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■M 



TUB 



COMPLETE 



.POETICAL WORKS 



THOMAS CAMPBELL, 



A MXMOIR OF HIS LIFE. 



▲ ITBW BDITIOW. 



BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS, SAMPSON AND COMPANY. 

110 WASHoraioir Sikur. 

1854. 






J/? 






s^ir* 



^ 



CONTENTS. 



Skkos ov tkb liDni ov CUiimu^ 7 

"^^Dn PLXAsmuM ov Hoss, SS 

PartL, 84 

Partn., • • . • 56 

^GtaxBUDB ov WTOxma^ fS 

PartL 76 

Partn. 85 

Partm., 84 

^Tebodbio : ▲ BoKBSTio Tali, 107 

Tramblahoms : — Fragment, firom the Greek ef Alflmen, 126 

Song of Hybriaa, the Cretaup 126 

Maztial Elegy, from the Greek of Tyrtefos, . . • 127-' 

Specimens of l^amdalioii from Medea, 128 

Speech of the ChoniB, in the same 'bagedy, • . 128 
\yConnor'B Child; or, *«The Flower of Lore Ilea ^ 

bleeding," 134 

^M/)chiel*s Warning, 148 

^Battle of the Baltie, 146^ 

^e Mariners of England, 149 

BohenlJTfiien, 160 

• Vltena|a, 162 

^fizHe of /Erin, • • • 16^^ 

Yord TTUin's Danghteri 164 

Ode to the Memory of Buna, 167 

*\ine8, written on Tiaiting a Soene in Azgyleafaireb • • 160 
Mllie Soldier's Dream, 161 



CONTBlTTi. 



Paai. 

To the Barnbow, 162 

^The L«rt Man, • 164 

%Dx€ttn, 167 

Yalediotory Stansas, to J. P. Kembla, Ew}., ... 169 
linM, written for fhe Highland Society, .... 172 
Stanaaa, to the Memory of tikpfipentsh Patriots, . . 174 

Song of the Greeks, • . 175 

>Ode to ^\«nnter, 177 

Lines, spoken by Mis. Bartley, at Bmry-Laae Theatre^ 
after the Death of the Prinoess Charlotte^ in 1817, 179 

lines, on the Grare of a Suiddo^ 181 

BeuUura, 182^ 

The Turkish Lady, 188 

Ibe Biaye Boland, 169 

The Spectre Boat, 191^ 

Song — « Oh, how hard it is to find," 192 

The LoTer to his Mistress^ ot\ her Birth-day» ... 193 

Addgitha, 194 

lines, on receiving a Seal with the Campbell Creat, • 194^ 

IlieDi^eofWaUaee^ 196 

Chancer and Windsor, • • . • 198 

Gilderoy, 198 

Stanzas, on the threatened Lxraidaii, 1803, .... 200 

Hie Bitter Bann, 201 

^Bong ->* «« Men of Kngland," • • . 207« 

Song-- "Drink ye to her that each Iotss beet," • • 208 

The Harper, 209/^ 

The Wounded Hussar, 210 

Love and Madness, « 211 

Hallowed G^und, «« . 218' 

Song— "Withdraw not yet thoselips and fingers," . 216 

^aroline— PartL, '.217 

Caroline — Part n. — To the Bvening Star, . . • 219^ 

The Beech Tree's Petition, . 220 

Field Flowers, 221/.. 

Stanzas, to Painting, 222^ 



COXITBIfTf • 

Pass. 
Iines» ixuBGiib«d on a Monument, ereetod to tba Iftmoty 

<rf Admiral Sir G. Campbell, K.C.B.,bj hip 'Widow. 9t$ ^ 
Bong, to the Evening Star, •••••••••• MC ^ 

Stnnzas, on the Battle of Kayarino, 227 

Hie Maid's Bemonatrance 228 

Absence^ 229 

lines, on reriaiting a Scottiah Biver, .*•••• 230 
The ** Name Unlcnown" — In. imitation of Klopatook, 281 

Lines, on the Camp Hill, near Hastings, 282 

FareweU to Loye,' 288 

lines, on Poland, 286 

Kargaret and Dora, 289 

A Thought suggested by the New Tear, 240 

%ong — '< How delicious is the winning," • • • • 241 

The Power of Russia, • • . • 242 

lines, on leaying a Scene in Bayaxia, 245 

The Death-Boat of Heligoland, 250 

Song i-" When Love came first to Barth, the Spring," 252 
%k>ng^ <' Earl March looked on his dying ehild," . . 252 

Song J- « When Napoleon was flying," 258 

line^ to Julia M — , sent with a Copy of the Author's 

Poems, 254 

Drinking Song of Munich, 255 

Lines, on the Departure of Emigrants for New South 

- W^ 256 

Lmes, on revisiting Catiicart 259 

The Cherubs, 260 

Senex's Soliloquy on his Touthfal Idol, 268 

To Sir Prancis Burdett, on his Speech in Parliament, 

respecting the Foreign Policy ef Great Britain, 1882, 264 

Ode to the Germans, .•.••• 266 

lines, on a Picture of a Girl in the Attitude of Prayer, 267 

lines, on the View from St. Leonard's, 269 

The Dead Eagle, 273 

Song — ««To Love in my heart, I ezdaimed, fother 

morning," 276 

1* 



9 C09TXNT8. 

PlOB. 

Linet» mtitten in a Bkak-LMf of Lt PttrovM't 

, Voytges, tn^ 

TlM Pilgrim of Qlencoe, 3S6 

The Child and Hind, 8M 

Kapoleon and the Britiah Sailor, 800 

The ^ted Nymph, SOS 

Benlomond, ••••••••••••••• 804 

The Panot, . 805 

On getting Home the Portrait of a Female Child, Six 

Tears old, 806 

Song of the Colonisto departing for New Zealand, . . 806 

Moonlight, 809 

Cora Linn, or the Palls of the Clyde, 811 

- lines, suggested by the Statue of Arnold Yon Wln- 

kelreid, 812 

Song of our Queen, 814 

lines, on my new Child-Swvetheart, ...... 814 

To the United States of North America, .... 816 

The Launch of a Ilrst-Rate, 816 

Epistle from Algiers, to Horace Smith, 817 

To a Toung Lady, who asked me to write something 

original for her Album, 820 

Fragment of an Oratorio, from the Book of Job, • • 820 
Nona, 828 



SKETCH 



LIFE OF CAMPBELL. 



Tkb foUo-wing spiritedy and evidently truthful, aocoual 
of the Li& of Thomas Campbell, appeared in Fraaei^a 
Magazine for November, 1844. 

I -WISH to write about Thomas Campbell in the spirit of 
impartiBl friendship : I cannot say that I knew him long, 
or that I knew him inldmately. I hare stood, when a boy, 
between his knees; he has advised me in my literary 
efforts, and lent me books. I have met him in mixed 
societies — have supped with him in many of Ids very 
many lodgings— have drunk punch of his own brewing 
from his nlver bowl — have mingled much with those who 
knew and understood him, and have been at all times a 
diligent inquirer, and, I trust, recorder of much that came 
within my immediate knowledge about him. But let me 
not raise expectation too highly. Mr. Campbell was not 
a communicative man ; he knew much, but was seldom in 
the mood to tell what he knew. He preferred a smart 
saying, or a seasoned or seasonable story ; he trifled in his 
table-talk, and you might soimd him about his contem- 
poraries to very little purpose. Lead the conversation as 



6 LIFE OF CAMPBELL. 

you liked, Campbell was suie to direct it in a different 
way. He had no * arrow-flights of thought.* You oould 
seldom awaken a recollection of the dead within him ; the 
mention of no eminent contemporary's name called forth a 
sigh, or an anecdote, or a kind expression. He did not 
loTe the past — he liyed for to-day and for to-morrow, and 
fed on the pleasures of hope, not the pleasures of memory. 
Spence, Boswell, Hazlitt, or Henry Nelson Coleridge, had 
made very little of his conversation ; old Aubrey, or the 
author of Polly Peacham's jests, had made much more, 
but the portrait in their hands had only been true to the 
baser moments of his mind ; we had lost the poet of Hope 
and Hohenlinden in the coarse sketches of anecdote and 
narrative which they told and drew so truly. 

Thomas Campbell was bom in Glasgow, on the 27th of 
July, 1777, the tenth and youngest child of his parents. 
His father was a merchant in that city, and in his sixty- 
seventh year when the poet (the son of his second mar- 
riage) was bom. He died, as I have heard Campbell say, 
at the great age of ninety-two. His mother's maiden 
name was Mary CampbelL 

Mr. Campbell was entered a student of the High School 
at Glasgow, on the 10th of October, 1785. How long he 
remained there no one has told us. In^ his thirteenth year 
he carried off a bursary from, a competitor twice his age, 
and took a prize for a translation of "The Clouds" of 
Aristophanes, pronounced imique among college exercises. 
Two other poems of this period were "The Choice of 
Paris," and " The Dirge of Wallace." 

When Gait, in 1833, drew up his autobiography, ho 
inserted a short accoimt of CampbelL '* Campbell," says 
Gait, "began his poetical career by an Ossianic poem, 
which his * schoolfellows published by subscription, at 
two-pence apiece;' my old schoolfellow, Dr. Colin 
Campbell, was a subscriber. The first edition of *Tha 
Pleasures of Hope ' was also by subscription, to which I 
was a subscriber." When this was shown to Campbell, 



I.IFfi OP CAKPBSLL. 9 

hf lir. Maesone, Juit belofe the publSoetimi of the book* 
ti^ pocttTo bittemeis knew no bofoiidg. ••HeTo a dhty 
Uackgtuod, or," said Campbell; ««an4, air, if Mr. Galfc 
-wcxe in good health, I w<rald challenge him; I feel 
diapoaed to do ao now, the blackguard." ••What'a to be 
done ?" aald Macrone ; *< the book is prmted ofl; bat I will 
cadDoel it, if you like.*' Here the heading of the chapter, 
^^ATwo-pexmyESiuiion," attracted Campbeil'a attention, 
and his l^iin, reatLeas ^pa qnirered with rage. ••Look 
here, air,*' aaid Campbell, ** look what the dirty black- 
goard'a done here!" and he pointed to the words, **A 
Two-penny Effusion." Two cancels were then promised, 
and the soothed and irritated poet wrote with his own 
hand the following short account of his early efforts:—- 
•* CampbeU began his poetical career by an Osaianic poem, 
which was published by his schoolfellows when he was only 
thirteen. At fifteen he wrote a poem on the Queen of 
Trance, which -was published in the Glasgow Courier. 
At eighteen, he printed lus Elegy called ' Love and 3Iad- 
ness;' and at twenty-one, before the finishing of his 
twenty-second year, • Tte Pleasures of Hope.' " 

Before Campbell had recovered his usual serenity of 
mind, and before the ink in his pen was well dry, who 
should enter the shop of Messrs. Cochrane and Macrone, 
but the poor offending author, Mr. Gait. The autobiog- 
n^her was on his way home from the Atheneeiun, and the 
poet of " Hope " on his way to the Literary Union. They 
all but met Campbell avoided an interview, and made 
his exit from the shop by a side door. When the story 
was told to Gait, he enjoyed it heartily. ''Campbell," 
aaid Gait, " may write what he likes, for I have no wish 
to offend a poet I admire ; but I still adhere to the ' two> 
penny effusion' as a true story." 

On quitting the Glasgow University, Mr. CampbeU 
accepted the situation of a tutor in a famUy settled in 
Argyleshire. Hero he composed a copy of verses, printed 
among his poems on the roofless abode of that sept of the 



10 I*IPE OP CAMPBEI.1*. 

Clan Canq^bell firom winch h» sprung. The Luim in 
queition axe baxxen of pxomise — tliey flow fireeljt and 
abound in pxetty smulitadee ; battheEeismoxeof thetxim 
gaxden breeze in their composition, than the fine braciiig 
air of Argyleshire. 

He did not remain long in the humble aitnfltion of a 
tutor, but made his way to Edinburgh in the winter of 
1798. What his expectations were in Edinburgh, no one 
has told us. He came with part of a poem in his pockety 
and acquiring the friendship of Dr. Robert Anderson, and 
the esteem of Dugald Stewart, he made bold to lay his 
poem and his expectations before them. The poem in 
question was the first rough draft of " Pleasures of Hope." 
Stewart nodded approbation, and Anderson was all rapture 
and suggestion. The poet listened, altered, and enlarged — 
lopped, pruned* and amended, till the poem grew much as 
we now see it. The first fourteen lines were the last that 
were written. We have this curious piece of literary 
information from a lady who knew Campbell well, esteemed 
him truly, and was herself esteemed by him in return. 
Anderson always urged the want of a good beginning, and 
when the poem was on its way to the printer, again pressed 
the necessity of starting with a picture complete in itself. 
Campbell all along admitted the justice of the criticism, 
but never could please himself with what he did.. The 
last remark of Dr. Anderson's roused the full swing of his 
genius within him, and he returned the next day to the 
delighted doctor, with that fine comparison between the 
beauty, of remote objects in a landscape, and those ideal 
scenes of happiness which imaginative minds promise to 
themselves with all the certainty of hope fulfilled. Ander- 
son was more than pleased, and the new comparison was 
made the opening of the new poem* 

" At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow 
Spans with brigrht arch the glittering hiUft below, 
Why to yon moantaia tunia the musing eye, 
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky ? 



LIFE or CAMPBELL. 



11 



Why do tboM cliA of shadowy tint appamr 
More iweet than all the landMape tnUtof Marf 
'Tie distance lends enchantment to the Tiew, 
And robes the moantatu in its azure hue. 
ThnS| Mrith delight we linger to survey 
The promised joys of life's nnmeasmred way; 
Thus from a&r, each dim-diaoover*d aoeae 
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been { 
And every form that Fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there." 



There is a kind of inexpressible pleasure in the verjr task 
of copying the Claude-like scenery and repose of lines so 
lovdy. 

With Anderson's last imprimatur upon it, the poem 
was sent to press. The doctor was looked upon at this 
time as a whole Willis's Coffee-house in himself; he 
moyed in the best Edinburgh circles, and his judgment 
was considered infallible. He talked, wherever he went, 
of his young Mend, and took delight, it is said, in con- 
trasting the classical air of Campbell's verses with what he 
was pleased to call the clever, homespun poetry of Bums. 
Nor was the volume allowed to want any of the recom- 
mendations which art could then lend it. Graham, a 
clever artist — the preceptor of Sir David Wilkie, Sir 
WUfliam Allan, and John Burnet — was called in, to design 
a series of illustratiotis to accompany the poem, so that 
when ** The Pleasures of Hope " appeared in May, 1799, 
it had every kind of attendant bladder to give it a balloon- 
waft into public favor. 

All Edinburgh was alive to its reception, and warm and 
hearty was its welcome. No Scotch poet, excepting 
Falconer, had produced a poem with the same structure 
of versffication before. There was no Sir Walter Scott in 
those days; the poet of "Mazmion" and thd **Lay" was 
only known as a modest and not indifferent translator from 
the German : Bums was in his grave, and Scotland was 
without a poet. Campbell became the lion of Edinburgh. 
*<The last time I saw you," said an elderly lady to the 



f 



19 LirS OF CAUFBELL. 

poet one day, nitlim our hearing, "was in Edmburgh; 
you were then siraggennc^ about with a Suwaivow jacket" 
'< Yes," said Campbell, •* I was then a contemptible puppy." 
*<But that was thirty years ago, and more," remarked the. 
lady. *< Whist, whist," said Campbell, with an admonitory 
finger, " it is unfair to reveal both our puppyism and our 
years." 

If the poet's friends were wise in giving the note of 
preparation to the public for the reception of a new poem, 
they were just as unwise in allowing Campbell to part 
with the copyright of his poems to Mundell, the book- 
seller, for the small sum of twenty guineas. Yet twenty 
guineas was a good deal to embark in the purchase of a 
poem by an untried poet : and when we reflect that Mun- 
dell had other risks to run — that paper andjprint, and 
above all the cost of engravings, were defrayed by him — 
we may safely say, that he hazarded enough in giving 
what he gave for that rare prize in the lottery of literature,, 
a remimerating poem. We have no complaint to make 
against the publisher. Mundell behaved admirably weU. 
if what we have heard is true, that the poet had fifty 
pounds of Mundell's free gift for every after edition of hia 
poem. Our wonder is, that Dr. Anderson and Dugald 
Stewart allowed the poet to part with the copyright of a 
poem of which they spoke so highly, and prophesied its 
success, as we have seen, so truly. 

I have never had the good fortune to fall in with the 
first edition of the *< Pleasures of Hope," but learn from 
the magazines of the day, that several smaller poems, 
" The Wounded Hussar," " The Harper," &c., were ap- 
pended to it. The price of the volume was six shi]lings» 
and the dedication to Dr. Anderstm, Ib dated « Edinburgh, 
April 13, 1799." 

I have often heard it said, and in Campbell's lifetimet 
that there was a very different copy of the ** Pleasures of 
Hope," in MS., in the hands of Dr. Anderson's fSBmily» 
and I once heard the question put to CampbeU* who replied 



I^irX OF CiLltPBBlL* 

•Ifeendioxui which the poem imdanrent bj AadHMm'a 
•driiDe, may have given riee ta> a belief thai the poen we* 
at first very unHke what we now see it 
it was said of Campbell, thit by the tfane 

" His Imadrad of gtf hmn 
Toid eix-euMMbrty yean," 

he wae wiwiBiiig to remember tiie eady attentuma of Di; 
Anderson. He oertainly cancelled or withdrew the dedica* 
tion of his poem to Br. AnderBon, and this is the only act 
of seeming imkindness to Dr. Anderson's monory which 
we have heard adduced against him. But no great stress 
is to be laid on this little act of seeming forgetfolness. He 
withdrew, in after-life, the dedication of "Lochiel" to 
Alison, whose <* Essay on Taste," and early friendship 
for Campbell, justified- the honot ; and omitted or withdrew 
the printed dedication of ** Gertrude of Wyoming," to the 
kte Lord Holland. 

