymning forth in its own voice anew.

The holiness of things where beauty finds a throne.

And where divinity is blended bright in all.

And on the heart to hymn their beauty call.

But he hath departed — and days have fled — The green coast of his native land is gone ;

Ten days the vessel on her way had sped. But the next was ominous — around the sun

A dim and ruddy circle threat'ning spread. And the whole heavens shifted to a dun ;

The winds arose^ and whistled '^mong the shrouds.

And soon the sun was girdled Avith black clouds.

XVI.

The rough winds and the clouds all passed away As morning dawned — and beautiful and bright

The red sun peered high o'er the wat'ry way. And o'er each face came flashes of delight :

Far o'er the waters glowed the sinking day. And crimsoned ocean over with its light ;

The mighty deep was with the red sky zoned

And God and beauty was in all enthroned.

The sun went down behind the waters blue. Pillowed on clouds of purple and of gold.

Tinting all heaven soft with matchless hue. Shedding a lustre o'er the ocean bold.

And beautiful and grand : and then the new Moon rose from ocean, lovely to behold :

Star after star sprang in the golden height.

And gave new beauty to the face of night.

Canto I.J ALBERTO. 13

XVIII.

The heavens were changed — storm and darkness came ;

The winds swept o'er the waters with a moan. And the rent cloud sent forth its flash and flame

That blazed and hissed upon the waters, thrown Like the storm-cloud by the winds, and which claim

And hold a magic might as on self-borne They drive with fearful force the storm, and clash

With the swift cloud and the lightning's flash.

XIX.

And wilder yet the tempest raged on high ;

And of its strength the growing storm seemed proud. As on it rolled in blackness through the sky ;

And hoarse and harsh the thunder pealed, and loud. And the lashed ocean vengeful made reply.

Blended and clashed as with the cloud — the shroud Was shivered as a ribbon, fluttered and streamed O'er the ocean, on which the lightning gleamed.

XX.

Yet louder pealed the thunder through the sky. And yet, still keener grew the lightning's flash.

And darkness reigned, robed in its deepest dye ; Then with a sudden, sharp and whizzing crash

The lightning rent the mainmast — and the cry Of "fire," ran from one to one — then to dash

Themselves into the deep, themselves to save,

Some shrieking did, and sunk beneath the wave.

Their only hope of life was on some sail That might by chance fall into their way —

And each one watched^ and watched with visage pale And anxious eye for one, from day to day :

And when the shade of eve the sky would veil. And in the west expired the sun's last ray.

And darkness came, each one seemed delirious.

Because their state grew much more perilous.

The fourth day past away — no sail was seen — And the sixth — but none met the watchful eye.

All dim and weary of the watery scene ; And when the seventh sun forsook the sky.

And no token of their rescue had been

Held out to them, their hopes began to die.

And you might see the horror of the soul

As from each wild and glassy eye it stole.

When the first fit of hunger did subside

It was succeeded by a stupid sleep. And pain in them a moment, seemed to have died ;

So gently did this stupor on them creep. You at a glance had deemed the active tide

Of life had ebbed in all, so sound and deep And death-like was their rest ; and when 'twas o'er. Some ranted, raved, and yelled, and cursed and swore.

Canto I.] ALBERTO. 15

XXIV.

The tenth day came with scenes more shocking still ;

Hunger's most hideous form 'gan to appear ; The maniac laugh was heard — clear and shrill

It floated on the ocean breeze — the tear Of deep anguish ran like the mount's clear rill,

Down the tar's rough cheek, and in a tone severe He railed against his fate, then silent sit. Till seized again with hunger's mad'ning fit.

XXV.

A father o'er his daughter fondly hung

And wildly on her gazed — but did not speak ;

Lovely she was, and delicate and young. Yet bore her bitter fate heavenly meek ;

And oft with delirious fervour to him clung And pressed her fiery lip and bloodless cheek

To his, as fond woman ever will to those

They love, when loaded down with pain and woes.

XXVI.

She strove to pluck the sting from out his heart By cheering word commingled with each smile ;

And thus her aid, far as she could impart. Imparted — which a moment did beguile :

Though she essayed with gentlest word and art To bear him up against their ills the whde.

Still feeble were her efforts then and there.

