The lion trampled by an ass!—
No; this all-school'd forbearance would surpass. Insulted with a felon's chain,
'This noble man must cross the main,
From its vast bed profound with heaving throws The mighty waste of weltering waters rose.
And answer his foul charge to cold, ungrateful O'er countless waves, now mounting, now deprest,
By India's gentle race alone Was pity to his suffering shown. They on his parting wait,
And looks of kindness on him cast, Or touch'd his mantle as he past, And mourn'd his alter'd state. "May the Great Spirit smooth the tide With gentle gales, and be thy guide!" And when his vessel wore from land, With meaning nods and gestures kind He saw them still upon the strand Tossing their dark arms on the wind. He saw them like a helpless flock Who soon must bear the cruel shock Of savage wolves, yet reckless still, Feel but the pain of present ill.
He saw the fate he could not now control, And groan'd in bitter agony of soul.
He trode the narrow deck with pain, And oft survey'd his rankling chain. The ship's brave captain grieved to see Base irons his noble prisoner gall, And kindly sued to set him free; But proudly spoke the lofty thrall, "Until the king whom I have served, Who thinks this recompense deserved, Himself command th' unclasping stroke, These gyved limbs will wear their yoke. Yea, when my head lies in the dust, These chains shall in my coffin rust. Better than lesson'd saw, though rude,
As token, long preserved of black ingratitude!"
Thus pent, his manly fortitude gave way To brooding passion's dark tumultuous sway. Dark was the gloom within, and darker grew Th' impending gloom without, as onward drew Th' embattled storm that, deepening on its way, With all its marshall'd host obscured the day. Volume o'er volume, roll'd the heavy clouds, And oft in dark, dim masses, sinking slow, Hung in the nether air, like misty shrouds, Veiling the sombre, silent deep below.
Like eddying snow-flakes from a lowering sky, Athwart the dismal gloom the frighten'd sea-fowl fly. Then from the solemn stillness round, Utters the storm its awful sound. It groans upon the distant waves; O'er the mid-ocean wildly raves; Recedes afar with dying strain, That sadly through the troubled air Comes like the wailings of despair,
And with redoubled strength returns again: Through shrouds and rigging, boards and mast, Whistles, and howls, and roars th' outrageous blast.
The ridgy surges swell with foaming crest, Like Alpine barriers of some distant shore, Now seen, now lost amidst the deafening roar ; While, higher still, on broad and sweepy base, Their growing bulk the mountain billows raise, Each far aloft in lordly grandeur rides,
With many a vassal wave roughening his furrow'd sides.
Heaved to its height, the dizzy skiff Shoots like an eagle from his cliff Down to the fearful gulf, and then On the swoln waters mounts again,- A fearful way! a fearful state For vessel charged with living freight!
Within, without, the tossing tempest's rage: This was, of all his earthly pilgrimage, The injured hero's fellest, darkest hour. Yet swiftly pass'd its gloomy power; 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,
Had calm'd the sea, with pious reverence fill'd The warring passions of his soul were still'd. Through softly parting clouds the blue sky peer'd, And heavenward turn'd his eye with better feel-
Meek are the wise, the great, the good ;He sigh'd, and thought of Him, who died on holy rood.
No more the angry tempest's sport, The vessel reach'd its destined port. A town of Christendom he greets,
And treads again its well-known streets; A sight of wonder, grief, and shame To those who on his landing came. And on his state in silence gazed, "This is the man whose dauntless soul"— So spoke their looks-" Spain's power hath raised To hold o'er worlds her proud control! His honour'd brows with laurel crown'd, His hands with felon fetters bound!"
And he before his sovereign dame And her stern lord, indignant came; And bold in conscious honour, broke The silence of his smother'd flame,
In words that all his inward anguish spoke.
The gentle queen's more noble breast Its generous sympathy exprest;
And as his varied story show'd
What wrongs from guileful malice flow'd,
Th' indignant eye and flushing cheek
Did oft her mind's emotion speak. The sordid king, with brow severe, Could, all unmoved, his pleadings hear;
Save, that, in spite of royal pride, Which self reproach can ill abide, His crimson'd face did meanly show Of conscious shame th' unworthy glow. Baffled, disgraced, his enemies remain'd, And base ambition for a time restrain❜d.
With four small vessels, small supply I trow! yet granted tardily, For such high service, he once more The western ocean to explore Directs his course. On many an isle He touch'd, where cheerly, for a while, His mariners their cares beguile Upon the busy shore.