As soon as his poems had put money in his pocket, an 
early predilection for the German language, and a thirst 
ffa seeing some of the continental univeiaitieB, induced 
hzm to visit Germany. 

He set sail for Hamburgh, where, struck with the sight 
of the many Irish exiles in that city, he strung his harp 
anew, and sung that touching song, ** The Exile of Erin," 
which will endear his name to the heart of every honest 
Irishman. On his road from Munich to linz, he witnessed 
from the walls of a convent the bloody field of Hohen- 
Unden, (Dec. 3, 1800,) and saw the triumphant French 
cavalry, imder Moreau, oiter the nearest town, wiping 
their bloody swords on their horses' manes. But he saw, 
while abroad, something more than *<the red artillery" 
of war; he passed a day with Klopstoek, and acquired the 
friendship of the Schlegels. 

He was away altogether al>out thirteeouJiumths, when ha 
2 



14 LIFB OF CAMPBELL. 

s«tatai6d to Edinbnrgli, to make axnagementiirith Mim- 
dell aboat the puUicatloii, in London, of a quarto edition 
of his poema. Mundell granted at once a pezxniaaion which 
he oould not wdl refose, and Campbell started for London 
by way of Glasgow and Liveipool. A^ Liverpool he stayed 
a week with the able and generous Dr. Currie, to whom he 
was introduced by Dugald Stewart Cuixie gave him let- 
ters of introduction to Mackintosh and Scarlett 

«*The bearer of this," Dr. Currie writes to Scarlett, "ia 
a young poet of some celebrity, Mr. Campbell, the author 
of 'The Pleasures of Hope.' He was introduced to me 
by Mr. Stewart, of Edinburgh, and has been some days in 
my house. I have found him, as might be expected, a 
yoimg man of tmcommon acquirements and learning, of 
unusual quickness of apprehension, and great sensibility. 

<« He is going to London with the view of superintend- 
ing an edition of his poems, for his own benefit, by the 
permission of the booksellers to whom the copyright was 
sold before the work was printed ; and who, having prof* 
ited in an extraordinary degree by the transaction, have 
now given him the permission above-mentioned, on condi- 
tion that the edition shall be of a kind that shall not inter- 
fore with their editions. He is to give a quarto edition, 
with some embeUishments, price a guinea ; the printing by 
Benaley. You must lay out a fee with him ; and if you 
can do him any little service you wiU oblige me and serve 
a man of genius." 

Currie'a letter is dated 26th February, 1802, so that we 
may date Campbell's arrival in London (there was no rail- 
way then) on or about the first of March. 

" When Campbell came first to London," said Tom 'HOI, 
to the ooUeetor of these impeifoct <<Ana," «he carried a 
letter of introductioii to Mr. Perry, of the Morning Chron- 
icle. He was then a poor literary adventurer, unfitted 
with an aim. Pexry was so much pleased with him that 
he offered him a situation on his paper, which Campbell 
thankfdlly accepted. But what could Campbell do? he 



LIFE OF CAMFBELI.. 



15 



could not report, and he was not up to the art of writing 
Uadert, At last it was agreed that he should receiTe two 
guineas a week, and now and then conlzibate a piece of 
poetry to the comer of the paper. He did write, certainly,' 
said Hill, ** but in his worst Tein. We know what news- 
paper poetry is, but some of Campbell's- contributions were 
below newspaper poetry -many pieces were not inserted, 
and such as were inserted he was too wise to print among 
his collected poems." Tom Hill's means of infonnation 
were first-rate ; he was, moreover, the intimate friend of 
Peny, and Campbell's neighbor for many years at Syden* 
ham. 

Th^ quarto edition of his poems, which Campbell was 
allowed to print for his own profit, was the seventh. This 
was in 1803. The fourth edition, corrected and oilargod, 
was printed in Glasgow in 1800. His own edition is a 
fine specimen of Bensley^s printing ; but the engravings 
are of the poorest description of art 
■ In 1803, and before the puUicatlon of his subscription 
quarto^ he printed, anonymously, at Edinbui^h, and at 
the press of the Ballantynes, his **Lochiel" and ** Hohen- 
linden." The title is simply ** Poems," and the dedication 
is addressed to Alison. " John Leyden," says Sir Walter 
Scott, *< introduced to me Tom Campbell. They afterwards 
qaarrelled. When I repeated * Hohenlinden ' to Leyden, 
he said, * Dash it, man, tell the feUow I hate him, but^ 
dash him, he has written the finest verses that have been 
published these fifty years.' I did mine errand as fedth- 
fully as one of Homer's messengers, and had for answer, 
•TeU Leyden that I detest him ; but I know the value of 
his critical approbation.' " Scott knew ** HohenUnden," 
by heart ; and when Sir Walter dined at Murray's in 1800, 
he repeated at the table, as Wilkie tells us, Campbell's 
poem of " LochieL" 

AVhat Campbell's profits or expectations were at this 
time, I have never heard. When a poet is in difficulties, 
he is sure, said William Qifford, to get married. This was 



1-= 



us I.IFX OF CANPBXLX.. 

Campbeirscaae, fi>r I find in the Scotch papers, and among 
tha mamagcs of the jear 1803« J;he foUowixig entry : ** Xlth 
Oct., at St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, Thomas 
Campheli, Esq., author of <The Pleasures of Hope^' to 
Miss Matada Sinclair, daughter of R. Sinclair, Esq., of 
Park Street" 

The fiuit of this mazziage, the most prudent the poet 
could hare taken at that time, was a son, bom at Edin- 
burgh on the first of July, 1804, Thomas Telford CampbdJ, 
a helplefls imbecile, still alive. If there was any one point 
in Campbell's character more amiable than another, it was 
his affection for his son. They were much together ; and, 
before his imbedlity became confirmed, it was a touching 
mig^ to see the poet's fine eyes wander with affectian to 
where his son was seated, and, at any stray remark he 
might make that intimated a returning intellect, to see 
how his eyes would brighten with delight, and foretell the 
pleasures of a fiither's hope. 

In the Tolume of Johnson's Scots Musical Museum for 
1808, &ere is a song of Campbell's, addressed to his wife^ 
when Matilda Sinclair. It is in no edition of his poems 
that I hare seen, and can make no great claim for preser- 
vation, beyond any little biographical importance which it 
siaybear. 

** O cherub Conteut, at tby ino8»<x>Tered shrine 
I would all tho gay hopes of my bosom resign ; 
I would part with ambition thy votary to be, 
And breathe not a vow but to friendship and thee. 

"But thy presence appears from my pursuit to fly, 
Like the gold-colored cloud on the verge of the slEy . 
No lustre that hangs on the green willow tree 
Is so short as the smile of thy &vor to me. 

'< In the pulse of my heart I have nourished a care 
That forbids me thy sweet inspiration to share ; 
The noon of my youth slow departing I see ; 
But its years as they pass bring no tidings of tbe« 



LIFE or CAMPBEI.I.. 17 

**0 chervb Content, at thy inon-coverad ahxiiM 
I would offer my tows, if Matilda were mine; 
Coald I call her my own, whom enmptured I we, 
I wonld breathe not a vow but to friendship and thee " 



This is poor poetry, after tiie paasioiuite lore-soogn of 
Bums, in the earlier Tolumefl of the same publication. 

On the 28th of October, 1806, Campbell had a pension 
granted to him firom the Cro-wn, payable out of the Scotch 
Excise, of one hnndred and eighty-four pounds a year. 
It was Fox's intention to have bestowed this pension upon 
Campbell, but that great statesman died on the 18th of 
the preceding month. His snoeessors, howcTer, sav luft 
wishes carried into execution, and the poet enjoyed lus 
pension to the day of his death, a period of nearly eight 
and thirty years. 

He now took up his residence in the small hamlet of 
Sydenham. Here he compiled his *< Annals of Great 
Britain, from the Accession of George m. to the Peace 
of Amiens " — forty years of eventfiil history, compiled 
without much accuracy of information, or any great 
elegance of style. This was a mere piece of journey- 
man's woriL, done to turn a penny. Few have heard of 
it, fewer seen it, and still fewer read it. • The most intel- 
ligent bookseller in London was, a week ago, imaware of 
its existence. 

Some small accession of fortune about this time, and the 
glorious certainty of a pension, enabled him to think seri- 
ously of a new poem, to outstrip his former efforts, and 
add another stattire to his poetic height. As soon as it 
was known that the celebrated author of ** The Pleasures 
of Hope " was employed upon a new poem, and a poem 
of length, expectation was on tiptoe for its appearance. 
The information first got wind in the drawing-room of 
Holland House. Then the subject was named — then a 
bit of the story told by Lord Holland, and a verse or two 
quoted by Lady Holland; so that the poem had every 
2* 



18 I.IFE OF CAMFBELX*« 

adyertisemMit whiiA' rank, fiishion, reputation, and tha 
poef • own standing, could lend it. The story was liked 
-»then the metre was named and approved— then a 
portion shown ; so that the poet had his coterie of faah' 
ion and wit be£9re the public knew eyen the title of the 
poem they were trained up to receive with the acclama- 
tion it deserved. 

Nor was public expectation disappointed, when it became 
generally known thai* the poet had gone to the banks of 
tiie Susquehanna for his poem — had chosen the desolation 
of Wyoming for his story, and the Spenserian stanza for 
his form of verse. The poet, however, was still timidly 
fieazfbl, though he had the imffrimaiur of Holland House 
in favor of his poem. I was told by Tom Hill that Camp« 
bell sent the first printed copy of his poem to Mr. Jeffirey, 
(now Lord Jeflfrey.) The critic's reply was iavorable« 
«Mn. Campbell told me," added Hill, "that, till he had 
received Jeffrey's approbation, her husband was suffering, 
to use his own expression, *the horrors of the damned.' " 

A ^^rt^hig poet was safe in those days, when in the hands 
of a Whig critic. He had more to fear from the critical 
acumen of a Tory writer ; but only one number of the 
Quarterly Review had then appeared. If Oifford had 
dissected *<littie Miss Gertrude," he might have stopped 
tiie sale, for a time, of a new edition ; but no critical fero* 
city could have kept down " Gertrude of Wyoming" for 
more than one season. But Gifibrd was prepossessed in 
fiivor of Campbell ; he liked his versification and his elas- 
sicaL correctness ; so tiie poem was intrusted to a fiiendly 
hand '-one prepossessed, like Gifford, in his favor >* the 
greatest writer and the most generous critic of his afe — 
Sir Walter Scott 

No poet ever dreaded criticism more than Campbell. 
** Coleridge has attacked * Hie Pleasures of Hope,' and 
all other pleasures whatsoever," writes Lord Byron ; "Mr. 
Bogeit was present, and heard himself indirectly rtnoed 
by tiie lecturer. Campbell will be desperately annoyedi 



'■i-j,'<w.wg'S gs 



l.IVEOrCAMPBKLL. 19 

I aerer saw a man (and of him I hare eecn very little) 00 
RDflitiv«. What a happy temperament ! I am tORy for 
it ; — what can he fear from criticism ? " 

His next great work was the ** Specimens of the Brftish 
Poets/' in seren octavo volmnos, published in 1819. This 
was one of Mr. Murray's publications, and one of his own 
suggesting. His agreement with Campbell was for £500» 
bat when the work was completed, he added £500 more, 
and books to the value of £200, borrowed for the publioa- 
tioa. Such fits of munificence were not imcommon with 
Mm Murray; he had many dealings, and dealt fairly, 
straight-forwazdly, beyond the bounds of common lib- 
erality. We wish we could say the same of Campbell in 
tiiis transection. No second edition of the " Specimens " 
was called for before 1841 ; and when Mr. Murray, in that 
year, determined on printing the whole seven volumes in 
one handsome volume, he applied to Campbell to revise 
his own work, and made him at the same time a handsome 
ollbr for the labor of revision. Campbell declined the offer, 
and set his face at first against the publication. What waa 
to be done ? There was a demand for a new edition, and 
it had been a piece of literary madness on Mr. Murray's 
part if he had sent the book to press with all its imperfec- 
tions on its head — not the imperfections, be it understood, 
of taste and criticism, but of biographical and bibliograph- 
ical information. Good taste can never change — it is 
true at all times ; but facto, received as such, for want of 
better information, may be set aside by any dull fact- 
monger who will take the pains to examine a parisli 
register, a bookseller's catalogue, or a will in Doctor's 
Comyions. 

Mr, Peter Cimningham, at the eleventh hour, was called 
in by Mr. Murray to superintend the reprint, and correct 
the common errors of fact throughout the seven volumes. 
Various inaccuracies were removed ; some silently, for it 
had been burdening the book with useless matter to have 
retained them in the text and pointed them out in • 



:LLJ«a — -^ I Jl 



90 LIFE OF CAMPBELL. 

note; while others, that entangled a thought or gav« 
weight, were allowed to stand, but not without notes to 
stop the perpetuity of the error. A quiver of rage played 
upon the lips of the poet when he was infoimed that any 
one had dared to revise his labors : but when he saw what 
was done, and knew the friendly hand that had gone with 
so much patient care through the whole work, he expressed 
his unfeigned pleasure, and, as we have heard, thanked 
Mr. Cunningham for his useful services. 

The Essay is a charming piece of prose, fresh at the 
fiftieth reading, and the little prefatory notices abound in 
delightful criticispa, not subtle and far-fetched, but char- 
acteristically true to the genius of the poet. He is more 
alive to beauties than defects, and has distmgmshed his 
criticism by a wider sympathy with poetry, in all its 
branches, than you will find in any other book of English 
criticism. Johnson takes delight in stripping more than 
one leaf from every laurel — he laughs at Gray — Collins, 
he commends coldly, — and he even dares to abuse Milton. 
Dryden and Pope, the idols of Dr. Johnson's criticism, toe 
the fiilse gods of Southey's : — 

" Holy at Rome — here Aiitichrisl." 

Campbell has none of this school of criticism ; he ^oves 
poetry for its own sweet sake, and is no exclusionist. 

The great fault of Campbell is, that he does not give 
the best specimens of his authors *, but such pieces as Ellis 
and Headley had not given. Of Sir Philip Sydney, he 
says, ** Mr. Ellis has exhausted the best specimens of his 
poetry. I have only offered a few short ones." N(^ one 
vrill go to a book of specimens for specimens of a poet in 
his second-best manner, or his third-rate mood. We want 
the cream of a poet, not the skimmed-milk of his genius. 
A long extract from Theodric would not represent Mr. 
Campbell's manner in the fiery Hope, or the more gentle 
Gertrude. Specimens are intended for two classes of peo« 



LIFX OF CAMPBELL. Ul 

pie, — one who cannot ttSbxd to buy, and the seeoad who 
do not care to poBsess, the British Poets in one hundred 
and fifty odd rolumes. The poor want the best, and the 
other daas of purchasers want surely not the worst. 

In the year 1820, Mr. Campbell entered upon the editor- 
' ^p of the New Monthly Magazine, which he conducted, 
we are told, " with a spirit and a resource worthy of his 
reputation, and of the then palmy estate of periodical lite* 
rature." We doubt this. He drew his salary regularly, 
it is true, but contributed little of his own of any merit. 
The whole labor, and too much of the responsibility, rested 
on the shoulders of the assistant. The poet's name carried 
its full value ; the Magazine took root and flourished, and. 
the pay per sheet was handsome. He soon drew a good 
brigade of writers around him ; and placing implicit con- 
fidence in what they did, and what they could do, he made 
his editorship a snug sinecure situation. '< Tom Campbell," 
■aid Sir Walter Scott, " had much in his power. A man 
at the head of a Magazine may do much for young men ; 
but Campbell did nothing, — more from iodelence, I fancy* 
than disinclination or a bad heart." 

A series of articles appeared in the New Monthly Mag- 
azine, when Campbell was its editor, entitled <* Boswell 
Bediyiyns," a catch-penny name, given by Hazlitt to a 
collection of Northcote's conversations and sayings, uttered, 
as was urged, by Northcote, in all the confidence of friend- 
ship. An ill-natured saying or two brought the painter 
into trouble, and Northcote wrote to Campbell, complain- 
ing of their appearance, in a letter in which he calls Haz- 
litt a wretch who had betrayed him. Campbell's answer 
is a striking illustration of the system he pursued in editing 
the New Monthly. 

«* I am afllicted beyond measure," says the poet, ** at 
finding my own inattention to have been the means of 
wounding the feelings of a venerable man of genius. Dic- 
tate the form and manner of my attempting to atone for 
having unconsciously injured you, if I can make any 



99 LIFX OP CAMPBELL. 

tttonemexit. The infernal Hazlitt shall never more be 
permitted to write for the New Monthly. I mean not to- 
palliate my own want of watchfulness over the Magazine^ 
which has occasioned such a paper being admitted. I only 
tell you the honest truth, that a crisis in my afiairs, which 
is never likely to occur again, fatally tempted me this last 
month to trust the revision of some part of the number to 
the caie and delicacy of another person ; that person^ like 
myself, has slept over his charge." 

This want of watchfulness was, we fear, a monthly fiBil-* 
ing, not, as is here set forth, a rare occurrence. 
V The success of ** Gertrude " induced him, in 1824, to 
\put forth another poem, a dramatic tale, entitled "Theod- 
5ric." A silence of fifteen years put expectation upon tip- 
toe ; but when " Theodric " appeared, it was much in the 
condition of Jonson's " Silent Woman," — there was no 
one to say plaudite to it. The wits at Holland House dis- 
owned the bantling ; the Quarterly called it *' an unworthy 
publication," and friend joined foe in the language of con- 
demnation. Yet CampbeU had much to encounter: he 
had to outstrip his former efforts, and fight a battle with 
the public against expectation and the applause awarded 
to his former poetry. There is a conscious feeling through- 
out the poem that the poet is fighting an unequal battle ; 
he stands up, but his play is feeble, he distrusts himself 
and is only tolerated from a recollection of his bygone 
powers. 

