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A final portion from his Father's hand;
Which granted, Bride and Bridegroom then would flee

To some remote and solitary place,

Shady as night, and beautiful as heaven,
Where they may live, with no one to behold
Their happiness, or to disturb their love.
But now of this no whisper; not the less,
If ever an obtrusive word were dropped
Touching the matter of his passion, still,
In his stern Father's hearing, Vaudracour
Persisted openly that death alone
Should abrogate his human privilege
Divine, of swearing everlasting truth,
Upon the altar, to the Maid he loved.

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"You shall be baffled in your mad intent If there be justice in the Court of France," Muttered the Father. From these words the Youth Conceived a terror, and, by night or day, Stirred nowhere without weapons · that full soon Found dreadful provocation: for at night When to his chamber he retired, attempt Was made to seize him by three armed men, Acting, in furtherance of the Father's will, Under a private signet of the State. One, did the Youth's ungovernable hand Assault and slay; — and to a second, gave A perilous wound, he shuddered to behold The breathless corse; then peacefully resigned His person to the law, was lodged in prison, And wore the fetters of a criminal.

Have you beheld a tuft of winged seed That, from the dandelion's naked stalk, Mounted aloft, is suffered not to use Its natural gifts for purposes of rest, Driven by the autumnal whirlwind to and fro Through the wide element? or have you marked The heavier substance of a leaf-clad bough,

Within the vortex of a foaming flood,
Tormented? by such aid you may conceive
The perturbation of each mind:—ah, no!
Desperate the Maid - the Youth is stained with blood;
But as the troubled seed and tortured bough
Is Man, subjected to despotic sway.

For him, by private influence with the Court Was pardon gained, and liberty procured; But not without exaction of a pledge, Which liberty and love dispersed in air.

He flew to her from whom they would divide him
He clove to her who could not give him peace-
Yea, his first word of greeting was, – “All right
Is gone from me; my lately-towering hopes,
To the least fibre of their lowest root,
Are withered ;- thou no longer canst be mine,
I thine - the Conscience-stricken must not woo
The unruffled Innocent, I see thy face,
Behold thee, and my misery is complete!"

"One, are we not?" exclaimed the Maiden-"One
For innocence and youth, for weal and woe?"
Then with the Father's name she coupled words
Of vehement indignation; but the Youth
Checked her with filial meekness; for no thought
Uncharitable, no presumptuous rising
Of hasty censure, modelled in the eclipse
Of true domestic loyalty, did e'er
Find place within his bosom.-Once again
The persevering wedge of tyranny
Achieved their separation;—and once more
Were they united, to be yet again
Disparted-pitiable lot! But here

A portion of the Tale may well be left
In silence, though my memory could add
Much how the Youth, in scanty space of time,
Was traversed from without; much, too, of thoughts
That occupied his days in solitude

Under privation and restraint; and what,
Through dark and shapeless fear of things to come,
And what, through strong compunction for the past,
He suffered-breaking down in heart and mind!

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Doomed to a third and last captivity, His freedom he recovered on the eve Of Julia's travail.

When the babe was born,
Its presence tempted him to cherish schemes
Of future happiness. "You shall return,
Julia," said he, "and to your Father's house
Go with the Child. You have been wretched, yet
The silver shower, whose reckless burthen weighs
Too heavily upon the lily's head,

Oft leaves a saving moisture at its root.
Malice, beholding you, will melt away.
Go!-'t is a Town where both of us were born;
None will reproach you, for our truth is known;

And if, amid those once-bright bowers, our fate!
Remain unpitied, pity is not in man.
With ornaments - the prettiest, nature yields
Or art can fashion, shall you deck our Boy,

And feed his countenance with your own sweet looks

Till no one can resist him. Now, even now,

I see him sporting on the sunny lawn;

My Father from the window sees him too;
Startled, as if some new-created Thing
Enriched the earth, or Faery of the woods
Bounded before him; - but the unweeting Child
Shall by his beauty win his Grandsire's heart
So that it shall be softened, and our loves
End happily as they began!" These gleams
Appeared but seldom; oftener was he seen
Propping a pale and melancholy face
Upon the Mother's bosom; resting thus
His head upon one breast, while from the other
The Babe was drawing in its quiet food.

That pillar is no longer to be thine,
Fond Youth! that mournful solace now must pass
Into the list of things that cannot be !
Unwedded Julia, terror-smitten, hears
The sentence, by her Mother's lip pronounced,
That dooms her to a Convent.- Who shall tell,
Who dares report, the tidings to the Lord
Of her affections? So they blindly asked
Who knew not to what quiet depths a weight
Of agony had pressed the Sufferer down;-
The word, by others dreaded, he can hear
Composed and silent, without visible sign
Of even the least emotion. Noting this,
When the impatient Object of his love
Upbraided him with slackness, he returned
No answer, only took the Mother's hand
And kissed it seemingly devoid of pain,
Or care, that what so tenderly he pressed,
Was a dependant on the obdurate heart
Of One who came to disunite their lives
For ever-sad alternative! preferred,
By the unbending Parents of the Maid,
To secret 'spousals meanly disavowed.