And there what wiles of barter keen Spaniard and native pass between;
As feather'd crowns, whose colours change To every hue, with vizards strange, And gold and pearls are given away, For bead or tell, or bauble gay! Full oft the muttering Indian eyes With conscious smile his wondrous prize, Beneath the shady plantain seated, And thinks he hath the stranger cheated; Or foots the ground like vaunting child, Snapping his thumbs with antics wild.
But if, at length, tired of their guests, Consuming like those hateful pests, Locusts or ants, provisions stored For many days, they will afford No more, withholding fresh supplies, And strife and threatening clamours rise,― Columbus' gentle craft pursues, And soon their noisy wrath subdues. Thus speaks the chief,-" Refuse us aid From stores which Heaven for all hath made! The moon, your mistress, will this night From you withhold her blessed light, Her ire to show; take ye the risk." Then, as half frighten'd, half in jest, They turn'd their faces to the east, From ocean rose her broaden'd disk; But when the deep eclipse came on, By science sure to him foreknown, How cower'd each savage at his feet, Like spaniel couching to his lord, Awed by the whip or angry word, His pardon to entreat!
"Take all we have, thou heavenly man! And let our mistress smile again!"
Or, should the ship, above, below,
Be fill'd with crowds, who will not go; Again to spare more hurtful force, To harmless guile he has recourse. "Ho! gunner! let these scramblers know The power we do not use:" when, lo! From cannon's mouth the silvery cloud Breaks forth, soft curling on the air, Through which appears the lightning's glare, And bellowing roars the thunder loud.
Quickly from bowsprit, shroud, or mast, Or vessel's side the Indians cast Their naked forms, the water dashing O'er their dark heads, as stoutly lashing The briny waves with arms out-spread, They gain the shore with terror's speed.
Thus checker'd still with shade and sheen Pass'd in the west his latter scene, As through the oak's toss'd branches pass Soft moonbeams, flickering on the grass; As on the lake's dark surface pour Broad flashing drops of summer shower:- As the rude cavern's sparry sides When past the miner's taper glides. So roam'd the Chief, and many a sea Fathom'd and search'd unweariedly, Hoping a western way to gain
To eastern climes,--an effort vain ; For mighty thoughts, with error uncombined, Were never yet the meed of mortal mind.
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 will'd 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. LIII.
And thus the Hero's sun went down, Closing his day of bright renown. Eight times through breeze and storm he past O'er surge and wave th' Atlantic vast; And left on many an island fair Foundations which the after care Of meaner chieftains shortly rear'd To seats of power, serv'd, envied, fear'd. No kingly conqueror, since time began The long career of ages, hath to man
A scope so ample given for trade's bold range, Or caused on earth's wide stage such rapid, mighty change.
Now all the bold companions of his toil,
Tenants of many a clime, who wont to come, (So fancy trows,) when vex'd with worldly coil, And linger sadly by his narrow home;- Repentant enemies, and friends that grieve In self-upbraiding tenderness, and say,
"Cold was the love he did from us receive,❞— The fleeting, restless spirits of a day, All to their dread account are pass'd away. LVII.
Silence, solemn, awful, deep,
Doth in that hall of death her empire keep; Save when at times the hollow pavement smote By solitary wanderer's foot, amain From lofty dome, and arch, and aisle remote A circling loud response receives again. The stranger starts to hear the growing sounds, And sees the blazon'd trophies waving near ;- "Ha! tread my feet so near that sacred ground!" He stops and bows his head :-" Columbus resteth
Some ardent youth, perhaps, ere from his home He launch his venturous bark, will hither come, Read fondly o'er and o'er his graven name With feelings keenly touch'd, with heart of flame; Till wrapp'd in fancy's wild, delusive dream, Times past and long forgotten, present seem. To his charm'd ear, the east wind rising shrill, Seems through the Hero's shroud to whistle still. The clock's deep pendulum swinging, through the
Sounds like the rocking of his lofty mast; While fitful gusts rave like his clamorous band, Mix'd with the accents of his high command. Slowly the stripling quits the pensive scene,
LADY GRISELD BAILLIE.
WHEN, sapient, dauntless, strong, heroic man! Our busy thoughts thy noble nature scan, Whose active mind, its hidden cell within, Frames that from which the mightiest works begin; Whose secret thoughts are light to ages lending, Whose potent arm is right and life defending, For helpless thousands, all on one high soul de- pending-
We pause, delighted with the fair survey, And haply in our wistful musings say, What mate, to match this noble work of heaven, Hath the all-wise and mighty master given? One gifted like himself, whose head devises High things, whose soul at sound of battle rises, Who with glaved hand will through arm'd squad-
And, death confronting, combat by his side; Will share with equal wisdom grave debate, And all the cares of chieftain, kingly state? 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,
O! who shall lightly say that fame
Is nothing but an empty name! Whilst in that sound there is a charm The nerve to brace, the heart to warm, As, thinking of the mighty dead, The young, from slothful couch will start, And vow, with lifted hands outspread, Like them to act a noble part?