"I often wonder," says Sir Walter Scott, "how Tom 
Campbell, -^dth so much real genius, has not maintained a 
greater figure in the public eye than he has done of late." 
Scott is writing in 1826. "The magazine seems to -have 
paralyzed him. The author not only of *The Pleasures 
of Hope,* but of • Hohenlinden,* * Lochiel,* etc., should 
have been at the very top of the tree. Somehow he wants 
audacity, fears the public, and, what is worse, fears the 
shadow of his own reputation." • . * * " What a pity 
't is," said Sir Walter to Washington Irving, " that Camp- 



LIFE OP CAMPBXI.I.. 33 

bell doeB not write more and oftener, and give ftJl iweep 
to hia genins \ He haa winga that would bear him to the I 
akiea, and he doea, now and then, apread them grandly, | 
but folds them up again, and resumes his perch, as if he 
was afraid to launch away. The fact is, Campbell is in a 
manner a bugbear to himself ; the brightness of his early 
success is a detriment to all his further efforts. He is 
ttfraid of the thadow that his own fame casts before him" 

In 1827 he was elected lord-rector of his own mother 
university at Glasgow. He was elected by the free and 
unanimous choice of the students, and was justly proud 
of his election. 

"It was a deep 8now," writes Allan Cunningham, ' 
•* when we reached the coUege-green ; the students were 
drawn up in parties, pelting one another, the poet ran into 
the ranks, threw several snowballs with unerring aim« 
then summoning the scholars around him in the hall* 
delivered a speech replete with philosophy and eloquence. 
It is needless to say how this was welcomed." 

When his year of servitude had expired, he was unan- 
imously reelected, the students presenting him at the same 
time with a handsome silver punch-bowl, described by the 
poet in his will as one of the great jewels of his property. 

On the 9th of May, 1828, he lost his wife. This was a 
severe blow to him. She was a clever woman, and had 
that influence over him which a wife should always have ' 
, who is a proper helpmate to her husband. I have heard 

< him say, and with much emotion, ** No one can imagine 

I how much I was indebted to that woman for the comforts 

I ^ of life." 

I I In 1829 and 1830, he quarrelled with Colbum, threw up 
1 1 the editorship of the New Monthly Magazine, and lending 

j his name to another publisher, started a magazine called 

The Metropolitan. A life of Sir Thomas Lawrence, in 
two octavo volumes, was advertised, with Campbdl's name 
to it, about the same time. The Life was soon abandonsd,, 
and the new magazine, after a time, transferred to Saunden 



9€ LIFE-OF CAMPBELL^ 

and OH&f, with two editors msteod one, Tern Caaa(pbidl 
and his fnend Tom Mooie. The after history of the 
magazine is well known — the two- poets retired, and 
Marryat, with his "Peter Simple," gave it a swii^; of 
reputation which it had not before. 

The sorrows of Poland, and the ebullitions of bad verse^ 
occupied much of Campbell's time when editor of Tk« 
Metropolitan. He lived in the Polish Chambers, and aU 
his talk was Poland. Czartoryski and Niemdewitz were 
names everlastingly on his lips. A tale of a distressed 
Pole was his greeting when you met, and an alms or sub- 
scription the chorus of his song. Boswell was not more 
daft about Corsica than Campbell about Poland. Poor 
Tohi Campbell, he exhausted all his sjTnpathy on the 
Poles, and spent all his invectives upon Russia. Yet he 
did good — he was the means of assisting many brave but 
unfortunate men, whilst his ravmgs against Russia passed 
unheeded by, like the clamorous outcries for liberty of 
. Akenside and Thomson. 

i In 1834, he published, in two octavo vol\mies, the " Life 

j of Mrs. Siddons." Our great actress had constituted 

5 Cianpbell her biographer, and Campbell has told me, more 

• than once, that he considered the Work a kind of sacred 

duty. No man ever went to his task more grudgingly 

than Campbell ; and no man of even average abilities ever 

produced a worse biography than Campbell's so called 

"Life of Mrs. Siddous." The Quarterly called it "an 

abuse of biography," and its writer " the \vorst theatrical 

historian we have ever read." Some of his expressions are 

turgid and nonsensical almost beyond belief. Of Mrs. 

Pritchard he says, that she "electrified the housb with 

disappointment." Upon which the Quarterly remarkS) 

" This, we suppose, is Nvliat the philosophers call negative 

electricity." 

Since Mr.- Campbell's death, Mr. Dyce has addressed a 
letter to the editor of the Literary Gazette, disclaiming any 
partnership in the composition of what he calls "that 



LIFE OF CAMPJIBLI... Sft 

imfortiiBate book." There was a rumor ¥07 nio, whA 
the book appeared, that Mr. Byce had had a main-'fliigsr 
bi the pie ; but the gross inaccuracies of the irork gare 
tlie best answer to the rumor. Mr. Dyce's accuracy 
deserves to be proverbial, and no one could suspect that 
he could have had a hand in any thing like " a very large 
portion" of the unfortunate performance. However, in 
disclaiming the share assigned, be lets us a little behind 
the scenes on tins occasion. We see Mrs. Siddons in Tom 
CeaapheH'siiring-room* 

** Soon after Campbell had received the materials which 
Mrs. Siddons had bequeathed to him for her biography, he 
wrote to me on the subject ; informing me, that, as he had 
a very slight acquaintance with stage-history, he dreaded 
the undertaking, and offering me, if I would become his 
coadjutor, one half of the sum which E. Wilson was to 
pay him for Ihe work. I refused the money, but promised 
him all the assistance in my power. He next forwarded 
to me his papers, conaistiag chiefly of Mrs. Siddons's mem- 
oranda for her life, and a great mass of letters which she 
had written, at various intervals, to her intimate Mend 
Mrs. Fitz-Hughes. Having carefully gone over the whole^ 
I returned them with sundry illustrations ; and sub- 
aequendy, from time to time, I sent him other notes which 
I thought might suit his purpose. As, on one occasion, ha 
had spoken slightingly of the letters to Mrs. Fitz-Hughes, 
(calling them * very dull,' and saying that * the mind of 
Mrs. Siddons moved in them like an elephant,') and was 
evidently inclined not to print them, I strongly urged him 
by no jneans to omit them, since they appeared to mie, 
thou^ a little pompous in style, extremely characteristio 
of the writer. 

"While he was, engaged on the biography, a report 
reached him that Mrs. Jameson was about to publish 
Memoirs of Mrs. Siddons, and that Miss Siddons (now 
Mrs. Combe) had furnished her with many anecdotes* At 
this he was excessively angry ; and showed me a letter 
3 



9& LIFE OF CAMPBELL. 

which he had written to Miss Siddons, indignanHy com- 
pkaning that she should patronize Mrs. Jameson's work, 
when she must be aware that he had been speciaUy ap 
pointed her mother's biographer. As the letter in question 
was perhaps the most extraordinary erer addressed by a 
gentleman to a lady, I entreated him to throw it into the 
fire; but he positively refused. Whether it watf eventually 
sent or not, I never learned : if it was, Mrs..Combe can not 
have forgotten it. He had afterwards some conununica- 
tion with Mrs. Jameson, in consequence of .which she 
abandoned her design." ♦ 

I have heard Campbell say, that a Uttle girl of eleven 
would write better letters of their kind than any half dozen 
addressed by Mrs. Siddons to Mrs. Fitz-Hughes. The 
poet was introduced to the actress by Charles Moore, the 
brother of Sir John Moore. 

With the money which the publication of a bad book 
brought him, Mr. Campbell set off for Algiers. He told 
on his return more stories than Tom Coryatt, and began a 
series of papers upon his travels for his old magazine, the 
Kew Monthly. These papers have since been collected 
into two volumes, entitled, «* Letters from the South." 

His subsequent publications were a ** Life of Shakspeare," 
a poein called "The Pilgrim of Glencoe," the very dregs 
and sediment of his dotage ; *' The Life and Times of 
Petrarch," concocted from Archdeacon Coxe's papers, (a 
sorry performance ; ) and ** Frederick the Grreat and his 
Court and Times," a pubUcation far below any thing which 
Smollett's necessities compelled him to put his name to, 
and only to be equalled by the last exigencies of Elkanah 
Settle. 

In 1837, he published his poems, in one handsome 
octavo voliune, with numerous vignettes, engraved on 



* Literary Gazette, 22d June, 18^44. Mr. D>it:'s leiicr i» dated the 
18th, three days aAer Campbeirs deaih Afu-r ten years of pobdessiiig 
aitiionl in peace— he might have wuitcti n iiiili- longer. 



X.1FX OP CAMFBXX.X.. 87 

fteeily from dengna by Xnzner ; but. Campbell hod no 
umate lore for art, and his IlluBtrated yoliime, when eom- 
pared with the companion Tolnme of Mr. Rogen, is bnt a 
distant imitation. Mr. Eogers, it is true^ had a bank at 
his back, and Campbell had little more than Telford's 
legacy of £500 to draw upon ; but this will not account 
§Dfi the difference, which we are to attribute altogether to 
an imperfect understanding of the beaiEties and resources 
of art 

When Mr. Campbell accepted the editorship of the New 
Monthly Magazine, he forsook his favorite Sydenham, and 
leased the house No. 10 Upper Seymour-street, West It 
was in this house that Mrs. Campbell died. His next 
remoye was to Middle Scotland Yard. Here he gave a 
large evening party, and then grew tired of his house. 
Milton's biographers pursue their favorite poet through aU 
his garden-houses and tenements in London : I am afraid 
it would be no easy task to follow Campbell through the 
long catalogue of his London lodg&ftgs, for Hke last fifteen 
years of his life. I recollect him lodging at No 42 Eaton* 
street ; in Stockbridge-tenace, Pimlico ; in Sussex Cham- 
bers, Duke-street, St. James ; at 18 Old Cavendish-street ; 
in York Chambers, St. James-street ; and at 61 Lincoln's- 
imi-Fields. In November, 1840, he again setup house, for 
the sake of a yoimg niece, to whom he has bequeathed the 
whole of his little property. The house he chose was No. 
8 Yictoria-squarc, and here he made his wiU. 

The labt time I saw Mr. Campbell was in Regent-street, 
on the 26th of September, 1843. He was dressed in a 
hght blue tail-coat, with gilt buttons, an umbrella tucked 
under his arm, his boots and trousers all dust and dirt, a 
perfect picture of mental and bodily imbedlity. I never 
saw a look in the street more estranged and vacant ; not 
the vacancy of the man described by Dr. Young, " whose 
thoughts were not of tliis world," but the listless gaze of 
one who had ceased to think at all. I could not help 
contrasting to mysc'lf the poet's present with his past ap» 



9e lilfS O^* CAMFSKLt.. 

peaianoe, 9b described by Byron in his JoiimaL "Camp* 
bell looks well, seems pleased, and dressed to tpruury, 
A blue coat becomes him, so does his new wig. He leidly 
looks as if Apollo had sent him a birtii-day suit, or a wed* 
ding garment, and was witty and liyely." This was in 
1813, in Holland House. He has drawn a picture of him • 
self in the streets of Edinburgh, when the *< Pleasures of 
Hope " was a new poem ; **1 have repeated these lines so 
often," he says, «« on the North Bridge, that the whole 
firaitemity of coachmen know me by tongue as I pass. To 
be sure, to a mind in sober, serious, street-walking humot» 
it must bear an appearance of lunacy, when one stamps 
With the hurried pace, and fervent shake of the head, 
which strong, pithy poetry excites."* 
. Mr. Campbell died at Boulogne, on the 15th of June» 
1844, and on the 3d of July was buried at Poet* s Comer, 
About one foot aboTe the ground, and over against tho 
monument to Shakspeare. I have heard that he had a 
wish to be buried in the Abbey — a wish which he ex* 
pressed about a. year b^ore he died, at a time when a dep- 
utation of the Glasgow Cemetery Company waited on the 
poor enfeebled poet to beg the favor of his body for their 
sew cemetery. Who will say that Campbell lived unhon- 
ored in his native city } 

r- Mr. Campbell was in stature small but well made. His 
«yes were very fine, and just such eyes as Lawrence took 
delight in painting, when he drew that fine picture of the 
poet which wiU preserve his looks to the latest posterity. 
His lips were thin, and on a constant twitter ; — thin lips 
are bad in marble, and Chantrey refused to do his bust 
because his Hps would never look well. He waa bald, I 
have heard him say, when only twenty-four, and since 
that age had almost always worn a wig. 

There was a aprucery about almost every thing he did. 
He would rule pendl lines to write on, and complete a 

* Lockhart's Life of Scott, i. 342. 



I.IFE OF CAMFBEI.I.. 'W 

MS, more in the manner of Davies of Hereford than Tom 
Can^belL His wigs, in his pahny days, were true to the 
last curl of studions perfection. 

He told a story with a great deal of hwnor, and had 
miuih wit and art in setting off an anecdote that in other 
teUing had gone for nothing. The story of the mercantile 
tnifeUer horn. Glasgow was one of his very best, and his 
proposing Napoleon's health at a meeting of authors be- 
cause lie had murdered a bookseller, (Palm,) was rich in 
the extreme. 

Campbell was very fond of fomung clubs — he started 
a poets' club at his own table at Sydenham, when Crabbe, 
Moore, and Rogers were of the party. *< We talked of- 
forming a poets' club," writes CampbeU, " and even set 
about electing the members, not by ballot, but viva voce» 
The scheme failed, I scarcely know how ; but this I know, 
that, a week or so afterwards, I met with Perry, of the 
Morning Chronicle, who asked me how our poets' club 
was going on. I said, *I don't know — we have some 
difficulty in giving it a name ; we thought of calling our- 
selves The Bees.' * Ah,' said Perry, * that's a little differ- 
ent from the common report, for they say you are to be 
called The Waaps.' I was so stung with this waspish 
report, that I thought no more of the Poets' Club." 
Whatever merit is due to the foundation of the London 
University, I believe belongs by right to Campbell: he 
was the founder, moreover, of the Literary Union, an ill- 
regulated club which expired in the spring of the present 
season, 

" Unwilling lo oailive ihe good ihBt did it,'' 

like the IjMSwich of Wolsey, as described by Shakspeare. 

It is well known that Campbell's own favorite poem of 
all his composition was his " Gertrude." ** I never like to 
see my name before * The Pleasures of Hope ; ' why, I 
can not tell you, unless it was that, when young, I was 
always greeted among my Mends as * Mr. Campbdl, author 
3* 



W LirX.OF CAMPBEZiI* 

^ Tlift-Pleasoreft of Hope.' < Good xnonu]]^ tb you, Mr. 
Campbell, author of The Pleasuiea of Hope.' When I 
got maxried, I was maziied aa the auth<Hr of * The Pleasures 
of Hope ; ' and when I became a £Miher, my son was the 
son of the author of «The Pleasures of Hope.' " ▲ kind 
of grim smile, ill-subdued, we are afraid, stole over <mr 
featurea, when, standing beside the poefs graye^ we read 
the inscription on his coffin : ^- 

** Thomas Campbell, LL. D., 

AvTHOB o^ * The Plbasubbs op Hope,' 

Died Juini 15, 1844, 

AoBD 67." 

The poet's dislike occuxred to our memory — there was no 
getting the better of the thought. 

Theze is a Tigor and swing of yerrificatLon in ** The 
Pleasures of Hope " unlike any other of Campbell's com- 
positions, the ** Lochiel " excepted : yet it carries with it, 
as Sir Walter Scott justly observes, many marks of juTe- 
nile composition. The ** Lochiel " has all the faults and 
aU the defects of his former effort ; and, as if aware of a 
want, he sat down, when busy with ** Gertrude of Wyom- 
ing," to amend the poem. The last four lines originally 
ran, — 

" Shall victor exult or in death be laid low, 

With his back to the field and his feet to the foe ! 

And leaving in battle no blot on his namei 

Look proudi]!' to Heaven from the death-bed of fame.'* 

A noble passage nobly conceived ; but hear how it nma 
as appended to the first edition of « Gertrude of Wyom- 
mg:"- 

" Shall victor exult in the battle's aoclaim, 

Or look to yon Heaven from the death'-bed of fame." 

Tlia po0l restored the original reading on the reoommmuU 



LirS aF CJLMPBXI.L. .81 

atioQ of Sir Walter Soott : he liad Boeoeeded in fqueeiiBg 
the whole spirit from out the passage. 

I remember remarking to Campbell, that there was a 
couplet in his " Pleasures of Hope/' which I felt an inde- 
scribable pleasure in repeating aloud, and iUling my eats 
with the music which it made : — 

** And wafl, acrou the vra.ytl'B tttmultaons roar, 
The wolf *« long howl from Oonalaskai't shore.'* 

«« Yes," he said, « I tell you where I got it — I found it in 
a poem called 'The Sentdmental Sailor,' published about 
the time of Sterne's < Sentimental Journey.'" I hare 
never been able to meet with this poem. 

Campbell deserves a good biography and a good monu- 
ment. His own works want no recommendations, but his 
friends may do much to perpetuate the memory of the 
man. Surely his letters deserve collection, and his cone- 
spondence should not be suffered to perish from neg^lect 
There is a subscription on foot to erect a monument to his 
memory in Poets' Comer. This is as it should be — but 
let it be something good. We have more than enough of 
bad and indifferent in the Abbey already. 




ANALYSIS --PABT I. 



TuM poem opens with a compuriaon between the beauty of remote 
•bjeele in a kndeeape, and those ideal scenes of felichy which the 
imagination delig^hts to oontemplate — the inflnence of anticipation upon 
the other passions is next delineated— an allusion is made to the welU 
known fiction in Pagan tradition, that, when all the gnardiaii deities of 
mankind abandoned the world, Hope alone was left behind — the cott«>> 
lations of this passion in situations of danger and distress — the seaman 
on his watch — the soldier marching into battle — allusion to the inter> 
esting adventures of Bynm. 

The inspiration at Hope, aa it«etuates the eAbrts of genius, whether 
In the department of science or of taste — domestic felicity how inti- 
mately iDonnected with views of future happiness — picture of a mother 
watching her infant when asleep — pictures of the prisoner, the maniac^ 
and the wanderer. 