So be it!

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On the hill top. His eyes he scarcely took,
Throughout that journey, from the vehicle
(Slow-moving ark of all his hopes!) that veiled
The tender Infant: and at every inn,

And under every hospitable tree

At which the Bearers halted or reposed,
Laid him with timid care upon his knees,
And looked, as mothers ne'er were known to look,
Upon the Nursling which his arms embraced.
-This was the manner in which Vaudracour
Departed with his Infant; and thus reached
His Father's house, where to the innocent C'hild
Admittance was denied. The young Man spake
No words of indignation or reproof,
But of his Father begged, a last request,
That a retreat might be assigned to him
Where in forgotten quiet he might dwell,
With such allowance as his wants required;
For wishes he had none. To a Lodge that stood
Deep in a forest, with leave given, at the age
Of four-and-twenty summers, he withdrew;
And thither took with him his infant Babe,
And one Domestic for their common needs,
An aged Woman. It consoled him here
To attend upon the Orphan, and perform
Obsequious service to the precious Child,
Which, after a short time, by some mistake
Or indiscretion of the Father, died. —
The Tale I follow to its last recess

Of suffering or of peace, I know not which:
Theirs be the blame who caused the woe, not mine!

From this time forth, he never shared a smile With mortal creature. An Inhabitant Of that same Town, in which the Pair had left So lively a remembrance of their griefs, By chance of business, coming within reach Of his retirement, to the forest lodge Repaired, but only found the Matron there, Who told him that his pains were thrown away, For that her Master never uttered word To living Thing not even to her. - Behold! While they were speaking, Vaudracour approached, But, seeing some one near, even as his hand Was stretched towards the garden gate, he shrunk – And, like a shadow, glided out of view. Shocked at his savage aspect, from the place The Visitor retired.

Thus lived the Youth
Cut off from all intelligence with man,
And shunning even the light of common day;

Nor could the voice of Freedom, which through France
Full speedily resounded, public hope,

Or personal memory of his own deep wrongs,
Rouse him but in those solitary shades
His days he wasted, an imbecile mind!




You have heard a Spanish Lady

How she wooed an English Man ;*
Hear now of a fair Armenian,

Daughter of the proud Soldàn;
How she loved a Christian Slave, and told her pain
By word, look, deed, with hope that he might love again.

If Almighty Grace through me thy chains unbind,

[The subject of the following poem is from the Orlandus of My Father for slave's work may seek a slave in


the author's friend, Kenelm Henry Digby; and the liberty is taken of inscribing it to him, as an acknowledgment, however unworthy, of pleasure and instruction derived from his numerous and valuable writings, illustrative of the piety and chivalry of the olden time.]


"Pluck that rose, it moves my liking," Said she, lifting up her veil; "Pluck it for me, gentle Gardener, Ere it wither and grow pale." "Princess fair, I till the ground, but may not take From twig or bed an humbler flower, even for your sake."


"Grieved am I, submissive Christian! To behold thy captive state;

Women, in your land, may pity

(May they not?) the unfortunate." "Yes, kind Lady! otherwise Man could not bear Life, which to every one that breathes is full of care."


"Worse than idle is compassion, If it end in tears and sighs;

Thee from bondage would I rescue

And from vile indignities;

Nurtured, as thy mien bespeaks, in high degree,

Look up-and help a hand that longs to set thee free."


"Lady, dread the wish, nor venture
In such peril to engage;

Think how it would stir against you
Your most loving Father's rage:

Sad deliverance would it be, and yoked with shame,
Should troubles overflow on her from whom it came."

Hardships for the brave encountered,
Even the feeblest may endure:


"Generous Frank! the just in effort Are of inward peace secure;

"Princess, at this burst of goodness,

My long-frozen heart grows warm!"
"Yet you make all courage fruitless,
Me to save from chance of harm;
Leading such Companion I that gilded Dome,
Yon Minarets, would gladly leave for his worst home."

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*See, in Percy's Reliques, that fine old ballad, "The Spanish Lady's Love;" from which Poem the form of stanza, as suitable What have I seen, and heard, or dreamt? where am to dialogue, is adopted.

I? where?"


Here broke off the dangerous converse:
Less impassioned words might tell
How the pair escaped together,

Tears not wanting, nor a knell
Of sorrow in her heart while through her Father's door,
And from her narrow world, she passed for evermore.


But affections higher, holier,

Urged her steps; she shrunk from trust In a sensual creed that trampled

Woman's birthright into dust.

Little be the wonder then, the blame be none,
If she, a timid Maid, hath put such boldness on.


Judge both Fugitives with knowledge:

In those old romantic days

Mighty were the soul's commandments
To support, restrain, or raise.

Foes might hang upon their path, snakes rustle near,
But nothing from their inward selves had they to fear.


Thought infirm ne'er came between them,
Whether printing desert sands

With accordant steps, or gathering
Forest-fruit with social hands;

Or whispering like two reeds that in the cold moon-

Bend with the breeze their heads, beside a crystal stream.