O! who shall lightly say that fame Is nothing but an empty name! When, but for those, our mighty dead, All ages past, a blank would be, Sunk in oblivion's murky bed,- A desert bare, a shipless sea? They are the distant objects seen,— The lofty marks of what hath been.
9! who shall lightly say that fame Is nothing but an empty name! Then memory of the mighty dead To earth-worn pilgrim's wistful eye
When cares of empire or strong impulse swell The generous breast, and to high deeds impel; For who can these as meaner times upbraid, Who think of Saragossa's valiant maid? But she of gentler nature, softer, dearer, Of daily life, the active, kindly cheerer; With generous bosom, age, or childhood shielding, And in the storms of life, though moved, unyield-
Strength in her gentleness, hope in her sorrow, Whose darkest hours some ray of brightness borrow From better days to come, whose meek devotion Calms every wayward passion's wild commotion; In want and suffering, soothing, useful, sprightly, Bearing the press of evil hap so lightly, Till evil's self seems its strong hold betraying To the sweet witchery of such winsome playing; Bold from affection, if by nature fearful, With varying brow, sad, tender, anxious, cheerful,— This is meet partner for the loftiest mind, With crown or helmet graced,-yea, this is woman- kind!
Come ye, whose grateful memory retains Dear recollection of her tender pains To whom your oft-conn'd lesson, daily said, With kiss and cheering praises was repaid;
With stealthy steps I gain'd the shade By the close-winding staircase made,
To gain whose smile, to shun whose mild rebuke, Your irksome task was learnt in silent nook, Though truant thoughts the while, your lot ex- And when the surly turnkey enter'd,
With freer elves, were wood and meadow ranging;- And ye, who best the faithful virtues know Of a link'd partner, tried in weal and wo, Like the slight willow, now aloft, now bending, But, still unbroken, with the blast contending, Whose very look call'd virtuous vigour forth, Compelling you to match her noble worth; And ye, who in a sister's modest praise Feel manly pride, and think of other days, Pleased that the playmate of your native home Hath in her prime an honour'd name become ;- And ye, who in a duteous child have known A daughter, helpmate, sister, blent in one, From whose dear hand which, to no hireling leaves Its task of love, your age sweet aid receives, Who reckless marks youth's waning faded hue, And thinks her bloom well spent, when spent foryou; Come all, whose thoughts such dear remembrance bear,
And to my short and faithful lay give ear.
Within a prison's hateful cell, Where, from the lofty window fell, Through grated bars, the sloping beam, Defined, but faint, on couch of stone, There sat a prisoner sad and lone, Like the dim tenant of a dismal dream. Deep in the shade, by low-arch'd door, With iron nails thick studded o'er, Whose threshold black is cross'd by those Who here their earthly being close, Or issue to the light again
A scaffold with their blood to stain,- Moved something softly. Wistful ears Are quick of sense, and from his book
The prisoner raised his eyes with eager look, "Is it a real form that through the gloom appears?"
It was indeed of flesh and blood, The form that quickly by him stood; Of stature low, of figure light, In motion like some happy sprite; Yet meaning eyes and varying cheek, Now red, now pale, seem'd to bespeak Of riper years the cares and feeling Which with a gentle heart were dealing. Such sense in eyes so simply mild !
Is it a woman or a child?
But little dreaming in his mind Who follow'd him so close behind, Into this darken'd cell, with beating heart, I ventured."
Then from the simple vest that braced Her gentle breast, a letter traced With well-known characters, she took, And with an eager, joyful look Her eyes up to his visage cast, His changing countenance to scan, As o'er the lines his keen glance pass'd. She saw a faint glow tinge the sickly wan; She saw his eyes through teardrops raise To heaven their look of silent praise, And hopes fresh touch undoing lines of care Which stress of evil times had deeply graven there. Mean while, the joy of sympathy to trace Upon her innocent and lovely face
Had to the sternest, darkest skeptic given Some love of human kind, some faith in righteous Heaven.
What blessings on her youthful head
Were by the grateful patriot shed, (For such he was, good and devoted, And had at risk of life promoted His country's freedom and her faith, Nor reckoning made of worldly skathe,) How warm, confiding, and sincere, He gave to her attentive ear The answer which her cautious sire Did to his secret note require:- How after this with 'quiries kind, He ask'd for all she left behind
In Redbraes' tower, her native dwelling, And set her artless tongue a-telling, Which urchin dear had tallest grown, Of lesson, sermon, psalm, and note, And which the greatest learning shown, And Sabbath questions learnt by rote, And merry tricks and gambols play'd By evening fire, and forfeits paid,—
I will not here rehearse, nor will I say, How, on that bless'd and long-remember'd day, The prisoner's son, deserving such a sire, First saw the tiny maid, and did admire, That one so young, and wise, and good, and fair, Should be an earthly thing that breathed this nether air.