From the consolations of individual misery a transition is made to 
prospecu <»f political improvement .in the future state of society— the 
wide field that is yet open for the progress of humanizing arts among 
uneivilized nations— from these views of amelioration of society, and 
the extension of liberty and truth over despotic and barbarous countrtei^ 
by a melancholy contrast of ideas, we are led to reflect upon the hard 
fiite of a brave people recently conspicuous in their struggles for inde* 
pendence — description of the capture of Warsaw, of the last oontest 
of the (pressors and the oppressed, and the massacre of the Polish 
patriots at the bridge of Prague — apostrophe to the self-interested 
enemies of human improvement — the wrongs of Africa — the barba- 
rona policy of Europeans in India— prophecy in the Hindoo mythcdogy 
of the expected descent of the Deity to redress the miseries of their 
isoe, and to take vengeance on the violators of justice wk mercy. 



<J^ <c, 



).<;•" r 



THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. 



PART I. 



At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow 
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below. 
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye. 
Whose suhbright summit mingles with the sky^ 
Why do those cli£Eii of shadowy tint appear 
More sweet than all the landscape smiUng near)^ 
, 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 
Thus, with delight, we linger to survey 
Hie promised joys of life's unmeasured way ; 
Thus, from a&r, each dim-discovered scene 
More pleasing seems than all the past hath bMn» 
And every form, that Fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 



What potent spirit guides the raptured eye 

To pierce the shades of dim futurity \ 

Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly powK^ 

The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour ? 

Ah, no ! she darkly sees the &te of man — 

Her dim horizon bounded to a span; 

Or, if she hold an image to the view, 

Tis Nature pictured too severely true. 



U- 



16 CAMPBKXtX'ft POKMI. 

With tkM, sweet Hopb ! seiidee the heftTenly Bghl^ 
That pouxt remotest rapture on the tight : 
Thine is the chaim of life's bewildered way, 
That calls each slumbering passion into play. 
Wsked by thy touch, I see the sister band» 
On tiptoe, watching, start at thy command. 
And fly wherever thy mandate bids them steer* 
To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career. 

Primeral Hope, the Aonian Muses say. 

When Man and Nature mourned their first deeay; 

When ei4ry form of death, and every wo, 

Shot fix>m malignant stars to earth below ; 

When Murder bared hor ann, and rampant War 

Yoked the red dragons of her iron car ; 

When Peace and Mercy, banished from the plain. 

Sprung on the yiewless windl to Heayen again ; 

Aht all fiwseok the friendless, gmlty mind,-* 

But Hops, the charmer, lingered still behind. 

Thus, whUe El^ah's burning wheels prepare 
From Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of air, 
The prophef s mantle, ere his flight began. 
Dropped on the world — a sacred gift to man. 

Auspicious Hops ! in thy sweet garden grow 
Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every wo ; 
Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour, 
The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower ; 
There, as the wUd bee murmurs on the wing, 
What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring ! 
What viewless forms th' .£olian organ play. 
And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious thought away. 

) 
Angel of life ! thy glittering wings explore 
Earth's^ loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore* 



CAMPBBIfL's FOBMf. M 

IiO ! to Hie wintry winds the pilot ytftldi 

His bark careering o'er un&fchomed fisUs ; 

Now on Atlantic wares he rides afitt, 

Where Andes, giant of the western star» 

Yfiih meteor-standard to the winds nnforled, 

Looks fix>m his throne of douds o'er half the world I 

Now &r he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles 
On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles: 
0>ld on his midnight watch the breezes blow, 
From wastes that slumber in eternal snow ; 
And waft, across the ware's tumultuous roar. 
The wolf's long howl from Oo nala ska's shore. 

Poor child of danger, nuisling of the storm, 
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form! 
Bocks, waves, and winds, the shattered bark delay; 
lliy heart is sad, thy home is far away. 

But HoPB can here her moonUght vigils keep. 
And sing to charm the spirit of the deep : 
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole. 
Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul ; 
His native hills that rise in happier climes. 
The grot that heard lus song of other times. 
His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, 
His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossomed vale. 
Bush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind. 
Threads the loved shore he sighed to leave behind; 
Meets at each step a friend's familiar £ace, 
And flies at last to Helen's long embrace ; 
Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear ! 
And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear I 
While, long neglected, but at length caressed. 
His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest. 
Points to the master's eyes (where'er they rosm) 
His wistful fftce, and whines a wdcome home. 
4 



38 Campbell's poems. 

Friend of the brave ! in peril's darkest hour, 
Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power; 
To thee .the heart its trembling homage yields. 
On stormy floods, and caxnage-coyered fields. 
When front to front the bannered hosts combinfl^ 
Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line. 
AYhen aU is still on Death's devoted soil. 
The march- worn soldier mingles for the toil ! 
As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high 
The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye. 
Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come. 
And hears thy stormy music in the drum \ 



And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore 
The hardy Byron to his native shore — 
In horrid climes, where ChilQcIfl tempests sweep 
Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep, 
'Twas his to mourn Misfortune's rudest shock. 
Scourged by the winds, and cradled on the rock, 
To wake each joyless mom and search again 
The famished haunts of solitary men ; 
Whose race, unyielding as their native storm, • 
Know not a trace of Nature but the form; 
Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar piursued, 
Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued. 
Pierced the deep woo;ls, and hailing from afar 
The moon's pale planet and the northern star. 
Paused at each di-eary cry, unheard before, 
Hyaenas in the wild, and mennaids on the shore; 
Till, led by thee o'er many a cUif sublime. 
He found a warmer world, a milder clime, 
A home to rest, a shelter to defend. 
Peace and repose, a Briton and a Mend ! 

Congenial Hops ! thy passion-kindling power. 

How brii^ht, how strongs in youth's untroubled hour; 



campbex.l'8 pojsmb. 30 

On yon pioud height, mrith Genjps hand in hand* 
I see thee hght, and wave thy golden wand. 

** Qo, child of Heaven ! (thy winged woxda pioclatm) 
'TSa thine to search the boundless fields of ISune ! 
Lo ! Newton, pziest of natuie, shines a£eur, 
Scans the wide wcMrld, and numbers every star ! 
Wilt thou, with him, mysterious rites apply, 
And watch the shdne with wonder-beaming eye? 
Yes, thon shalt mark, with magic art profound. 
The speed of hght, the circling march of sound ; 
With Franklin grasp the lightning's fiery wing. 
Or yield the lyre of Heaven another string. 

"The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bowers. 
His winged insects, and his rosy flowers ; 
Calla from their woodland haunts the savage trauit 
With sounding horn, and counts them on the phan— 
So once, at Heaven's command, the wanderers came 
To Eden's shade, and heard their various name. 

**Par from the world, in yon sequestered clime, 
Slow pass the sons of Wisdom, more subhme ; 
Calm as the fields of Heaven, his sapient eye 
The loved Athenian lifts to realms on high. 
Admiring Plato, on his spotless page 
Stamps the bright dictates of the Father sage : 
* Shall Nature bound to Earth's diurnal span 
The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man?' 

" Turn, child of Heaven, thy rapture-Hghtened eye 
To Wisdom's waJks, the sacred Nine are nigh : 
Hark ! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height 
From streams that wander in eternal light. 
Ranged on their hUl, Harmonia's datighters swell 
The T»i"g^'T^g tones of horn, and harp, and shell; 



10 CAlUBXLL't P0X1I8; 

DMp from hk YtL^/M tiie liOziaa munmm flefw» 
And PylSiiA'B awM organ peals below. 

«<Beloyed of Hearen ! the smiling Muse sluOl slied 
Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head; 
Shall swell tiiy heart to rapture unoonfined. 
And breathe a holy madness o'er thy mind. 
I see thee roam her guardian power beneath. 
And talk with spirits on the midnight heath; 
Inquire of guilty wanderers whence they came» 
And ask each blood-stained form his earthly name^ 
Then weaye in rapid verse the deeds they teU, 
And read the trembling world the tales of helL 

"When Venus, throned in clouds of rosy hua^ 
Flings from her golden urn the resper dew. 
And bids fond man her glimmering noon employ. 
Sacred to love, and walks of tender joy; 
A milder mood the goddess shall recall. 
And soft as dew thy tones of music fidl ; 
While Beauty's deeply-pictured smiles impart 
A pang more dear than pleasure to the heart— 
Warm as thy sighs shall flow the Lesbian strain,. 
And plead in Beauty's ear, nor plead in yaln. 

** Or wUt thou Orphean hymns more sacred deenif 
And steep thy song in Mercy's mellow stream; 
To pensiye drops the radiant eye beguile — 
For Beauty's tears are loreUer than her smile;—- 
On Nature's throbbing anguish pour relief^ 
And teach impassioned souls the joy of grief? 

** Yea ; to thy tongue shall seraph words be giyen. 
And power on earth to plead the cause of HeaiFsn; 
The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, . 
That nerer mused on sorrow but its own, 



Campbell's poehs. 41 

Unlocks a generous store at thy command, 
like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophets hand. 
The living lumber of his kindred earth, 
Charmed into soul, receives a second birth, 
Feels thy dread power another heart afford. 
Whose passion-touched harmonious strings accord 
.True as the circling spheres to Nature's plan ; 
And man, the brother, lives the &iend of man. 



<« Bright as the piUar rose at Heaven's command, 
When Israel marched along the desert land. 
Blazed through the night on lonely wilds afar. 
And told the path, — a never-setting star : 
So, heavenly Genius, in thy course divine, 
^ Hope is thy star, her light is ever thine. ^ 

Propitious power ! when rankling cares annoy 
The sacred home of Hymenean joy ; 
When doomed to Poverty's sequestered dell, 
The wedded pair of love and virtue dwell. 
XJnpitied by the world, unknown to fame, 
Their woes, their wishes, and their hearts the i 
Oh, there, prophetic Hope ! thy smile bestow. 
And chase the pangs that worth should never know; 
There, as the parent deals his scanty store 
To Mendless babes, and weeps to give no more. 
Tell, that his manly race shall yet assuage 
Their father's wrongs, and shield his latter age. 
What though for him no Hybla sweets distil. 
Nor bloomy vines wave purple on the hill; 
Tell, that when silent years have passed away. 
That when his eye grows dim, his tresses gray. 
These busy hands a lovelier cot shall buUd, 
And deck with fairer flowers his little field. 
And call from Heaven propitious dews to breath* 
Arcadian beauty on the barren heath; 
4» 



n CAMPBEItL'S POEMS* 

TeU« that while Lore's spontaneous smile 
The days of peace, the Sabbath of his yean^ 
Health shall prolong to many a festive hour 
The social pleasures of his humble bower. 

Lo ! at the couch where infemt beauty sleqps, 
Her silent watch the mournful m0t}ier keeps f 
She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies» 
Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyeSy 
And -igeaves a song of melancholy joy — 
"Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy; 
No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine; 
No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine ; 
Bright as his^nanly sire the son shall be 
In form and soul ; but, ah ! more blest than be I 
Thy £une, thy worth, thy filial love at last, 
Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past — 
With many a smile my solitude repay, 
And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away. 

** And say, wKen summoned from the world and thM^ 

I lay my head beneath the willow tree, 

"Wilt ihoUf sweet mourner ! at my stone appeal^ 

And soothe my parted spirit lingering near i 

Oh, wilt thou come at eyening hour to shed 

The tears of memory o'er my narrow bed; 

With aching temples on thy hand reclined. 

Muse on the last fiEureweU I leave behind. 

Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur loWf 

And think on aU my love, and all my wo ? " 

So speaks affection, ere the infant eye 
Can look regard, or brighten in reply; 
But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim 
A mother^s ear by that endearing name ; 
Soon as the playful innocent can prove 
A tear of pity, or a snule of love. 



campbxll's pobms. It 

Ox^eam hii mnzmTiriiig'taBik beneath ber Mi% 
Or lispf wUStk holy look his ereniiig pnyar* 
Or gaadngr mutely penrire, Hte to hear 
The momnM ballad warUed in hia ear ; 
How fiondly loolcs aibnfnng Hops the irbSl^ 
At erery.aitiflaa tear» and erery amile ! 
How glows the joyous parent to descry 
▲ girilfluM boaom, true to sympathy ! 

"Where is the troubled heart consigned to ahai* 
Tmnultoous toils, or solitary care, 
XJnblest by yisionary thoughts that stray 
To count the joys of Fortune's better day ? 
Lo, nature, hfe, and liberty relume 
The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon gloom, 
A long-lost friend, or hapless child restored. 
Smiles at his blazing hearth and social board; 
Warm from his heart the tears of rapture flow. 
And virtue triumphs o'er remembered wo. 

Chide not his peace, proud Beason ! nor destroy 
The diadowy forms of uncreated joy. 
That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour 
Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour. 
Hark ! the wild maniac aings, to chide the gait 
Tkti wafibs so slow her lorer^s distant sail; 
She, sad spectatress, on the wintry shore, 
Watuhed the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore^ 
Knew the pale form, and, shrieking in amase^ 
Clasped her cold hands, and fixed her mtfldening gaae : 
Poor widowed wretch ! 'twas there she w^t in faiiii 
Till Memory fled her agonising bndn; — 
But mercy gare, to charm the sense of wo, 
Ideal peace, tiiat truth could ne'er bestow ; 
Waaa on her heart the joys of iFancy beam. 
And aimlfiM Hopb delights her dai^est dream. 



*^ss ag- -Brt^'Ai f. 



'8 POEMS. 

Oft wlieii yon moon has cUmbed the midni^t sky» 

And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry, 

Piled on the steep, her blazizig ftigots bum 

To hail the bark that never can return ; 

^d stall she waits, but scaxoe forbears to weep 

That constant love can linger on the deep. 

And, nuirk the wretch, whose wanderings never knew 
The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue ; 
Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore, 
But found not pity when it eired no more. 
Yon ftiendless man, at whose dejected eye 
Th' unfeeling proud one looks — and passes by. 
Condemned on Penury's barren path to roam. 
Scorned by the world, and left without a home — 
Even he, at evening, should he chance to stray 
Down by the hamlet* s hawthorn-scented way, 
Where, round the cot's romantic glade, are seen 
The blossomed bean-field, and the sloping green, 
Leaqg o'er its humble gate, and thinks the while — 
Oh! that for me some home like this. would smile, 
Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form 
Health in the breeze, and shelter in the storm ! 
There should my hand no stinted boon assign 
To wretched hearts with sorrow such as mine ! 
That generous wish can soothe unpitied care. 
And HopB half mingles with the poor man's prayec^ 

HoPB ! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind. 
The wrongs of fate, the woes of human Idndi 
Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see 
The boundless fields of rapture yet to be; 
I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan, 
And learn the future by the past of man. 

Come, bright Improvement ! on the car of Tim«^ 
And role the spadous world firom clime to dime; 



CAMFBELL'S YOBMS. «B 

Thy hHndmaid arts thall ererf ivild osplioWt 
Trace eyery ymve, and culture every ahore. 
On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along^ 
And the dread Indian chants a dismal song, 
Wheve human fiends on midnight errands walk, 
And bathe in brains the murderous tomahai^. 
There shall the flocks on th;iny pastoze stray, 
And shepherds dance at Summer's opening day: 
Each wandering genius of the lonely glen 
Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men» 
And silent watch, on woodland heights around. 
The Tillage curfew as it toUs profound. 

In Libyan grores, where damned rites are done, 
That bathe the rocks in blood, and Tell the sun. 
Truth shall arrest the murderous aim prafime, 
Wild Obi flies — the veil is rent in twain. 

Where barbarous hordes on Scythian mountains zoacai« 
Truth, Mercy, Freedom, yet shall find a home; 
Where'er degraded Nature bleeds and pines, 
From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines, 
Truth shall pervade th' un£athomed darkness Ibeva, 
And lig^t the dreadful features of despair — 
Hark ! the stem captive spurns his heavy load. 
And asks the image back that Heaven bestowed ! 
Fierce in his eye the fire of ralor bums. 
And, as the slave departs, the man returns. 

Oh! sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while, 
And HoPB, thy sister, ceased with thee to snule, 
When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wan 
Her whiskered pandoops and her fierce hussars. 
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of mom, 
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn | 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her ran. 
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 



46 Campbell's poems 

Warsaw's last champion from hier height surreyiedy 
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid ; 
Oh, Heayen ! he cried, my bleeding oonntry sare ! 
Is there no hand on high to shield the braye? 
Yet, though destruction sweep those loyely plains, 
Bise, &Uow men ! our country yet remains ! 
By tliat dread nam& we wave the sword on high ! 
And swear for her to liye — with her to die ! 

He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed 
His trusty warriors few, but undismayed; 
Firm -pace d and slow, a horrid front they ibrm« 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; 
Low murmuring sounds along ^eir banners fly, 
Beyenge, or death, — the watchword and reply ; 
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm. 
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm ! 

In yain, alas ! in yain, ye gallant few ! 
From rank to rank your yoUeyed thunder flew ; 
Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
Sarmatia fell, imwept, without a crime ; 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her wo ! 
Dropped from her nenreless grasp ^e shattered epeai^ 
Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career; 
- HoPB, for a season, bade the world farewell. 
And Freedom shrieked — as Koskixtsco fell ! 

The sun went dovm, nor ceased the carnage tfaere^ 
Tumultuous Murder shook the midnight air — 
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin g^w, 
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below; 
The storm prevails, the rampart yields away, 
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay! 
Hark ! as the smouldering piles with thunder faUt 
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! 



campbe&l'b pobms. 4 

Barth ahook — red metean flashed along the akj* 
And oonacioiiB Nature ahvddered at the cry ! 

Oh ! righteous Heayen ; ere Freedom found a graTt^ 
Why dept the sword, omnipotent to saye? 
Where was thine arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod* 
That smote the foes of Zion and of God ; 
That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron car 
Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar? 
Where was the storm that slumbered till the host 
Of blood-stained Pharaoh left their trembling coast; 
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow. 
And heaved an ocean on their march below? 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 

Te that at Marathon and L eucto bled ! 

Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man. 

Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the yan ! 

Tet fyt Sarmati&'s tears of blood atone. 

And make her arm puissant as your own ! 

Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return 

The patriot Tell — the Bruce of Bannockbuuv ! 

