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Through Death,-so judging we should judge Think how it would stir against you amiss.

Your most loving father's rage : Since reason failed want is her threatened doom, Sad deliverance would it be, and yoked with Yet frequent transports mitigate the gloom :

shame, Nor of those maniacs is she one that kiss Should troubles overflow on her from whom it The air or laugh upon a precipice;

came. No, passing through strange sufferings toward

VI. the tomb

"Generous Frank! the just in effort She smiles as if a martyr's crown were won :

Are of inward peace secure : Oft, when light breaks through clouds or waving Hardships for the brave encountered, trees,

Even the feeblest may endure: With outspread arms and fallen upon

her knees | If almighty grace through me thy chains unThe Mother hails in her descending Son

bind An Angel, and in earthly ecstacies

My father for slave's work may seek a slave in Her own angelic glory seems begun.

mind." XXXIV.

“Princess, at this burst of goodness, THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE.

My long-frozen heart grows warm!


Yet you make all courage fruitless, [The subject of the following poem is from the Me to save from chance of harm :

Orlandus of the author's friend, Kenelm Leading such companion, I that gilded dome, Henry. Digby: and the liberty is taken of Yor. minarets, would gladly leave for his worst inscribing it to him as an acknowledgment, home." however unworthy, of pleasure and instruc

VIII. tion derived from his numerous and valuable "Feeling tunes your voice, fair Princess! writings, illustrative of the piety and chivalry And your brow is free from scorn, of the olden time.)

Else these words would come like mockery,

Sharper than the pointed thorn.” You have heard “a Spanish Lady

“Whence the undeserved mistrust? Too wide How she wooed an English man ;"*

part Hear now of a fair Armenian,

Our faith hath been,-O would that eyes could Daughter of the proud Soldàn ;

see the heart !" How she loved a Christian Slave, and told her pain

"Tempt me not, I pray ; my doom is By word, look, deed, with hope that he might These base implements to wield;

Rusty lance, I ne'er shall grasp thee,

Ne'er assoil my cobwebb'd shield ! “Pluck that rose, it moves my liking,”

Never see my native land, nor castle towers, Said she, lifting up her veil ;

Nor Her who thinking of me there counts “Pluck it for me, gentle gardener,

widowed hours.” Ere it wither and grow pale." Princess fair, I till the ground, but may not “Prisoner ! pardon youthful fancies; take

Wedded? If you can, say no ! From twig or bed an humbler flower, even for Blessed is and be your consort ;

Hopes I cherished-let them go!

Handmaid's privilege would leave my purpose “Grieved am I, submissive Christian!

free, To behold thy captive state;

Without another link to my felicity.” Women, in your land, may pity

XI. (May they not?) the unfortunate."

“Wedded love with loyal Christians, “Yes, kind Lady! otherwise man could not

Lady, is a mystery rare; bear

Body, heart, and soul in union, Life, which to every one that breathes is full of

Make one being of a pair.” care.

“Humble love in me would look for no return, IV. “Worse than idle is compassion

Soft as a guiding star that cheers, but cannot

If it end in tears and sighs;
Thee from bondage would I rescue
And from vile indignities;

“Gracious Allah! by such title

Do I dare to thank the God, Nurtured, as thy mien bespeaks, in high de

Him who thus exalts thy spirit, gree,

Flower of an unchristian sod! Look up-and help a hand that longs to set Or hast thou put off wings which thou in thee free."

heaven dost wear?

What have I seen, and heard, or dreamt? "Lady! dread the wish, nor venture

where am I? where ?" In such peril to engage ;

XIII. * See, in Percy's Reliques, that fine od ballad, Here broke off the dangerous converse: “The Spanish Lady's Love;" from which Poem Less impassioned words might tell the form of stanza, as suitable to dialogue, is How the pair escaped together, adopted

Tears not wanting, nor a knell

love again.


your sake l”





of sorrow in her heart while through her For a sunny thought to cheer the Stranger's father's door,

way, And from her narrow world, she passed for Her virtuous scruples to remove, her fears allay.


And how blest the Reunited,
But affections higher, holier,

While beneath their castle-walls,
Urged her steps ; she shrunk from trust

Runs a deafening noise of welcome !
In a sensual creed that trampled

Blest, though every tear that falls
Woman's birthright into dust.

Doth in its silence of past sorrow tell,
Little be the wonder then, the blame be none,

And makes a meeting seem most like a dear If she, a timid Maid, hath put such boldness on.


Judge both Fugitives with knowledge :

Through a haze of human nature,
In those old romantic days

Glorified by heavenly light,
Mighty were the soul's commandments

Looked the beautiful Deliverer
To support, restrain, or raise.