For hunger raged, and madness and despair.

Not long they clung and on each other gazed — For death shut up her view and broke her hold ;

The sinking clay he to his bosom raised.

And round it long his arms themselves did fold ;

Nor did he raise his eyes, all dim and glazed. From off the corpse, till it was stiff and cold ;

And when 'twas given to the whirling tide.

He uttered one pathetic prayer, and died.

Another father still there was, who bent O'er his expiring daughter to the last ;

But fruitless was the succour that he lent — Despite of all, the spirit forever passed

Calm and gentle as the day-god e'er went Down the eternal blue — on it he cast

A look of bitter anguish, as 'twas borne

Off by the gulfing wave in which 'twas thrown.

They had been wafted by a gentle gale.

Until the close of the eleventh day. When not a breath once filled the flagging sail.

And on the stagnant ocean still they lay ; The best oars then had been of no avail.

Because their strength was gone — and reason's ray But faint and feebly flashed at intervals, And filled them with the thouijhts of cannibals.

Canto I.] ALBERTO. 17

XXX.

And one — an aged, and hardy seaman, who Had once been forced upon his kind to feed.

And battled oft with storms in his time too. With but little ceremony did proceed

To suggest to the balance of the crew.

That one at least, must for his fellows bleed,

When, ''land," by different voices was proclaimed —

But, alas ! they had a bank of fog misnamed.

XXXI.

The sun was scorching on the breathless sea. And not a cloud there was to break his ray.

Save now and then a lone one you might see Skirting the western sky at close of day ;

With moon and stars the heavens glowed — and the Mirrored, the glassed and slumbering ocean lay

Even as a thing all powerless, and serene.

Wrapped in the fadeless lustre of night's queen.

XXXII.

One female more there was among this crew. Whose father had expired the day before ;

'Twas strange she had so long survived those who. Seemingly a hardier aspect wore ;

Even as a flower she was unto the view. Yet, she the mad'ning pangs of hunger bore.

With fortitude and patience, so uncommon.

None scarce had deemed her in that morapnt human

XXXIII.

O'er her fair face there was a calmness thrown. Soft as day ling'ring in yon azure height.

Or at its eastern base at hour of morn. Day gently rising from the arms of night ;

And, when on the ear broke her voice's tone. So soft, so sweet, and soothing, that, (it might

Have been fancy, j I could not then but deem

It was an angel whispering its sweet dream.

On Alberto's arm she lay, and there expired ;

The sun ne'er streaked with day yon arch of blue. Nor from the west his lingering light retired

More calm and gentle than the soul withdrew From its clay shrine which it with life inspired ;

And when 'twas done — on it one look he threw. But saw no sign that death the clay encumbered. So much it looked like one that only slumbered.

The light was gone that lighted late the mould That lay there — a dull lump — a lifeless thing —

Gone ! but where gone, he asked — can nought unfold ! Can none, none still from death one sentence wring —

One faint answer ! but still, still naught was told — And left him as all are left, still wondering :

Much men hath writ — as much perchance have thought.

But I am silent, since death may be naught.

Canto I.] ALBERTO. 19

XXXVI.

Still on the pallid lump his eye he kept. Nor could he in that moment from it turn.

Deeming he only looked on one that slept. That would to life and action soon return —

But over the clay no sign of being crept.

For life's brief lamp in her had ceased to burn ;

She in the deep too like the rest was cast.

And from his vision then, forever passed.

Another maiden still there was alive. With all the mildness of a "summer's morn,"

Whom her lover did till that hour contrive To keep the spirit still within its urn ;

In vain to ward death's blow off, did he strive — She died — and he too followed in his turn ;

Death did not rob their features of their charms.

They looked asleep, locked in each others arms.

XXXVIII.

Thus far they had evaded death by fire. Who by water, or hunger certain seemed —

Yet they still hoped — and stronger grew desire As they were from each peril past redeemed —

And as hope will, it did these men inspire. And in the features of each one it beamed ;

Oh, Hope ! Oh, goddess ! most adorable.

Unless you prove, as oft, inexorable.

XXXIX,

At length about the hour of noon, arose A cliff in view, according to their eyes.

O'er which hunger a dimness ever throws, And left them of the coast in sad surmise.