Yes ! thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see 
That man hath yet a soul — and dare be free ! 
A little while, along thy saddening plains. 
The starless night of Desolation reigns ; 
Truth shall restore the light by Nature given. 
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven; 
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled. 
Her name, her nature, withered from the world ! 

Te that the rising mom invidious mark. 

And hate the light — because your deeds are dark ; 

Ye that expanding truth invidious view, 

And think, or wish, the song of Hope untrue; 



fi CAMPBXLJ^'S POSM8. 

Perhaps your little hands ^pcefmne to apaa 
The maxeh of Oenius and the poweia of nun ; 
Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhalloiTed shrinet 
Her Tictims, newly slain, and thus diyine: — 
**Here shall thy triumph, Genius, cease, and here 
Troth, Science, Virtue, dose your short career." 

Tyrants ! in yain ye trace the wizsxd ring ; 

In yahx ye limit Mind's unwearied spring : 

What ! can ye lull the winged winds asleep, 

Anest the rolling world, or chain the deep ? 

No! — the wild wave contemns your sceptred hand- 

It rolled not back whSa~ Canute gave command! 

Man ! can thy doom no brighter soul allow } 
Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow? 
ShaU War's polluted banner ne'er be furled? 
Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world? 
What ! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied ? 
Why then hath Plato lived, or Sidney died ? 

Ye fond adorers of departed fame, 

Who warm at Sdpio's worth, or TuUy's name ! 

Ye that, in feoicied vuEtion, can admire 

The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre ! 

Rapt in historic ardor, who adore 

Each classic haunt, and well-remembered shore. 

Where Valor tuned, amidst her chosen throng. 

The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song; 

Or, wandering thence, behold the later charms 

Of England's glory, and HelTetia's arms ! 

See Boman fire in Hampden's bosom swell. 

And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell ! 

Say, ye fond zealots ta the worth of yore. 

Hath Valor left the wodd — to liye no more ? 

No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die. 

And sternly smile with Tengeanoe in his eye ? 



Campbell's pobms. 4B ^ 

Hampden no mort, idien waSmn^Tn^dam «•&% 
bcoontes Fafte» and triumph aa he lUla ? 
Kor Tell disclose, through pcxil sad alum* 
The might that dumben in a peasaatfs ans^ 

Tes! in that generous cause, forever strong, 
The patriot's Tirtue and the poet's song, 
StiB, as the tide of ages rolls away, 
Shall chazm the world, unconscious of deea j ! 

Tes I there are hearts^ prophetic Hopb may trust* 
That slumber yet in uncreated dust, 
Ordained to fire th' adoring sons of earth* 
WUh every charm of -wisdom and of worth ; 
Ordained to lights with intellectual day. 
The mazy wheels of nature aa they play, 
OZf warm with Fancy's energy^ to glow, 
4nd rival all but Shakspeare'a name below. 



And say, siqiemal Powsss ! who deeply scan 
fleaven's dark decrees^ un&thomed yet by man. 
When shall the world call down, to cleanse her 
That embryo spirit, yet without a name,— 
That friend ci Natuie^ whose avenging hands 
Shall burst the Libyan's adsmantine bands ^ 
'Who, sternly marking on his native soil 
The blood, the tears, the anguish, and the toil. 
Shall bid each righteous heart exult, to see 
Peace to the slave, and vengeance on the fipeel 

Tet, yet, degraded men ! th' expected day 
That breaks your bitter cup, is iax away; 
T^rade^ wealth, and fsshion, ask you sfjU to bleed* 
And holy men give Scripture for the deed ; 
Soourged and debased, no Briton stoops to save*-^ 
A wretch, a coward^ yes, because a davel 
5 



4fiO 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



Eternal Nature ! when thy giant hand 

Had heaved the floods, and fixed the trembling land; 

When life sprang startling at thy plastic call, 

Findlfiss her forma, and man the lord of all ! 

Say, was that lordly form mspired by thee, 

To wear eternal chains and bow the knee? 

Was man ordained the slave of man to toil. 

Yoked with the brutes, and fettered to the soil ; 

Weighed in a tyrant's balance with his gold ^ 

No ! — Nqtiire stamped ns in a heavenly mould ! 

She bade no wretch his thankless labor urge, 

Nor, trembling, take the pittance and the scourge; 

No homeless Libyan, on the stormy deep, 

To call upon his country's name, and weep ! 

Lo! once in triumph, on his boundless plain. 
The quivered chief of Congo loved to reign ; 
With fires proportioned to his native sky, 
Strength In his arm, and lightning in'his eye; 
Scoured with wild feet his sun-iUumined xone. 
The spear, the lion, and the woods, his own! 
Or led the combat, bold without a plan. 
An artless savage, but a fearless man ! 

The plimderer came ! — alas ! no glory smiles 
For Congo's chie^ on yonder Indian isles; 
Forever fall'n ! — no son of Nature now, 
With Freedom chartered on his manly brow ! 
Faint, bleeding, bound, he weeps the night away» 
And when the sea^wind wafts the dewless day. 
Starts, with a bursting heart, for evermore 
To curse the sun that lights their guUty shore ! 



The shrill horn blew ; at that alarum knell 
His guardian angel took a last farewell ! 
That funeral dirge to darkness hath resigned 
Hie Heacy grandeur of a generous mi^d ! 



ci.icfbj:x.i«'8 fobms* ffl 

Poor fettered man! I hear thee 'wiaspmSag low 
TJnhaUowed towb to Guilt, the obild of Wo ! 
Friendless thy lieart; and eanst thou haihor these 
A "wiah but death — a passion but despair ? 

The widowed Indian, when her lord ezpireSy 
Mounts the dread pile, and braves the- ftmeral fires I 
So &l]s the lieart at Thraldom's bittev sighl 
So Virtue dies, the spoTUse of Liberty ! 

But not to libya's barren cHmes alone^ 
To Chili, or the wild Slbman zone, 
Behmg the wretdied heart and haggard eye^ 
Degraded worth, and poor misfortane's sigih I 
Te orient realms, where Ganges' wateis run ! 
Prolific fields ! dominions of the sun ! 
How long your tribes hare trembled and obeyed? 
How loDg was Timour^s iron sceptre swayed, 
Wbose marshalled hosts, the Uons of the pkin. 
Prom ScyfMa's northern mountains to the main, 
Baged o'er your plundered shrines and altars bare^ 
Widi biasing toroth and. gory dmeter, — 
Stnnned with the cries o£ death each gentle gale^ 
And bathed in blood the Terdure of Ihe vale ! 
Yet could no pangs the immortal spirit tame, 
WLen Brama's children perished for his name. 
The martyr smiled beneath avenging power. 
And brayed the tyrant in his tortoring hour! 

When Burope sought your subject reahns to gain. 
And stretched her giant sceptre o'er the maia, 
Tauglht her proud berks the winding way to shi^, 
And brayed the stormy Spirit of the Cape ; 
Children of Brama ! then was Mercy nigh 
To wash the stain of blood's eternal dye ? 
Did ]^!6gce descend, to triiunph and to saye. 
When freebom Britons crossed the Indian wave? 



«l CAICFBlEIit'S FOSMS^. 

Ah, no I «-- to mow tim BoButa aabilioft tni% 
Die Kmse of Freedom gwre it not to 70a ! 
She tbe bold nrate of Ennipo'f gnilt began. 
And, in the morah of natioiie» led the Ten I 



Bieh in the genu of Bidie'ft ganidy soae^ 
And plunder piled £rom kingdome not their own. 
Degenerate trade I thy mininmi oonld deepiae 
Ihe heart-bom angindi of a thoneand criea ; 
Could lock, wiSi impious handi, their teeming storey 
While famished natiOBa died akmg the shore : 
Could mock the groaaa of lidlow-men, and bear/ 
The cnrae of kingdiwaa peopled irith despair ; ' 
Could stamp disgrace on man's poUuted name^ 
And barter, ivith their gold, etensl ahaniiel 



But hark I as bowed to earth the Bramin k»eel% 
"Ftam, hearenly climes paopitioiis thunder peals 1 
Of India's fiite her gnardian Sfnzits teU, 
Prophetie mvnnvrs breathing on the shell. 
And selemn aonnds that aire tiie Ustening uiaid« 
Boll on the asure paths of erery whid* 

** Foes of mankind ! (her guardian SfkuitB My,) 

BevolTing ages bring the bitter day, 

"When heaven's unerring arm shall fidl on you. 

And blood for blood these Indian idains bedew 9 

Kine times hare Brama's wheels of Kgiitnfag hurled 

His awful presence o'er the alarmed world ; 

Nine times hath Gkult, through tOX his giant ficame^ 

ConyuLnye trembled, as the Mighty ci^ne ; 

Nine times hath sufiiering Mercy spared in yain^- 

But Heayen ahall burst her stany gates. i^gasn.! 

He comes ! dread Brama shakes the sunless Cky 

"With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high, 

Heayen's fiery hone, beneath his warrior form. 

Paws the light doudi, and gallops <m the stom ! 



CAMPJIKLL'S F0EM8. 



Wide wareBT biB flickering sword; his blight aims g^ow 
Like sixnmier sons, and light the world bekyw ! 
Berth, and her trembling ialea in Ocean's bed. 
Are shook ; and Nature rocks beneath his tread I 

*<To ponr redress on India's injured realm. 
The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whehn ; 
To chase destniction from her plundered shore 
Wltii arts and arms that triumphed once. before^ 
Tlie tenth Ayatar comes ! at Heaven's command 
Shall Se riswatte e ware her hallowed wand! 
And Camdeo bright, and Ganeaa sublime, 
Shall bless with joy their own propitious dime I — 
Come^ Heavenly Powers ! primeval peace restore ! 
Love ! — Mercy — Wisdom ! — rule for evermore I *• - / 
6* 



v 



THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

PAST U. 



Ih Jofinis youth, what Bonl hath never known 
Thought, feeling, taste, hannoneoiui to ita ownF 
"Who hath not paused while Beauty's pensiire eye 
Asked from his heart the homage of a sighF 
"Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frames 
The power of grace, the ma^ of a namel — 

Then he, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, 
Cold as the rocks on Tomeo's hoary borow; 
There be, whose loveless wisdom never fluQed, 
In self-adofing pride securely mailed :^ 
Bat, tnnmph not, ye peace-enamored Ibw ! 
PIre, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you I 
For you no fancy consecrates the scene 
'Where rapture uttered vows, and wept between ; 
Tis yours, unmoved, to sever and to meet; 
N<^*f|Bdge is sacred, and no home is sweet ! 

Who Ihet woti^ ask a heart to dulness wed. 
The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead? 
No; the wild bliss of Nature needs alloy, 
And fear and sorrow fim the fire of Joy ! 

^And say, without our hopes, without our fbars, 

JWiOunA the home that plighted love 



96 Campbell's poxmv. 

^^Vithout the unile from partial beauty won, 
.Ok I what were man^ — a world without a suiu 

Till Hymen brought his loye-delighted hour, 

niere dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bother ! 

In yain the viewless seraph lingering there^ 

At starry midnight charmed the silant axr; 

In yain the wild-bird carolled on the steep. 

To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep ; 

In yain, to soothe the solitary shade. 

Aerial notes 'in mingling measure played ; 

The summer wind that shnok-the spangled tree, 

Hie whispering waye, the muimur of the bee;~* 

Still slowly passed the melancholy day, 

And still the stranger wist not where to stray. 

The world was sad 1 — the garden was a wild ! 

And man, the hermit, sighed — till woman smiled 1 

True, the sad power to generous hearts may bring 
Delirious anguish on his fiery wing ; 
Barred from delight by Fate's untimely hand. 
By wealthless lot, or pitiless command ; 
Or doomed to gaze on beauties that adorn 
The smile of triumph or the frown of scorn; 
While Memory watches o'er the sad reyiew 
Of joys that feided like the morning dew ; 
Peace may depart — and life and nature seem 
A barren path, a wildness, and a dream ! 

But can the noble mind forever brood. 

The willing victim of a weary mood. 

On heartleBs cares that sq^iander life away. 

And doud young Genius brightening into day ? -• 

Shame to the coward thought that e'er betrayed 

The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade I — 

If Hopb's creative spirit can not raise 

One trophy sacred to thy future days^ 



Campbell's poems. 59 

Scorn the doll crowd that haunt the {^oomy ahiiiM, 

Of hopeless lore to muxmnr and repine! 

Butt should a cigh of milder mood express 

Thy lieart-warm wiahes, true to happiness^ 

Should HeaTen's fiur harbinger delight to pour 

Her bhssfdl yisions on thy pensiTe hour, 

N'o tear to blot thy memory's piotored page. 

No fears but such as fency ca& assuage ; 

Thou^ thy wild heart some hapless hour may mias 

The peaceful tenor of unyaried bliss, 

(For loTC pursues an e^er-derious race. 

True to the winding lineaments of grace ; ) 
^Tet still may Hopb her talisman employ 

To snatch £rom Heaven anticipated joy, 
. And all her kindred energies impart 

That bum the brightest in the purest heart. 

"When first the Khodian's mimic art arrayed 

The queen of Beauty in her Cyprian shade, 

The happy master mingled on his piece 

Each look that charmed him in the feir of Q reece> 

To fiuAtless Nature true, he stole a grace 

From every finer form and sweeter face ; 

And as he sojourned on the .£gean isles. 

Wooed all their love, and treasured all ^eir smiles ; 

Then glowed the tints, pure, precious, and refined. 

And mortal charms seemed heavenly when combined! 

Love on the picture smiled ! Expression poured 

Her mingling spirit there — and Greece adored ! 

So thy fair hand, enamored Fancy ! gleans 
The treasured pictures of a thousand scenes ; 
Thy pencil traces on the lover's thought 
Some cottage-home, from towns and toil remote, 
"Where love and lore may claim altemstA hours, 
With Peace embosomed in Idalian bowers ! 



m G.A,MPBSI»L't POXMft. 

Hmnohi teom bofy lift's bewildexed wmy, 
O'er all his heart ahaU Taate and Beaaty awmy! 
Txf on tha wanj slops or winding aboas^ 
Vnth hcnnit slaps to waadsr snd adore t 
There ahaU he lore, -when genial mom appean^ 
Like penaiye Beauty amiling in her tears, 
To watch the bri^tening rosea of the sky. 
And muse on Xatnre witii a poef s eye I — 
"And when the son's last splendor lights the daep^ 
The woodi and wsTe% and mnrmnzing winds 
"When fidry hsrps the Hesperian planet hail* 
And the lone cnekoo sig^ along the Tale^ 
Ka path shall be idiere streeiny monntains swell 
Their ahadowy grandenr o'er the narrow deO, 
Where mooldering jnles and forests intervene, 
Mingling with darker tints the living green; 
No circling hills his ravished eye to bound. 
Heaven, Earth, and Ocean, blazing all around. 

The moon is up— the watch-tower dimly bums— 

And down the vsle his sober step returns; 

But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey 

The still sweet fall of muaio £m: away; 

And oft he lingers from his home awhile 

To waibeh the dying notes ! —and start, and smile ! 

Let winter come ! let pilar spirits sweep 
The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep I 
-Though boundless snows the withered heath defoimt 
-And the dim sun scarce wanders through Hie stomif 
Yet shall the smile of social love repay, 
' "With mental light, the melancholy day ! 
And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er. 
The ioe-ehained waten slumbering on the shoreb 
How bright the fiigots in his little hall 
Blase on the hearth, and warm the piotnved walll 



CAlfFBXl.]»'ft FaSMt-. n 

How Uest he Banfis, in Love'i ftrnfluff lonm 
The kiBd, £idr fiiend« by Bslwa maodbBd liii om ; 
And, in Khe -vairdteaB minor d Ins mind, 
Viewi the fleeft yeeze of pleestue left behindy 
Since when her em|Mre o'eae hi» heart begen ! 
Sinoe first he odled her Mi bef<»e the hoAy nun ! 

IMm the gs j tapa in his rastie dome, 
And fight the wintry paradise of home; 
And let the half-ancnrtaiaed window hail 
Some way-worn man benighted in the Tale! 
Now, while the moaning night-wind rages high. 
As sweep the shot-stars down the troubled sky. 
While fiery hosts in Heayen's wide circle play, 
And bathe in lurid light the milky-way, 
Sale &om the stonn, the meteor, and the shower. 
Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn honr— 
With pathos shall command, with wit begnilc, 
A generous tear of anguish, or a smile — 
Thy woes. Anon ! and thy simple tale, 
' O'er all the heart shall triumph and prevail ! 
Charmed as they read the verse too sadly true. 
How gaUant Albert, and his weary crew, 
Heaved aU their guns, their foimdering bark to save," 
And toiled — and shrieked — and perished on the wave! 

Tes, at the dead of night, by Lonna's steep. 
The seaman's cry was heard along the deep; 
There on his faneral waters, dark and wild. 
The dying &ther blessed his darling child ! 
Oh! Mercy, shield her innocence, he cried. 
Spent on the prayer his bursting heart, and died ! 

Or they wiU leam how generous worth sublimes 
The robber Moor, and pleads for all his crimes I 
How poor Amdia kissed, with many a tear, • 
His hand, blood-stained, but ever, ever dear ! 



#f .CAMPBXLL's P0XM8 

Hung on the tortured bosom of her lord. 
And wept and prayed perdition from his eword 1 
Nor eought in rein I at that heart-piercing cry 
The strings of Nature cracked with agony I 
He, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurled, 
And burst the ties that bound him to the world I 

Turn from his dying words, that smite with steel 

The shuddering thoughts, or wind them on the idieel- 

Turn to the gentler melodies that suit 

Thalia's harp, or Pan's Arcadian lute; 

Or, down the stream of Truth's historic page, 

Fhnn dime to dime descend, from age to age ! 