On that overpowering sight,
Foes might hang upon their path, snakes rustle While across her virgin cheek pure blushes

strayed, near, But nothing from their inward selves had they For every tender sacrifice her heart had made. to fear,


On the ground the weeping Countess Thought infirm ne'er came between them, Knelt, and kissed the Stranger's hand; Whether printing desert sands

Act of soul-devoted homage,
With accordant steps, or gathering

Pledge of an eternal band :
Forest-fruit with social hands;

Nor did aught of future days that kiss belie, Or whispering like two reeds that in the cold Which, with a generous shout, the crowd did moonbeam

ratify. Bend with the breeze their heads, beside a

XXV. crystal stream.

Constant to the fair Armenian,

Gentle pleasures round her moved,

Like a tutelary spirit
On a friendly deck reposing

Reverenced, like a sister, loved. They at length for Venice steer ;

Christian meekness smoothed for all the path There, when they had closed their voyage, of life,

One, who daily on the pier Watched for tidings from the East

, beheld his Who, loving most, should wiseliest love, their

only strife. Lord,

Fell down and clasped his knees for joy, not Mute memento of that union
uttering word.

In a Saxon church survives,

Wherea cross-legged Knight lies sculptured Mutual was the sudden transport;

As between two wedded Wives---
Breathless questions followed fast,

Figures with armorial signs of race and birth, Years contracting to a moment,

And the vain rank the pilgrims bore while yet Each word greedier than the last ;

on earth. “Hie thee to the Countess, friend I return with 1830.

And of this Stranger speak by whom her lord

was freed.

Say that I, who might have languished,

Drooped and pined till life was spent,

Now before the gates of Stolberg
My Deliverer would present

(BY MY SISTER.) For a crowning recompense, the precious grace There's more in words than I can teach: Of her who in my heart still holds her ancient Yet listen, Child !-I would not preach; place.

But only give some plain directions

To guide your speech and your affections. Make it known that my Companion

Say not you love a roasted fowl,
Is of royal eastern blood,

But you may love a screaming owl, 'Thirsting after all perfection,

And, if you can, the unwieldy toad
Innocent, and meek, and good,

That crawls from his secure abode Though with misbelievers bred; but that dark Within the mossy garden wall night

When evening dews begin to fall. Will holy Church disperse by beams of gospel- Oh mark the beauty of his eye : light.”

What wonders in that circle lie!

So clear, so bright, our fathers said
Swiftly went that grey-haired Servant, He wears a jewel in his head!
Soon returned a trusty Page

And when, upon some showery day,
Charged with greetings, benedictions, Into a path or public way
Thanks and praises, each a gage

A frog leaps out from bordering grass,

May fill

Startling the timid as they pass,

Such calm employments, such entire content. Do you observe him, and endeavour

So when the rain is over, the storm laid, To take the intruder into favour;

A pair of herons oft-times have I seen, Learning from him to find a reason

Upon a rocky islet, side by side, For a light heart in a dull season.

Drying their feathers in the sun, at ease; And you may love him in the pool,

And so, when night with grateful gloom had That is for him a happy school,

fallen, In which he swims as taught by nature, Two glow-worms in such nearness that they Fit pattern for a human creature,

shared, Glancing amid the water bright,

As seemed, their soft self-satisfying light, And sending upward sparkling light, Each with the other, on the dewy ground, Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing

Where He that made them blesses their reA love for things that have no feeling :

pose. — The spring's first rose by you espied

When wandering among lakes and hills I note, your breast with joyful pride ; Once more, those creatures thus by nature And you may love the strawberry-flower,

paired, And love the strawberry in its bower ;

And guarded in their tranquil state of life, But when the fruit, so often praised

Even as your happy presence to my mind For beauty, to your lip is raised,

Their union brought, will they repay the debt, Say not you love the delicate treat,

And send a thankful spirit back to you, But like it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat.

With hope that we, dear Friends ! shall meet

Long may you love your pensioner mouse,
Though one of a tribe that torment the house:
Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat,

Deadly foe both of mouse and rat;
Remember she follows the law of her kind,

And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind.

(SUGGESTED IN A WESTMORELAND COTTAGE.) Then think of her beautiful gliding form, Her tread that would scarcely crush a worm,

Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air And her soothing song by the winter fire,

From half-stripped woods and pastures bare,

Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home : Soft as the dying throb of the lyre.

Not like a beggar is he come, I would not circumscribe your love:

But enters as a looked-for guest, It may soar with the eagle and brood with

Confiding in his ruddy breast,
the dove,

As if it were a natural shield
May pierce the earth with the patient mole, Charged with a blazon on the field,
Or track the hedgehog to his hole.

Due to that good and pious deed
Loving and liking are the solace of life, Of which we in the Ballad read.
Rock the cradle of joy, smooth the death-bed

But pensive fancies putting by, of strife.

And wild-wood sorrows, speedily
You love your father and your mother,

He plays the expert ventriloquist;
Your grown-up and your baby-brother;
You love your sister, and your friends,

And, caught by glimpses now-now missed,

Puzzles the listener with a doubt And countless blessings which God sends:

If the soft voice he throws about And while these right affections play,

Comes from within doors or without ! You live each moment of your day ;

Was ever such a sweet confusion,
They lead you on to full content,

Sustained by delicate illusion?
And likings fresh and innocent,
That store the mind, the memory feed,

He's at your elbow-to your feeling

The notes are from the door or ceiling; And prompt to many a gentle deed :

And there's a riddle to be guessed, But likings come, and pass away; 'Tis love that remains till our latest day :

Till you have marked his heaving chest,

And busy throat whose sink and swell Our heavenward guide is holy love,

Betray the Elf that loves to dwell And will be our bliss with saints above.