On a friendly deck reposing,

They at length for Venice steer;

There, when they had closed their voyage,

One, who daily on the Pier

Watched for tidings from ine East, beheld his Lord,
Fell down and clasped his knees for joy, not uttering



Mutual was the sudden transport;
Breathless questions followed fast,
Years contracting to a moment,

Each word greedier than the last;
"Hie thee to the Countess, Friend! return with speed,
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

For a crowning recompense, the precious grace

Of her who in my heart still holds her ancient place.


"Make it known that my Companion
Is of royal Eastern blood,
Thirsting after all perfection,
Innocent, and meek, and good,
Though with misbelievers bred; but that dark night
Will Holy Church disperse by beams of Gospel Light."


Swiftly went that gray-haired Servant,
Soon returned a trusty Page
Charged with greetings, benedictions,
Thanks and praises, each a gage

For a sunny thought to cheer the Stranger's way
Her virtuous scruples to remove, her fears allay.


Fancy (while, to banners floating
High on Stolberg's Castle walls,
Deafening noise of welcome mounted,
Trumpets, Drums, and Atabals,)

The devout embraces still, while such tears fell
As made a meeting seem most like a dear farewell.


Through a haze of human nature,
Glorified by heavenly light,
Looked the beautiful Deliverer
On that overpowering sight,

While across her virgin cheek pure blushes strayed,
For every tender sacrifice her heart had made.


On the ground the weeping Countess
Knelt, and kissed the Stranger's hand;
Act of soul-devoted homage,

Pledge of an eternal band:

Nor did aught of future days that kiss belie,
Which, with a generous shout, the crowd did ratify.


Constant to the fair Armenian,

Gentle pleasures round her moved,
Like a tutelary Spirit

Reverenced, like a Sister, loved.

Christian meekness smoothed for all the path of life,
Who, loving most, should wiseliest love, their only



Mute Memento of that union

In a Saxon Church survives,

Where a cross-legged Knight lies sculptured
As between two wedded Wives-
Figures with armorial signs of race and birth,
And the vain rank the Pilgrims bore while yet on




LIST, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower*
At eve; how softly then
Doth Aira-force, that torrent hoarse,
Speak from the woody glen!
Fit music for a solemn vale!

And holier seems the ground To him who catches on the gale The spirit of a mournful tale, Embodied in the sound.


Not far from that fair sight whereon
The Pleasure-house is reared,
As Story says, in antique days,

A stern-brow'd house appeared;
Foil to a jewel rich in light

There set, and guarded well; Cage for a bird of plumage bright, Sweet-voiced, nor wishing for a flight Beyond her native dell.


To win this bright bird from her cage,
To make this gem their own,
Came Barons bold, with store of gold,
And Knights of high renown;
But one she prized, and only One;
Sir Eglamore was he;

Full happy season, when was known, Ye Dales and Hills! to you alone Their mutual loyalty


Known chiefly, Aira! to thy glen,

Thy brook, and bowers of holly; Where Passion caught what Nature taught, That all but Love is folly;

Where Fact with Fancy stooped to play,

Doubt came not, nor regret;

To trouble hours that winged their way,
As if through an immortal day

Whose sun could never set.


But in old times Love dwelt not long Sequester'd with repose;

Best throve the fire of chaste desire,. Fanned by the breath of foes. “A conquering lance is beauty's test, "And proves the Lover true;"

A pleasure-house built by the late Duke of Norfolk upon the banks of Ullswater. FORCE is the word used in the Lake District for Water-fall.

So spake Sir Eglamore, and pressed The drooping Emma to his breast, And looked a blind adieu.


They parted.-Well with him it fared
Through wide-spread regions errant ;
A knight of proof in love's behoof,
The thirst of fame his warrant :
And she her happiness can build

On woman's quiet hours;

Though faint, compared with spear and shield,

The solace beads and masses yield,
And needlework and flowers.


Yet blest was Emma when she heard
Her Champion's praise recounted;
Though brain would swim, and eyes grow dim
And high her blushes mounted;
Or when a bold heroic lay

She warbled from full heart:
Delightful blossoms for the May
Of absence! but they will not stay,
Born only to depart.


Hope wanes with her, while lustre fills
Whatever path he chooses;

As if his orb, that owns no curb,
Received the light hers loses.

He comes not back; an ampler space
Requires for nobler deeds;

He ranges on from place to place,
Till of his doings is no trace
But what her fancy breeds.


His fame may spread, but in the past
Her spirit finds its centre;
Clear sight she has of what he was,
And that would now content her.
"Still is he my devoted knight?"
The tear in answer flows;

Month falls on month with heavier weight:
Day sickens round her, and the night
Is empty of repose.


In sleep she sometimes walked abroad,
Deep sighs with quick words blending,
Like that pale Queen whose hands are seen
With fancied spots contending;

But she is innocent of blood,

The moon is not more pure

That shines aloft, while through the wood She thrids her way, the sounding Flood

Her melancholy lure! 10

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