Yet there, perhaps, may darker scenes obtrude 
Than Fancy fashions in her wildest mood ; 
There shall he pause with horrent brow, to rate 
What millions died — that Caesar might be great ! 
Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore. 
Marched by their Charles to Dnieper's swampy shore I 
Faint in his wounds and shiyering in the blast, 
The Swedish soldier sunk — and groaned his last ! 
File after file the stormy showers benumb, 
Freeze erery standard-sheet, and hush the drum 2 
Horseman and horse confessed the bitter pang. 
And arms and warriors fell with hollow clang ! 
Yet, ere he sunk in Nature's last repose. 
Ere life's warm torrent to the fountain froze, 
The dying man to Sweden turned his eye. 
Thought of his home, and dosed it with a sighl 
Imperial Pride looked sullen on his plight. 
And Charles behdd — nor shuddered at the sight ! 

Above, below, in Ocean, Earth, and Sky, 

Thy frdry worlds, TTnagiuation, lie, 
^ And Ho^B attends, companion of the way, 
^Thy dream by night, thy visions of the day ! 



CAMPBELL'S POBllt. 

In yonder pensile orb, and eyery sphiere 

That gems the starry girdle of the year; 

In those unmeasured words, she bids thee tell. 

Pure from their Qod, created millions dwell, 

"Wbose names and natures, xmrevealed below. 

We yet shall learn, and wonder as we know ; 

For, as Zona's saint, a giant form, 

Throned on her towers, conyersing with the stona. 

(When o'er each Runic alter, weed-entwined, 

The yesper clock tolls mournful to the wind,) 

Counts eyery waye-wom isle, and mountain hoar. 

From KiLda to the green leme's shore; 

So, when thy pure and renoyated nynd 

This perishable dust hath left behij|j^ 

Thy seraph eye shall count the starry train, 

like distant isles embosomed ia the main; 

Bapt to the shrine where motion first began. 

And light and life in TningliTTg torrent ran; 

From whence each bright rotundity was hurled. 

The throne of God, — the centre of the world I 



Oh ! yainly wise, the moral Muse hath sung 
That suasiye Hope hath but a Syren tongue I 
True; she may sport with life's imtutored day, 
Nor heed the solace of its last decay, 
The guileless heart her happy mansion spurn. 
And part, like Ajut — never to return ! 

But, yet, methiuks, when Wisdom shall assuage 

The grief and passions of our greener age, 

Though dull the dose of life, and far away 

Each flower that hailed the dawning of the day: 

Yet o'er her loyely hopes, that once were dear. 

The time-taught spirit, pensiye, not severe, 

With milder griefs her aged eye shall fiU, 

And weep their falsehood, though she loyes them ftlUI 



01 CAMPBEX.L'9 fo^ms. 

Tlias, with forgiTin^ tears, and reco&cUed, 
The king of Judah xaauined his rebel child I 
Musing on days, when yet the guiltless boy 
Smiled on his aiie, aad filled his heart with joy ! 
My Absalom ! the Toioe of Nature cried. 
Oh ! that for jbhee thy father could have died ! 
For bloody was the deed, and rashly done. 
That slew my Absalom ! — my son ! — my son ! 

Unfading Hope 1 when life's last embers bum, 
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return! 
Heayen to thy charge resigns the awful hour! 
Oh ! then, thy kingdom comes ! Immortal Power ! 
What though each 4>ark of earth-bom rapture fly 
The quiyering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! 
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands conyey 
The morning dream of life's eternal day — 
Then, tiien, the triumph, and the trance begin. 
And all the phceniz spirit bums within! 

Oh ! deep-enchanting prelude to repose. 
The dawn of bliss, ^e twilight of our woes! 
Yet half I hear the panting spidt sigh, 
It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 
Mysterious worlds, untrayelled by the sun ! 
Where Tfane's far wandering tide has neyer ran. 
From your unfatiiomed shades, and yiewless s^nsroBf 
A warning comes, xmheard by other ears. 
'Tis Heay^s commanding trumpet, long and loud. 
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the doud! 
While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust, 
The shock that hurls her &bric to the dust : 
And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod 
The roaring wayes, and called upon his God, 
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, 
Aad shrieks, and hoyers o'er the dark abyss ! 



CA.MPBSX.L 8 rOSMS. 

Delimiter Off Faith, awake, azise, illiime 
The diead unknown, the chaos of the tomb; 
Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doobta, that zoll 
CSmmerian darfcTims o'er the paztiiig soul ! 
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, 
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day! 
The strife is o'er — the pangs of Nature dose^ 
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her iroea. 
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze. 
The noon of Heaven imdazzled by the blaze. 
On heavraily winds that waft her to the sky. 
Float the sweet tones of star-bom melody; 
Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail 
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely yale, 
When Jordan huidied his waves, and midnight slOl 
Watched on the holy toweis of Zion hiU ! 



Sonl of the just ! companion of the dead ! 
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled? 
Back to its heayenly source thy being goes. 
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ; 
Boomed on his airy path awhile to bum, 
And doomed, like thee, to traTel, and return.— 
Hark! from the world's exploding centre driyen. 
With sounds that shook the firmament of Heaven, 
Careers the fiery giant, fast and far. 
On bickering wheels, and adamantine car; 
From planet whirled to planet more remote. 
He visits reahns beyond the reach of thought ; 
But, wheeling homeward, when his course is nmt 
Curbs the red yoke, and nungles with the sun ! 
So hath the traveller of earth imforled 
Her trembling wings, emerging fi^om the world; 
And o'er the path by mortal never trod. 
Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God ! 



OIL ! lives tbere» Hearea ! benenib thy dtead ezpMN^ 

One hopelen, duk iddlater of Chance 

Gonteiit to feed, mth plearares imrefined* 

The lukewazm paaBknui of a lowly mind ; 

Who, mouldeting earthward, 'reft of erery trusty 

In joyless union wedded to the dust, 

Could all hk parting energy dismiss, 

And call this barren world sufficient bUss?-- 

lliere lire, alas 1 of hearen-directed mien. 

Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene, 

"Who hail thee, Man I the pUgrim of a day. 

Spouse of the wonn, and brother of the clay, 

Fnul as the leaf in Automn's yeUow bower, 

Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower ; 

A friendless sLare, a child without a sire, 

Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, 

light to the grave his chance-created form. 

As ocean-wrecks Uluminate tiie storm; 

And, when the gon's tremendous flash is o'er. 

To night and silence sink £» evermore I — 

Are these the pompous tidings ye prodaim. 
Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame? 
Is this your triumph — this your proud applause^ 
Children of Truth, and champions of her cause } 
For this ha& Science searched, on weary wing, 
1 By shore and sea — each mute and living thing! ^ 
■ Launched with Ibezia's pilot from the steep. 
To worlds unknown and isles beyond the deep ? 
Or round the cope her living chariot driven. 
And wheeled in triumph through the signs of HmtIB* 
Oh I star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there. 
To waft us home the message of de^air } 
Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit. 
Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit ! 
Ah me 1 the Isorelled wreatii that Murder rean, 
Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's teen, 



SBVB0S3dl 



CAllPKELIt'S POEIIg. A 

Seems not so feul, so tainted, snd so dreid, 
As waires ttie ni^t-shsde round the skeptic heed. 
"VHiat is the bigofs tordi, the tyrsnfs chains 
I smile on death, if Hesven-waid Hbra remsin : 
But, if the waning winds of Nature's stxift 
Be all the fidthleM charter d my life. 
If Chance awakened, inexorable power, 
Tlus inal and feverish bexng of an hour; 
Boomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep. 
Swift as the tempest trayels on the d«ep, 
To know Delight but by her parting smUe, 
And toil, and wish, and weep a little while; 
Tlien melt, ye elements, that formed in vain 
ThiB troubled pulse, and yisionary brain ! 
Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom. 
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! 
'Fruth, erer lovely, — since the world began. 
The foe of tyrants, and the Mend of man, — 
How can thy words from balmy slumber start 
Reposing Virtue, pillowed on the heart ! 
Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled. 
And that were true which Nature never told. 
Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered field ; 
No, rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed ! 
Oh I let her read, nor loudly, nor elate. 
The doom that bars us from a better &te ; 
But, sad as angels for the good man's sin. 
Weep to record, and blush to give it in! 

And well may Doubt, the mother of Dismay, 

Pause at her martyr's tomb, and read the lay. 

Down by the wildis of yon deserted vale. 

It darkly hints a melancholy tale ! 

niere, as the homeless madman sits alone, 

In hoUow wiods he hears a spirit moan ! 

And there, they say, a wisard ogie crowds, 

When the Moon lights her watch-tower in the ekfads. 



Q8 Campbell's poems. 

Poor lost Alonzo ! Fate's neglected child ! 

Mild be the doom of Heaven — as thou wert mild ! 

For oh ! thy heart in holy mould was cast, 

And all thy deeds were blameless, but the last. 

Poor lost Alonzo ! still I seem to hear 

The clod that struck thy hollow-sounding bier ! 

When Friendship paid, in speechless sorrow drowned^ 

Thy midnight rites, but not ou hallowed ground! 



Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind. 
But leave — oh ! leave the light of Hope behind ! 
What though my winged hours of bliss have been, 
Like aa^el -visltej, few and &r^etweeg^^„^H,«^ 
-Her musing mood shjiS every pang appease, 
"And charm — when pleasures lose the power to please! 
Yes ; let each rapture, dear to Nature, flee : 
Close not the light of Fortune's stormy sea — 
Mirth, Music, Friendship, Love's propitious smile, 
Chase every care, and charm a little while. 
Ecstatic throbs the fluttering heart employ. 
And all her strings are harmonized to joy ! — 
But why so short is Love's delighted hour? 
Why fades the dew on Beauty's sweetest flower? 
Why can no hymned charm of music heal 
The sleepless woes impassioned spirits feel? 
Can Fancy's fairy hands no veil create. 
To hide the sad realities of fate ? — 

No! not the quaint remark, the sapient rule. 
Nor all the pride^ of Wisdom's woddly school* 
Have power to soothe, unaided and alone. 
The heart that vibrates to a feeling tone ! 
When stepdame Nature every bliss recalls. 
Fleet as the metepr o'er the desert falls; 
When, 'reft of all, yon widowed sire appears 
A lonely hermit. in the vale of years; 



Campbell's poemi. 

Say, can the worldL one joyona thoaglit b erta w 
To Fiiendahip iveeping at Ifae oonok «£ Wo } 
No ! but a farighter soothea the laat ttdieo* — • 
Sonla of impasaioned mould, she apeaka to yoa 1 
Weep not, ahe saya, at Katoie'a tranaiflat paitf. 
Congenial spiriti part to meet again ! 

What plaintive soba thy filial apirit drew, 
What sorrow choked thy long and laat adieu ! 
Daughter of Conrad? when he heard hia knell,' 
And bade his country and hia child £BreweIl ! 
Doomed the long isles of Sydney-coye to aee^ 
The martyr of his crimes, but true to thee? 
Thrice the sad &ther tore thee from his heart. 
And thrice returned, to bless thee, and to part; 
Thrice from his trembling lips he murmured low 
The plaint that owned unutterable wo ; 
Till Faith, prevailing o'er his sullen doom, 
Aa bursts the mom on night's unfathomed gloomt 
Lured his dim eye to deathless hopes sublime^ 
Beyond the realms of Nature and of lime ! 

" And weep not thus," he cried, ** young EUenore^ 
My bosom bleeds, but soon ahall bleed no more ! 
Short shall this half-extinguished spirit bum. 
And soon these limbs to kindred dust return ! 
But not, my child, with life's precmous fire. 
The immortal ties of Nature shall expire ; 
These shall resist the triumph of decay, 
When time is o'er, and worlds' have passed away ! 
Cold in the dust this perished heart may lie. 
But that which warmed it once shall never die I 
That spark unburied in its mortal frame, 
"V^th living light, eternal, and the same. 
Shall beam on Jo/a interminable yeazs, 
(Jnveiied by darkness — unassnaged by teara ! 



70 caupbell's poems. 

''Yet, on fhe bairen shore and stonny deep, 
One tedious watch is Con^ doomed to weep; 
Bat when I gam the home -without a Mend, 
And press the tmeasy couch where none attend* 
This last embrace, still cherished in my heart, 
Shall calm the struggling spirit ere it part! 
Thy darUng form shall seem to hoyer nigh. 
And hush the groan of life's last agony 

•* Farewell ! when strangers lift thy father's bier. 
And place my nameless stone without a tear; 
When each returning pledge hath told my child 
That Conrad's tomb is on the desert piled; 
And when the dream of troubled Fancy sees 
Its lonely rank grass waving in the breeze; 
"Who then wiU soothe thy grief, when mine is o*er> 
"Who win protect thee, helpless EUenore? 
Shall secret scenes thy filial sorrows hide, 
Scorned by the world, to factious guilt allied? 
Ah ! no ; methinks the generous and the good 
Will woo thee from the shades of solitude ! 
O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake, 
And smile on innocence, for Mercy's sake 1 " 

A Inspiiing thought of rapture yet to be. 
The tears of Lore were hopeless, but for thee ! 
If in that frame no deathless spirit dweU, 
If that faint piuimur be the. last ikre well. 
If Fate imite the fEtithful but to part, 
Why is their memory sacred to the heart? 
Why does the brother of my childhood seem 
Hestored awhile in erery pleasing dream? « 
Why do I joy the lonely spot to view, 
By artless friendship blessed when life was new? 
» 

\ Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime 
\ Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time^ 



u^ 



Campbell's foxvi. 71 

Thy joyous youth began — but not to ftde. — 
When all the sister planets have decayed; 
When -wrapt in fiie the xealms of ether glow, 
And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below; 
I Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
And lis^ thy torch at Nature's foneral' pile. 




AXALT3IS — PABT H. 



Afostbophb to the power of Love— its intimate connectioa with 
fenerous and social Sensibility — allusion ^ that beautifiil passage in 
the beghining of the Book of Genesis, which represents the happiness 
of Paradise itself incomplete, till Love was superadded to its other 
blessings — the dreams of future felicity which a lively imagination is 
apt to cherish, when Hope is animated by refined attachment — this dis- 
position to combine, in one imaginary scene of residence, all that is 
pleasing in our estimate of happiness, compared to the skill of the great 
artiit who personified perfect beanty, in the picture of Venus, by an 
assemblage of the most beautiful features he could find — a summer and 
winter evening described, as they may be sopposed to arise in the mind 
of one who wishes, with enthusiasm, for the union of friendship and 
retirement. 

Hope and Imagination inseparable agents— even in those oontempla- 
tive moments when our imagination wanders beyond the bomidaries of 
this world, our minds are not unattended with an impression that we 
shall some day have a wider and more distinct prospect of the universe, 
instead of the partial glimpse we now enjoy. 

The last and most sublime influence of Hope is the concluding topic 
of the poem — the predominance of a belief in a future state over the 
terrors attendant on dissolution— the baneful influence of that skeptical 
philosophy which bars us from such comforts — allusion to the &te of a 
suicide — episode of Conrad and EUenore — conclusion. * 



OfiRTRUSE OF WTOMINfi. 



adverhsemknt. 



McwT of tho popular histories of Kngtod, m well m of the Amerien 
WW, give an aathentio aoconnt of the cleeolatkm of Wyoming, in Pemt- 
■jrlvania, which took place in 1778, by an ineonloa of the IndJnns. The 
seeaery and incidents of the following Poem are connected with that 
event. The testimonies of historians and travellers concur in describing 
the infiuit oolony as one of the hairiest spots of hmnan existwice, for 
the hcqiitable and innocent manners of the .inhabitants, the beauty of 
the country, and the luxuriant fertility of the soil and climate. In an 
evil hour, the junction of European with Indian arms converted this 
tmestrial paiadife into a frightftd waste. Mb. Jmxa.c Wbld inibrms 
us, that the ruins of many of the vilages, peribrated with balls, and 
bearing nuks of coniiagntion, were still preserved by the recent inhab- 
itants, when he travelled throqgh ibnerioa in ITM 



GERTRUDE OP WYOMING. 

PAST I. 



On Suflqiiehaima's sid«^ fair Wyoomig! 
Although the -wild-flower on thy rained wal]» 
And roofless homes, a sad remembrance bring 
Of what thy gentle people did befiall; 
Yet thou wert once the loveUest land of all 
Thai see the Atlantic wave their mom restaie. 
Bweet land ! may I thy lost delights recall^ 
And paint thy Qertnide in her boweis of yore^ 
'Whose beauty was the lore of Pennsylranis's ahom I 



XL 

Delightfol Wyoming ! beneath tby aides, 
The happy shepherd swains had nought to do 
But feed their flocks on green dediyities. 
Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe^ 
From mom till erexdng's sweeter pastime grew, 
With timbrel, when beneath the forests brown^ 
Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew; 
And aye those sunny mountains half-way down 
Would echo flagelet from some romanlio town. 



76 GAVPBXLI.'8 rOXMi. 



Then, where of Indian hilU the daylight takes 
His leave, how might you the flamingo see 
Disporting like a meteor on the lakes *- 
4nd playful sqnizxel on his nut-grown tree: 
And every sound of Hfe was full of glee. 
From ttanry moak-bird's song, or h«m of men; 
While hearkening, &aring nought their revelry. 
The wild deer arched his neck from glades, and then, 
Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again. 



And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime 
Heard, but in transatlantic story rung. 
For here the exile met from every dime, 
And spoke in friendship every distant tongue; 
Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung 
Were but divided by the running brook; 
And happy where no Bhenish trumpet snag, 
On plains no Sieging mine's volcano shook. 
The blue-eyed German changed his sword to pruning- 
hook. 

V. 

Nor far some Andalusian saraband i 

Would sound to many a native roundelay— 

But who is he that yet a dearer land i 

Remembers, over hiUs and far away? 

Qxeen Albin ! * what though he no more survey 

Thy ships at anchor on tiie quiet shore, 

Thy pellochst rolling from the mountain bay. 

Thy lone sepulohral cairn upon the moor, 

And distant isles that hear the loud Corbieehtaat mrl 

•Seotlaud. 

t The Gaelic appeUation for Uie pofpoiM. 

% The great whirlpool of the Western Hebridea. 



CA]IPBELI.'S P0SM8. 77 



AJas ! poor Caledonia's mountaineer, 

That want* 8 stem edict e'er, and feudal grie( 

Had forced him from a home he loyed so dear! 