So indistinct did it itself disclose —

But as they gazed, more clear 'twas seen to rise.

Until 'twas brought within the vision's reach.

And proved to be a high and sandy beach.

The number of souls was now reduced to four. The rest all died off one by one, but these.

Who scarce was able now to dip an oar. But gave themselves up to the rising breeze,

To waft them, as they hoped, alive to shore,

Which some still doubted — nor as yet could ease

Their minds of fear, or keep from shedding tears.

The bitter offspring of their hopes and fears.

Oh, Hope ! Oh, Fear — and Faith ! mighty indeed Are ye ! ye can the mightiest mind subdue.

And then repays with pain — your only meed, — Except the latter, and may it be true.

Since 'lis the christian's all confiding creed. And will sustain — and gives assurance too

Of life beyond the grave — a good omen.

Just such, perhaps, as land was to these men.

Canto I.] ALBERTO. 21

The winds increased, as went the red sun down Behind the high cliffs, in his bed of gold.

Curtained with clouds of purple, grey or brown. While on the rough and reckless sea they rolled.

With scarce a hope. Fortune would cease to frown Upon them more— their strained eyes sadly told

That they were drifting from the nodding coast.

To be perchance in the next moment lost.

They saw upon the ocean's conic breast

A sail — steering toward them, as they thought.

And all with kindling hope again was blessed.

Till they saw her tacking — which she did in short.

And hope again forsook each throbbing breast. And on each brow a wild despair was wrought

When they saw her bearing off from them, erect.

And watched, and watched, till she became a speck.

Alberto looked upon the three that lay

There motionless — and calling them, he found

Their spirits one by one, had past away ;

What was he ! a thing one element bound —

Yet, a nobler never was formed of clay!

His present state did then somewhat confound.

Because he could not tell the reason why.

He did not also like his fellows die.

3#

His brain grew dizzy — and spun round and round - Nor knew he ought until the morning broke.

When stretched by these icy bodies he found Himself, scarce conscious he had awoke

From the death-hke stupor that had bound Him — and he could feel the torturing stroke

Of death in every quiv'ring, throbbing vein.

As reason flashed alternate on his brain.

And there he floated alone ('till break of day)

Except the three that there in death was bound ; He would have cast them, like the rest away,

Had he been able — and had he not found That they indeed, were useful in their way.

Serving much to trim the boat. He unwound The kerchiefs from their necks to sound, (for want

Of better) and found twelve feet water, scant.

And there he lay, far off the rugged beach. Helpless, faint, and quiv'ring in ev'ry nerve ;

Oh, Fate ! what sad, sad lessons dost thou teach ? What sad fortunes dost thou to mortals serve

Out. On his knee he rose, hopeful to reach The smiling forest, which, bound with its curve

Of green, the blue eternal sea, whereon.

He still in hunger's wildest rage was borne.

Canto I.] ALBERTO, 23

XLA^III.

The bright sun ushered in another day.

And yet Alberto was not wholly lost — And while he fainting and expiring lay.

He was espied by some from off the coast. Who kept the flutt'ring spirit in the clay.

For they their perilous way to him had forced. And with their hands his stiffened limbs did chafe. Then o'er the waves to land they bore him safe.

They bore him to their home, and soon recalled

An animation to each stiffened limb, (Which a moment more, death would have enthralled)

By bathing his temples, and by chafing him With their hands — still life in him sadly palled.

For still each pulse and sense as yet was dim ; They gave him food, and watched him as he lay. Because they deemed him of superior clay.

And there they watched him with impatient eyes.

Impatient as though he had been their child ; When in his cheek they saw the colour rise And lustre to his eye return, they smiled. And tried (so true charity ever tries)

To sooth with gentle look, and language mild- Scarce knew he in that moment, aught, except By turns, that death upon his faint limbs crept.

24 HOPKINS' WORKS. LCanto I.

Life was springing in his dull limbs again. But he as yet was helpless, faint and weak.

And felt life's heavy burthen and its pain ;

The ruddy tint would leave his youthful cheek.

And in his forehead shrunk each purple vein. As though life only filled them in a freak

To cheat his watchers, as he lay there hushed

With chalky visage now, and now with flushed.

END OF CANTO ONE.