In Robin's bosom, as a chosen cell. 1832.

Heart-pleased we smile upon the Bird

If seen, and with like pleasure stirred

Commend him, when he's only heard

But small and fugitive our gain “High bliss is only for a higher state," Compared with hers who long hath lain, But, surely, if severe afflictions borne

With languid limbs and patient head
With patience merit the reward of peace,

Reposing on a lone sick-bed;
Peace ye deserve ; and may the solid good, Where now, she daily hears a strain
Sought by a wise though late exchange, and That cheats her of too busy cares,

Eases her pain, and helps her prayers.
With bounteous hand beneath a cottage-roof And who but this dear Bird beguiled
To you accorded, never be withdrawn,

The fever of that pale-faced Child ; Nor for the world's best promises renounced. Now cooling, with his passing wing, Most soothing was it for a welcome Friend, Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring: Fresh from the crowded city, to behold

Recalling now, with descant soft That lonely union, privacy so deep,

Shed round her pillow from aloft,

Sweet thoughts of angels hovering nigh,
And the invisible sympathy,
Of“ Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John,
Blessing the bed she lies upon?”*
And sometimes, just as listening ends
In slumber, with the cadence blends
A dream of that low-warbled hymn
Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim
Lamps of faith, now burning dim,
Say that the Cherubs carved in stone,
When clouds gave way at dead of night
And the ancient church was filled with light,
Used to sing in heavenly tone,
Above and round the sacred places
They guard, with winged baby-faces.

Thrice happy Creature ! in all lands
Nurtured by hospitable hands:
Free entrance to this cot has he,
Entrange and exit both yet free;
And, when the keen unruffled weather
That thus brings man and bird together,
Shall with its pleasantness be past,
And casement closed and door made fast,
To keep at bay the howling blast,
He needs not fear the season's rage,
For the whole house is Robin's cage.
Whether the bird flit here or there,
O'er table lilt, or perch on chair,
Though some may frown and make a stir
To scare him as a trespasser,
And he belike will flinch or start,
Good friends he has to take his

One chiefly, who with voice and look
Pleads for him from the chimney-nook,
Where sits the Dame, and wears away
Her long and vacant holiday ;
With images about her heart,
Reflected from the years gone by
On human nature's second infancy.


To thee I know too much I owe;
I cannot work thee any woe.

A fire was once within my brain ;
And in my head a dull, dull pain ;
And fiendish faces, one, two, three,
Hung at my breast, and pulled at me;
But then there came a sight of joy ;
It came at once to do me good;
I waked, and saw my little boy,
My little boy of flesh and blood ;
Oh joy for me that sight to see!
For he was here, and only he.

IV. Suck, little babe, oh suck again ! It cools my blood ; it cools my brain; Thy lips I feel them, baby! they Draw from my heart the pain away Oh! press me with thy little hand; It loosens something at my chest; About that tight and deadly band I feel thy little fingers prest. The breeze I see is in the tree : It comes to cool my babe and me.

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Oh ! love me, love me, little boy !
Thou art thy mother's only joy ;
And do not dread the waves below,
When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go;
The high crag cannot work me harm,
Nor leaping torrents when they howl;
The babe I carry on my arm,
He saves for me my precious soul,
Then happy lie ; for blest am I ;
Without me my sweet babe would die.

Then do not fear, my boy! for thee
Bold as a lion will I be ;
And I will always be thy guide,
Through hollow snows and rivers wide.
I'll build an Indian bower; I know
The leaves that make the softest bed :
And, if from me thou wilt not go,
But still be true till I am dead,
My pretty thing ! then thou shalt sing
As merry as the birds in spring.



Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,'
The sun has burnt her coal-black hair;
Her eyebrows have a rusty stain,
And she came far from over the main.
She has a baby on her arm,
Or else she were alone :
And underneath the hay-stack warm,
And on the greenwood stone,
She talked and sung the woods among,
And it was in the English tongue.

Sweet babe ! they say that I am mad,
But nay, my heart is far too glad;
And I am happy when I sing
Full many a sad and doleful thing :
Then, lovely baby, do not fear!
I pray thee have no fear of me;
But safe as in a cradle, here

My lovely baby! thou shalt be: * The words“Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John,

Bless the bed that I lie on,' are part of a child's prayer, still in general use through the northern counties.

Thy father cares not for my breast, 'Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest; 'Tis all thine own l-and, if its hue Be changed, that was so fair to view, 'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove ! My beauty, little child, is flown, But thou wilt live with me in love ; And what if my poor cheek be brown? 'Tis well for me, thou canst not see How pale and wan it else would be.

VIII. Dread not their taunts, my little Life ; , I am thy father's wedded wife; And underneath the spreading tree We two will live in honesty. If his sweet boy he could forsake, With me he never would have stayed : From him no harm my babe can take ; But he, poor man ! is wretched made; And every day we two will pray For him that's gone and far away.

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