E'en let my reader courteously suppose,
Vho art thou, damsel sweet? are not mine eyes That from this visit happier days arose;
"No; from the Redbraes' tower I come ; My father is Sir Patrick Hume; And he has sent me for thy good, His dearly honour'd Jerviswood.
Long have I round these walls been straying As if with other children playing; Long near the gate have kept my watch The sentry's changing time to catch.
Suppose the prisoner from his thraldom freed, And with our lay proceed.
The damsel, glad her mission'd task was done Back to her home long since had blithely gone; And there remain'd, a meek and duteous child Where useful toil, with play between, And pastime on the sunny green,
The weeks and months of passing years beguiled.
Scotland the while convulsive lay
Beneath a hateful tyrant's sway;
For James's bigot mind th' ascendant gain'd, And fiercely raged blind ruthless power;
While men, who true to conscience' voice remain'd, Were forced in caves and dens to cower; Bereft of home, or hold, or worldly wealth, Upon the bleak and blasted heath,
Pleased had you been to have beheld, Like fire-sparks from the stricken stone, Like sunbeams on the raindrop thrown, The kindling eye of sweet Griseld, When thus her mother spoke, for known Was his retreat to her alone.
The wary dame to none beside The dangerous secret might confide.
They sang their glorious Maker's praise by stealth, "O fear not, mother! I will go, Th' inclement sky beneath.
And some were forced to flee their native land, Or in the grated prison's gloom,
Dealt to them by corruption's hateful hand, Abide their fatal doom.
And there our former thrall, the good, The firm, the gentle Jerviswood Again was pent with sickness worn, Watching each pulse's feebler beat Which promised, ere the fated morn, The scaffold of its prey to cheat.
And now that patriot's ancient, faithful friend, Our maiden's sire, must to the tempest bend.
He too must quit his social hearth, The place where cheerful friends resort, And travellers rest and children sport, To lay him on the mouldering earth; Through days of lonely gloom to rest his head With them, who, in those times unblest, Alone had sure and fearless rest, The still, the envied dead.
Sad was his hiding place, I ween, A fearful place, where sights had been, Full oft, by the benighted rustic seen; Ay, elrich forms in sheeted white, Which, in the waning moonlight blast, Pass by, nor shadow onward cast, Like any earthly wight;
A place, where midnight lights had shone Through charnel windows, and the glancing Of wandering flame, on church-path lone, Betray'd the hour when fiends and hags were dancing, Or to their vigil foul with trooping haste advancing. A place, whose gate with weeds o'ergrown, Hemlock and dock of deep dull green, That climbing rank the lintels screen, What time the moon is riding high
The very hounds went cowering by,
Or watch'd afar with howling moan;
Nor quick nor dead shall daunt me; no; Nor witch-fires, dancing in the dark, Nor owlet's shriek, not watch-dog's bark, 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 night."
And she, ere stroke of midnight bell, Did bound her for that dismal cell; And took that haunted, fearful way Which, till that hour, in twilight gray She never by herself had past, Or e'en athwart its copse-wood cast A hasty glance, for dread of seeing The form of some unearthly being. But now, far other forms of fear To her sacred sight appear,
And, like a sudden fit of ague, move her; The stump of some old, blasted tree,
Or upright stone, or colt broke free
To range at will the dewy lea,
Seem lurking spy or rustic lover,
Who may, e'en through the dark, her secret drift discover.
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. What thing is that by churchyard gate, That seems like spearman tall to wait? '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." And she with icy fingers knock'd, And heard with joy the door unlock'd, And felt the yawning fence give way,
As deep and harsh the sounding hinges bray.
For brutes, 'tis said, will see what meets no human But to describe their tender meeting,
You well may guess his faithful wife A heart of heavy cheer had then, Listening her household's hum of life, And thinking of his silent den.
"O! who will to that vault of death, At night's still watch repair, The dark and chilly sky beneath, And needful succour bear?
Many his wants, who bideth lonely there!"
Tears shed unseen, affection utter'd In broken words, and blessings mutter'd, With many a kiss and kindly greeting, I know not; would my feeble skill Were meeter yokemate to my will!
Then from the struck flint flew the spark, And lighted taper, faint and small, Gave out its dun rays through the dark,
On vaulted roof and crusted wall:
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