Yet finmd he here a home» and glad relief 

And plied the beverage £rom his own feir sheal^ 

That fired his Highland blood with mickle glee : 

And England sent her men* of men the chie^ 

T¥ho taught those sizes of Empire yet to be» 

To plant the tree of life, — to plant feir Freedom's tree I 



Here was not mingled in the cit/s pomp 
Of life's extremes the grandeur and the gloom ; 
Judgment awoke not here her dismal tromp, 
Nor sealed in blood a fellow-creature's doom. 
Nor mourned the captiTe in a living tomb. 
One venerable man, beloved of all. 
Sufficed, where innocence was yet in bloom. 
To sway the strife, that seldom might befell; 
And Albert was their judge in patriarchal halL 



How reverend was the look, serenely aged. 
He bore^ this gentle Pennsylvanian sire. 
Where all but kindly fervors were assuaged, 
XJndimmed by weakness shade, or turbid ire I 
And though, amidst the calm of thought entire, 
Some high and haughty features might betray 
A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire 
That fled composure's intellectual ray, 
As Etna's fires grow dim before the rising day. 



I boast no song in magic wmiden rife. 

But yet, oh Nature ! is there naught to prise» 

7* 



79 campbs&l's foxms. 

Familiar in fhy boaom ■oeoM of life? 

And dweOs in daylight troth's aalobiioiia ikiea 

No farm with which the aoiil may sympathize?'— 

Toung, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild 

Ihe parted ringlet shone in simplest goise, 

An inmate in the home of Albert smiled* 

Or blest his noonday walk*- she was his only child. 



The rose of Kngland bloomed on Gertrude's cheek — 
What though these shades had seen her birth, her aire 
A Briton's independence taught to seek 
Far western worlds ; and there his household fire 
The light of social love did long inspire, 
And many a halcyon day he liyed to see 
Unbroken but by one misfortune dire, 
When fiite had reft his mutual heart — but ahe 
Was gone — and Gertrude climbed a widowed father^! 
knee. 

A loved bequest, — end I may half impart— ^ 

To them that feel the strong paternal tie. 
How like a new existence to his heart 
That Hying flower uprose beneath his eye. 
Dear as she was from cherub infSmcy, 
From hours when she would round his garden play» 
To time when as the ripening years went by. 
Her lorely mind could culture well repay. 
And more engaging grew, from pleasing day to day. 
• 

xn. 

I may not paint those tiiousand infant charms; 

(Unconscious feusdnation, undesigned !) 

The orison repeated in his aims. 

For God to bless her are and all mankind ; 

The book, the bosom on his knee reeUiwd* 






CAMPBELL'S POEMS* 79 

Or how sweet fEoiy-lore he heard her con, 

(The playmate ere the teacher of her mind:) 

All nncompanioned else her heart had gone 

Till now, in Gertrude's eyes, their ninth bine maimer 

shone. 

xin. 

And summer was the tide, and sweet the hour, 

"When sire and daughter saw, with fleet descent, 

An Indian fiN)m his bark approach their bower, 

Of buskined limb, and swarthy lineament; 

The red wild feathers on his brow were blent. 

And bracelets bound the arm that helped to ^ht 

A boy, who seemed, as he beside him went. 

Of Christian vesture, and complexion bright. 

Led by his dusky guide, like morning brought by night. 



Yet pensive seemed the boy for one so young — 

The dimple from his polished cheek had fled; 

When, leaning on his forest-bow imstrung, 

The Oneida warrior to the planter said, 

And laid his hand upon the stripling's head, 

*• Peace be to thee ! my words this belt approve ; 

The paths of peace my steps have hither led: 

This little nursling, take him to thy love, 

And shield the bird unfledged, since gone the parent dove. 



** Christian 1 I am the foeman of thy foe ; 
Our wampum league thy brethren did embraee: 
Upon the Michigan, three moons ago. 
We launched our pirogues for the bison chase. 
And with the Hurons planted for a space, 
With true and faithful hands, the olire-stalk ; 
But snakes are in the bosoms of their race. 
And though they held with ns a friendly talk. 
The hoUow x?eace tree fell beneath the tomahawk I 



80 Campbell's poems. 



** It was encamping on the lake's far port, 

A cry of Areouski* broke our sleep. 

Where stormed an ambushed foe thy nation's fort, 

And rapid, rapid whoops came o'er the deep; 

But long thy country's war-sign on the steep 

Appeared through ghastly intervals of light. 

And deathfully their thunders seemed to sweep, 

Till utter darkness swallowed up the sight. 

As if a shower of blood had quenched the fiery fight ! 



"It slept — it rose again — on high their tower 

Sprung upwards like a torch to light the skies. 

Then down again it rained an ember shower, 

And* louder lamentations heard we rise : 

As when the evil Manitou that dries 

The Ohio woods, consumes them in his ire, 

In vain the desolated panther flics, 

And howls amidst his wilderness of fire: 

Alas ! too late, we reached and smote those Hurons dura t 



*'But as the fox beneath the nobler hound, 

So died their warriors by our battle-brand; 

And from the tree we, with her child, unbound 

A lonely mother of the Christian land : — 

Her lord — the captain of the British band 

Amidst the slaughter of his soldiers lay. 

Scarce knew the widow our delivering hand; 

Upon her child she sobbed, and swooned away, 

Or shrieked unto the God to whom the Cristiaiui pitj. 

• The Indian God of War. 



CAMWMMJ^Z^a POXMt. 81 



••Our TiEgpns ftd hor witti tii^ Imidly bowli 

Of feyer balm and awMt Hjgiimlto : 

BiEt she mm jonmayiiig to tha land of 0011]% 

And lifted up her dying head to pzay 

That we should bid an anotsnt fioend oonTejr 

Her orphan to hit home of England's ahore ; 

And take» aha said, tfaia token &r away, 

To one that iriU remember 11a of yon^ 

When he behoJda the nng thait WaUefnnre'a Jnlia won. 



•«And I, the eagle of my tnbe, hanre mahed 

Wifh this lorn doye." •*- A aage'a aelf-oommand 

Had quelled the team from Albertfa hMort that gushed; 

But yet his eheek-^hia agifeated hand-- 

That showered upon the stranger of the land 

No conmion booh, in grief but ill begniled 

A soul that was not wont to be unmanned ; 

"And stay/' he cried, *<dear pilgrim of the wild. 

Preserver of my old, my boon companion's child! ' 



*< Child of a race whose name my boaom w ^mib 

On earth's remotest bounds how wdeome here ! 

Whose mother oft, a child, has filled these anna, 

Toung as thyself and innocently dear, 

Whoae grandaire was my early U&'a compeer* 

Ah, happiest home of England's happy dime ! 

How beautiful even now thy scenes appear, 

As in the noon and sunshine of my prime I 

How gone like yesterday these thrice ten years oi timel 



CAMPBELL 8 F0BM8. 



"And Julia I when thou wert like Gkrtnide noir» 

Can I fbrget tiiee, faTorite child of yoro } 

Or thought I, in thy fiither's house, when thou 

Wert lightest hearted on his festiTe floor> 

And first of all his hoispitable door 

To meet and kiss me at my journey's end ? 

But where was I when Waldegraye was no more^ 

And thou didst pale thy gentle hand extend 

In woes, that eren the tribe of deserts was thy Mend ! * 



He said — and strained unto his heart the boy;- 
Far differently, the mute Oneida took 
His calumet of peace, and cup of joy; 
As monumental bronze unchanged his look; 
A soul that pity touched, but never shook; 
Trained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier 
The fierce extreme of good and ill to brook . 
Lnpassiye — fearing but the shame of fear — 
A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear. 



Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock 
Of Outalissi's heart disdained to grow ; 
As lives the oak unwithered on the rock 
By storms above, and barrenness below; 
He scorned his own, who felt another's woe: 
And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung, 
Or laced his moccasins, in act to go, 
A song of parting to the boy he sung, 
Who slept on Albertfs couch, nor heard his firiendl^ 
tongue. 

XXV. 

*< Sleep, wearied one ! and in the dreaming land 
Shouldst thou to-morrow with thy mother meet, 



CAM^BBL!.'! POEMfl. 88 

Oh ! tdl her spirit, that the white man'i hand 
Hath plucked the thonia of aooow 6am. thy ftet; 
IVhile I in lonely -wildemeBS ahall greet 
Thy little foot-prints — or by traces know 
The fountain^ where at noon I thought it sweet 
To feed thee with the qnarry of my bow» 
And poured the lotos-horn, or slew the : 



Adiea ! sweet scion of the rising sun ! 
But shonld affliction's storms thy blosBom mock. 
Then come again — my own adopted one! 
And I wfll graft thee on a noble stock; 
The crocodile, the condor of the rock. 
Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars ; 
And I wlQ teach thee, in the battle's flhock. 
To pay with Hnron blood thy fiither^s scars. 
And gratnlate his soul rejoicing in the stars ! ** 



So finished he the rhyme (howe'er uncouth) 
That true to nature's fervid feelings ran; 
(And song ib but the eloquence of truth :) 
Hien forth uprose that lone way-faring man; 
But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's plan 
In woods required, whose trained eye was keen. 
As eagle of the wilderness, to scan 
His path by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine. 
Or ken fu friendly huts on good savannas green. 



Old Albert saw him &om the valle/s side— 
Wb pirogue Jaunched — his pilgrimage begem — 
Far, like the red-bird's wing he seemed to glide t 
Then dived, and vanished in the woodlands dtin. 



_J 



84 camtbsx.l'8 point. 

Oft, to that spot by tender memory won, 

Would Albert dimb the promontoxT^e heif^t, 

If but ft dim sail glimmered in 13ie eun; 

But nerer more, to blen hie longing ligSit^ 

Wm Oata^Mi hafled, iri^ baik and plnmage bii^ 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 



PART U. 



A taxj:.bt ftam the riyer shore withdrawn 

Was Albert's home, two quiet woods between, 

"Whose lofty verdure orerlooked his lawn ; 

And waters to their resting place serene 

Came freshening, and reflecting all the scene: 

(A mirror in the depth of flowery shelyes;) 

So sweet a spot of earth, you might (I ween) 

Have guessed some congregation of the dyes, 

To sport by summer moons, had shaped it for themflelT 



n. 



Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse, 
Nor Tistas opened by the wandering stream ; 
Botih where at evening Alleghany views, 
lliroQgh ridges burning in her western beain. 
Lake after lake interminably gleam : 
And past those settlers' haunts the eye might roam 
Where earth's unliving silence *all would seem ; 
Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome, 
Or buJfido remote lowed far from human home. 
8 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



But silent not that adverse eastern path. 
Which saw Aurora's hills th* horizon crown; 
There was the river heard, in bed of wrath, 
(A precipice of foam from mountains brown,) 
Like tumults heard from some far distant town; 
But softening in approach he left his gloom. 
And murmured pleasantly, and laid him down 
To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom, 
That lent the windward air an exquisite perfume. 



It seemed as if those scenes sweet influence had 

On Gertrude's soul, and kindness like their own 

Inspired those eyes affectionate and glad. 

That seemed to love whate'er they looked upon; 

Whether with Hebe's mirth her features shone, 

Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast, 

(As if for heavenly musing meant alone ;) 

Yet so becomingly th' expression past, 

That each succeeding look was lovelier than the last. 



Nor guess I, was that Fennsylvanian home, 

With all its picturesque and balmy grace, 

And fields that were a luxury to roam, 

Lost on the soul that looked from such a face ! 

Enthusiast of the woods ! when years apace 

Had bound thy lovely waist with woman's zone. 

The sunrise path, at mom, I see thee trace 

To hiUs with high magnolia overgrown. 

And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and alone. 



The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe forth* 
That thus apostrophized its viewless scene : 



CAMPBELL 8 POEMS. 87 

<* Land of my ikiher's love, my mothe/s birth ! 

The home of kindred I haye never seen ! 

We know not other — oceans are between : 

Tet say, far Mendly hearts ! finom whence we came, ^ 

Of ns does oft remembrance intervene ? 

Hy mother sure — my sire a thought may claim ; — 

But Gertrude is to you an unregarded name. 



<* And yet, loved England ! when thy name I trace 

In many a pilgrim's tale and poefs song. 

How can I choose but wish for one embrace 

Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong 

My mother's looks, — perhaps her likeness strong ? 

Oh, parent I with what reverential awe. 

From features of thine own related throng, 

An image of thy face my soul could draw! 

And see thee once again whom I too shortly saw 1 " 



Tet deem not Gertrude sighed for foreign joy ; 
To soothe a father's couch her only care, 
And keep his reverend head from all annoy : 
Por this, methinks, her homeward steps repair. 
Soon as the morning wreath had bound her hair; 
While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew. 
While boatman caroUed to the fresh-blown air, 
And woods a horizontal shadow threw. 
And early fox appeared in momentary view. 



Apart there was a deep untrodden grot. 

Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wove ; 

Tradition had not named its lonely spot; 

But here, methinks, might India's sons explore 

Their &then' dust, or lift, perchance of yore. 



CAIfFBKI.L'8 POKIfS* 



Their voice to the Great Spirit : ^ rocke subUme 

To htiman art a sportiTe sembUuiee boce^ 

And yellow lichens colored all the dime^ 

Like moonlight bsttlements, and tow'is dec«y«d bj tiiMb 



Bat high iq. amphitheatze abore, 

Qay-tinted woods their massy foliage threw: 

Breathed but an air of heaven, and all the grove 

As if instinct with living spirit grew, 

Rolling its verdant gal& of every hue ; 

And now suspended was the pleasing din, 

Now from a murmur ftdnt it swelled anew, 

Idke the first note of organ heard within . 

Cathedral aisles, — ere yet its symphony begin. 

i 

It was in this lone valley she would charm 
The lingering noon, where flowers a couch had strewn; 
Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm 
On hillock by the pine-tree half o'ergrown : 
And aye that volume on her lap is thrown* 
Which every heart of human mould endears; 
With Shakespeare's self she speaks and smiles alone, 
And no intruding visitation fisars, 
To shame the unconscious laugh, or stop her. sweetest 
tears. 

And nought within the grove was heard or seen 

But stock-doves plaining through its gloom profound, 

Or winglet of the fairy humming-bird, 

like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round; 

When lo ! there entered to its inmost ground 

A youth, the stranger of a distant land ; 

He was, to weet, for eastern mountains bound; 



L 



CAMPBELL S POEUS. 

But late th' eqtiator suns his cheek had ^^a^n^. 
And California's gales his roring bosom fanned. 



A steed, whose rein hung loosely o'er his arm, 
fie led dismounted ; ere his leisiire pace, 
Amid the brown leaves, could her ear alarm. 
Close he had come, and worshipped for a space 
Those downcast features : — she her lovely fBuse 
Uplift on one, whose lineaments and frame 
Wore youth and manhood's intermingled grace : 
Iberian seemed his boot — his robe the same, 
And well the Spanish olume his lofty looks became. 



Por Albert's home he sought — her finger fair 

Has pointed where the father's mansion stood. 

Returning from the copse he soon was there ; 

And soon has Qertrudc hied from dark-green wood; 

Kor joyless, by the-£onverse, understood 

Between the man of age and pilgrim young, 

That gay congeniality of mood. 

And early lildng from acquaintance sprung ; 

Full fluently conversed their 'guest in England's tongua 



And well could he his pilgrimage of taste 
Unfold, — and much they loved his fervid strain, 
While he each fair variety retraced 
Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main. 
Now happy Switzer's hills, — romantic Spain, - 
Gay lilied fields of France, — or, more refined, 
The soft Ausonia's moniunental reign ; 
Nor less each rural image he designed 
Than all the city's pomp and home of human kind. 
8» 



CAMPBELL 8 P0SM8. 



XVI. 



Anon some -vnlder portraiture he draws; 

Of Nature's savage glories he would speak, — 

The loneliness of earth that overawes, — 

Where, resting bj some tomb of old Cacique, 

The lama-driver on Peruvia's peak, 

Nor living voice nor motion marks around; 

But storks that to the boundless forest shriek. 

Or >vild-cane arch high flung o'er g^utf profound. 

That fluctuates wh^ the storms of El Dorado sound. 



Pleased with his guest, the good man still would ply 
Each earnest question, and his converse court ; 
But Gertrude, as she eyed' him, knew not why 
A strange and troubling wonder stopped her short. J 

" In England thou hast been, — and, by report, ] 

An orphan's name (quoth Albert) may'st have knowD. 
Sad tale ! — when latest fell out frontier fort, — ^ 

One innocent — one soldier's child — alone I 

Was spared, and broiight to me, who loved him as mf 
own. 

xvin. 

"Young Henry Waldegrave! three delightful yeats 

These very walls his infant sports did see. 

But most I loved him when his parting tears 

Alternately bedewed my child and me : 

His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee; 

Nor half its grief his little heart could hold ; 

By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea. 

They tore him from us when but twelve years old, 

And scarcely for his loss have I been yet consoled I " 



His face the wanderer hid — but could not hide 
A tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell; 



Campbell's pokms. 91 

And ** Speak ! mysterious stranger ! " Gertrode cried; 

«It IS ! — it is ! ^ I knew— I knew him weU! 

Tu Waldegntye's sel^ of Waldegraye oome to teU 1 " 

A bnzst of joy the&ther^s lips dedsze; 

But Gertrude speechless on his bosom &U; 

At onoe his open snns embraced the p«ir» 

Was nerer group more blest in this wide world of ears. 



^And will ye pardon, then,'* replied the youth, 
•*Yoar Waldegrave's feigned name, and fiQse aflire? 
I durst not in the neighborhood, in truth. 
The yery fortunes of your house inquire; 
Lest one that knew me might some tidings dire 
Impart, and I my weakness all betray; 
For, had I lost my Gertrude and my sire, 
I meant but o*er your tombs to weep a day, 
Unknown I meant to weep, imknown to pass a^ay. 

** But here ye lire, ye Uoom, — in each dear ftce^ 

The changing hand ef time I may not blame; 

7or tfiese, il hal3i but died moito reverend graosb 

And here^ of beauty perfected the frame, 

And wdl I know your hearts are Mill the same-* 

They tMM^d not ehaj^^e-^-ye look the Tery way, 

As when an orphan first t6 you I eame. 

And HsviB ye heard of my poor guide* I prsy ? 

Nay, w irtlt tefo i e weep ye, friends, on such a Joyotts dsy } " 



*'And art thou here? or is it but a dreaqi? 
And wUt thou, Waldegray^ wilt thou leaye us morsf 
''No, neyer I thou that yet dost loyelier seem 
Than anc^t on earth — than ey'n thyself of yore — 



92 Campbell's pobmb. 

I will not part thee from thy father's ahore; 
But we thall cherish him -with mutual aims. 
And hand in hand again the path explore 
"Which erery ray of young remembrance wanna, 
While thou ahalt be my own, with aU thy tanith and 
chazma?" 



At mom, as if beneath a gaUzy 

Of orer-arching groyea in bloasoma white, 

Where all was odorous scent and harmony, 

And gladnesa to the heart, nerye, ear, and sight: 

There, i^ oh, gentle Love! I read aright 

The utterance that sealed thy sacred bond, 

'Twas listening to these accents of delight 

She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond 

Expression's power to paint, all languishingly fond — 



** Flower of my life, so lovely, and so lone ! i 

Whom I would rather in this desert meet, 

Scozning, and scorned by fbrtone's power, than own 

Her — pomp and splendors IsTished at my feet I 

Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite 

Than odors oast on heaven's own shrine— to pUaae- 

Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet. 

And more than all the wealth that loads the bceen^ 

When Coromandel's ships return from Indian i 



Then would that home admit them — happier tu 
Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon, 
While, here and there, a solitary star 
Flushed in the darkening firmament of June ; 
And ailence brought the soul-felt hour, fdll aoon^ 



r^\ 



GAMPBELL*8 POKIfS. 93 

Inefiable, which I may not portray; 

7or never did the hymenean moon 

A paradise of hearts more sacred sway. 

In aU that slept beneath her soft yoliiptiioiu laj. 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 



PART in. 



O LoTB ! in raeh a wildemeBs as thia, 

Wbiete transport and flecuritj entwine. 

Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, 

And here thou art a god indeed divine. 

Here shall no forms abridge, no honrs confine. 

The TiewB, the walks, that boundless joy inspire ! 

BoU on, ye days of raptured influence, shine I 

Kor, blind with ecstacy's celestial fire. 

Shall love behold the spark of earth-bom time es^lnk 



Three little moons, how short! admidst the groye 

And pastoral sayannas they consume ! 

While she, bedde her buskined youth to rove. 

Delights, in fandfuUy wild costume, 

Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume; 

And forth in hunter-seeming vest they fare; 

But not to chase the deer in forest gloom, 

'Tis but the breath of heaTcn — the blessed air — 

And interchange of hearts unknown, imseen to shara. 






CAMPBKLL's POSM8. 99 



What though the spoiidve dog oft round them note» 
Or fe-wn, or mid bird bursting on the wing ; 
Yet who, in love's own presence, would devote 
To death those gentle throats that wake the spring. 
Or writhing from the brook its victim bring? 
No ! — nor let fear one little warbler rouse ; 
But, fed by Gertrude.'s hand, still let them sing, 
Acquaintance of her path, amidst the boughs. 
That shade ev'n now her love, and witnessed flfst her 
vows. 

rv. 

Now labyrinths, which but themselves can pierce, 
Methinks, conduct them to some pleasant ground, 
"Where welcome hills shut out the universe. 
And pines their lawny walk encompass round; 
There, if a pause delicious converse found, 
Twas but when, o'er each heart th* idea stolei 
(Perchance awhile in joy's oblivion drowned) 
That come what may, while life's glad pulses roll, 
Indissolubly thus should soul be knit to sotd. 



And in the visions of romantic youth, ' 

What years of endless bliss are yet to flow ! 

But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth ? 

The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below ! 

And must I change my song ? and must I show, 

Sweet Wyoming! the day when thou wert doomed, 

Ghnltless, to mourn thy loveliest bowers laid low ! 

When where of yesterday a garden bloomed. 

Death overspread his pall, and blackening ashes gloomed I 



Sad was the year, by proud oppression driven, 
Wh0n Transatlantic Liberty arose. 






Wo CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

y:^ in the sunBhine and the smile of heaven, 
UvA "wxapt in whirlwinds, and begirt with woes. 
Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes ; 
Her birth star was the light of burning plains ; * 
Her baptism is the weight of blood that flows 
From kindred hearts — the blood of British yeins — 
And £unine tracks her steps, and pestilential pains. 



Yet, ere the storm of death had raged remote, 
Or siege unseen in heaven reflects its beams. 
Who now each dreadful circumstance shall note, 
That fills pale Gertrude's thoughts and nightly dreams^ 
Dismal to her the forge of battle gleams 
Portentous light ! and music's voice is dumb ; 
Save where the fife its shrill reveille screams. 
Ox midnight streets reecho to the drum, 
That speaks of maddening strife, and blood-stained fteldf 
to come. 



It was, in truth, a momentary pang; 
Yet how comprising myriad shapes of wo ! 
First when in Gertrude's ear the summons rang, 
A husband to the battle doomed to go ! 
"Nay, meet not thou," she cries, "thy kindred fi)e! 
But peaceful let us seek &ir England's strand ! " 
•*Ah, Gertrude, thy beloved heart, I know, 
Wotdd feel like mine the stigmatizing brand ! 
Could I forsake the cause of Freedom's holy band I 



"But shame — but flight — a recreant's name to psote^ 
To hide in ezUe ignominious fears ; 

* Alluding to the roUerieft that attended the American eivil war. 



Sfty, er*!! if tfak I bcooked, ths pfObbe lov« 
Thy faeOlier^s boaom to Ids home eodeazt: 
And how couid I his few rumirinittg yoan^ 
Hy 0«rtanide, •svet from bo dear a dhild^" 
So, day by day, her boding heart he cheen: 
At last that heart to hope is half beguiled. 
And, pale through tears suppressed, the moarnful beauty 
smiled. 

X. 

Ni^t canie,^aiid in their li^tad bow«r, ftill late 
Ifai joy of cowrerfe had endured — whan, had^! 
Abnpt and loud, a aummoas shook their gate; 
And heedless of the dog's obetrep'rona bark, 
A iarm had ruahed amidat them ftom the daifc, 
Ajid apraad his arms, — and fell upon the floor: 
Of aged strength his Unibs retained the mark ; 
But desolate he looked, and fimiished poor, 
As erer ahipwredLed wretch lone left on desert shore. 



Upnsen, each wondering brow is knit and arched ; 

A spirit from the dead they deem him first : 

To speak he tries; but quivering, pale, and parchsd. 

From lips, as by some powerless dream accursed. 

Emotions unintelligible burst; 

And long his filmed eye is red and dim : 

At lengtii the pity-proffered cup his thirst 

Had half asauaged, and nerved his shuddering limK 

When Albertfs hand he grasped — but Albert knewr not 



0' 



*< And hast thou ttbttL f6rget," he eriad 4m1oib, 
And eyed the group Willi half indlgftittt air— - 
«<0h! hwt ttion, ChxMan <!liie( fcfgat Hm «mr 
When I with thee the cup of peace did shaara^ 
Than ttitfely was Hds head, and daric this hair, 
9 



96 Campbell's poems. 

That now is white as AppalacMs's snow ; 
But, if the weight of fifteen yean' despair, 
And age hath howed me, and the tortuxing foe. 
Bring me my boy I — and he will his dellTerer know ! * 



It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame, 

Ere Henry to his loyed Oneida flew : 

** Bless thee, my guide ! " — but backward, as he came, ^ 

The chief his old bewildered head withdrew. 

And grasped his arm, and looked and looked him through. 

Twas strange — nor could the group a smile control, 

The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view : 

At last delight o'er all his features stole, — 

** It is — my own," he cried, and clasped him to his (MmL 



^ Yes ! thou recall'st my pride of years, for then 

The bowstring of my sinrit was not slack, 

When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambushed men* 

I bore thee like the quiyer on my back, 

Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack ; 

Nor foeman then, nor cougar^s crouch I feared,* 

For I was strong as mountain cataract : 

And dost thou not remember how we cheered. 

Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts appeared t 



** Then weloome be my death-song, and my death ! 
Sinoe I haye seen thee, and again embraced." 
And loogvr had he spent his toil-worn bnath; 
But with itfeetionate and eager haste, 
Was ef«ry arm outstretched around their guest, 

* Cougar, the American tiger 



OAIfPBSItL'8 FOSIfS. 



To weloome and to Umi hk aged hmSL 

Soon WW the hospitable baaqiiet plaoed ; 

And (JertniderB lorely hands a balsam died 

On wounds with fevered joj that nune profiisely bled. 



«*Biit this Is not a time,"— he started up. 

And onote his bieast with wo-denouncing hand— • 

<«Thi8 is no time to M the joyous cup ! 

The Mammoth eomes — the foe — the Monster Bmdtl 

"With all his howlmg desolating band; 

These eyes have seen their blade and burning pine 

Aarake at onoe^ and silence half your land. 

Bed is the cup they drizik; but not with wine: 

Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morning shine! 



M Soonlng to wield the hatchet far his bribe, 

'Qainst Brandt himself I went to batfle forth : 

Accursed Brandt ! he left of all my tribe 

Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth : 

No I not the dog that watched my household heaKth« 

Escaped that night of blood, upon our plains I 

All perished 1 — I alone am left on earth ! 

To whom nor relative nor blood remains. 

No ! — not a kindred drop that runs in human veins. 



"But go ! — and rouse your warriors ; — for, if ri|^ 
Ihese old bewildered eyes could guess, by signs 
Of striped and staned banners, on yon height 
Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines — 
Some fbrt embattled by yoxor country shines: 
Beep roars the innavigable gulf below 
Iti squared rock, and palisaded lines. 



]0D GAKrBSI*Ii's POSXt. 



Go I leek the ligMito imdilMbMBOniitew} 

ymSkt I in amViMli widl^ te t««mm% tad tlM Ibtl ' 



Scarce had he uttezed — when Heairen's yerge 
Rererherates the bomb's descending star, — 
And sounds that alagMt ]angh»«-and shD«l» — 
To fieeae Ae blood im oaae diaoovdaal ja»» [aBitiwi 
Bang to the pealing thmderbolte tf war* 
"Whoop aft«r whoop with nA the eat asfltf od i 
As if unearthly fieads had bust their bar; 
While rapidly tiw aierVsrwin's shot priTaaed:--* 
And aye^ as if for deaTh, o«iao kmety 



Then looked they to the hills, where fire o'erhnng 
The bandit groups, in one YesuTian glare ; 
Or swept, £ur seen, the towiar* whoee elesk vnnaf 
Told legible that midiiii^t ef despair. 
She fEunts, — she fidten not, — tiie heroio fini^ — 
As he the twotd and plume in haste anayed. 
One shovt endvaoe— he dlaaped his deaiest eara-*-^ 
But hark I what nearer war-dmm ahakes the gladel 
Joy, joy ! Columbia's 6ieods are tgrampUng thm^ f 
)1 



Then came of eyery race the mingled swarm, 

Far rung the groves and gleamed the midnight graas, 

'Wil^ flambeau, jaydin, and naked ami ; 

As wazriofs wheeled their onlTerins of braai> 

Sprung &om the woods, a bold athletie mass, 

Wliom Tirtue fires, and liberty combinea : 

And first the wild Monman yagers pass, 

His plumed host the daik n>erian joins -^ 

And Scotia's sword beneath the Highland tfaiatie 



CAHPBELL's POXMl. 101 

xzn. 

And in, the buskined hunters of the deer, 

To Albert's home, with shout and cymbal throng: — 

Housed by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer, . 

Old Outalissl woke his bat£le song, 

And, beating with his war-dub cadence strong. 

Tells how his deep-stung indignation smarts. 

Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long. 

To whet a dagger on their stony hearts, 

And smile avenged ere yet his eagle spirit parts.— • 



Calm, opposite the Christian father rose, 

Pale on his yenerable brow its rays 

Of martyr light the conflagration throws; 

One hand upon his lorely child he lays. 

And one the uncovered crowd to silence sways; 

While, though the battle flash is faster driven, — 

XJnawed, with eye imstartled by the blaze, 

He for his bleeding country prays to Heaven, — 

Prays that the men of blood th^ooselves may be forgtvMii 



Short time is now for gratulating speech : 

And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere began 

Thy country's flight, yon distant towers to reach, 

Looked not on thee the rudest partisan 

With brow rdaxed to love } And mwrnun no, 

As zound and round tiieur willing ranks they drew. 

From beauty's sight to shield the hostile van. 

Grateful,' on them a placid look she threw. 

Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's grave adieu 1 



Past ynm the flight, and welcome seemed the towar. 
That like a giant standard-bearer frowned 
9» 



r.c ■ ^--p' 7 ~s •^"f^c*^ s 



tot CA-WPBELL's POEMS. 

Defiance on fhe roTing Indita power, 

Beneath, each bold and promontory mound 

With embrasure embossed, and armor crowned^ 

And arrowy frize, and wedged rayelin. 

Wove like a diadem its tracery round 

The lofty summit of that moimtain green ; 

Here stood secure the group, and eyed a distant scenes - 



A scene of death ! where fires benieath the sun, 
And blended arms, and white payilions glow; 
And for the business of destruction done. 
Its xeqtiiem the war-horn seemed to blow : 
There, sad spectatress of her coimtr/s wo ! 
The lorely Gertrude, safe isam present hsran, 
Had laid her cheek, and cl»^>ed her hands of snow 
On Waldegraye's shoulder, half within his arm 
Enclosed, that &lt her heart, and hushed its wild 



Bat short that contemplation — sad and short 

The pause to bid each much-loved scene adieu ! 

Beneath the very shadow of the fort, 

Wbere friendly swords were drawn, and banncfs fisrw; 

Ab ! who could dfi«n that foot of Indian crew 

Was near I — yet these, with lust of murdenraB deeds, 

Qleamed like a basilisk, fimn woods ift view. 

The amlNMdied §otmaxi*B eye — li& ToQey ^peed% 

And Aibttrt^ Albert £slls ! the ^ar old fiidnr Uaeds J 

XZTIIX. 

And trwaced in giddy horror Gertrude swooned; 
Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone. 
Bay, burst they, borrowed from her father's wound, 
These ^tx^i^Gh, God ! the life-blood is her mwm i 
And filtering, aa h«r Wridegravd's bosttat thioMti-* 



cahpbej^l's roiBKS, 108 

<«Weep not, O Love ! *' — she criM. << to 8»p «m Um4-* 
Thee, Qetaide's iad turriTor, t^ee tlMft 
Heayen's peace commiserate ; lor scarce I heed 
These wounds ; — yet thee to leave is death, is death 
indeed! 



'* Clasp me a Httle l(mger on the hank 

Of fate ! while I can fed thy dear canss ; 

And when this heart halh ceased to beat — oh ! thinx. 

And let it mitigate thy wo's excess, 

That thou hast been to me all tenderness, 

And friend to m&te than human friendship just 

Qfhl by that t^/trospect oi happiness. 

And by the hopes of an immortal trust, 

Ood shall assuage thy pai^ — when I am laid in dust [ 



** Gto, Henry, go not back, when I depart^ 
The scene thy boxstsng tears too deep wiU skove, 
' Where my dear lather took thee to bis heart, 
And Qertrude thought it ecstasy to rore 
With thee, as wi& an angel, through the grore 
Of peaoe, imagining her lot was cast 
In heaven; for ours was not Hke earthly hive 
And must this parting be our very buit ? 
No! I shall love thee 8ti31» when death itself is past- 

ZZJU. 

Half oould I bear, medunks, to leave this earth* -^ 

And thee, more loved than aught beneath ths ■!»» 

If I had lived to smile but on the bhsai 

Of one dear pledge ; — but idiall there fhea be sons^ 

In future times— no gentle little ooe. 

To ekMp thy neek, and look, reaembHag me? 

Yet soma iti «v^ while Sfi^a last TtOaaa son. 



104 CAMPBCLL'tf POEH8, 

A tweeCnMB In the cap of death to be. 

Lord of my bosom's lore ! to die beholding thee ! * 



Hushed were his Qertmde's lips ! but still their blan4 
And beautiful expression seemed to melt 
With loTe that could not die ! and still his hand 
She presses to the heart no more that feiL 
Ah, heart! where once each fond affection dwelt^ 
And features yet that spoke a soul more fair. 
Mute, gazing, agonising as he knelt, — 
Of them that stood encircling his despair, 
He heard some fiiendly words;*- but knew not whit 
they were. 

xzzm. 

For now, to mourn their judge and child, arxiyes 
A fidthfal band. With solemn rites between 
Twas sung, how they were lovely in their lives, 
And in their deaths had not divided been. 
Touched by the murie, and the melting scene^ 
Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd. ^ 
Stem warriors, resting on their swords, were seen 
To veil their eyes, as passed each much-loved ahxoiid 
While woman's softar soul in wo dissolved aloud. 



Then mournfully the parting bugle bid 

Its farewdl, o'er the grave of worth and truth; 

Prone to the dust, afflicted Waldegrave hid 

His fsoe on earth; ^him watched, in gloomy rvlh. 

His woodland guide: but words had none to soothe 

The grief that knew not consolation's name: 

Casting his Indian mantle o'er the youth* 

He watched, beneath its folds, each burst that esnit 

ConvnlBive, agne-Hke, across his shuddering ftanwl 



v» 



«Ajid I ooQld irtep"— th' On«lda ohifif 

His depomt -w^dLy thwi bognn: 

**But tihat I may not stain with gxief 

Tlie death-song of my fiither^s son* 

Or bow this head in wo ! 

For by Bp^y wxQogf^ sad by my wxath! 

To-moD9w Axeovski's breath, 

(That fires yon heaven with stoacms of dsati^) 

ShaU light w to the &• : 

And we shall shars^ my Oh.nBtian boy I 

The fi)eman's bloo^t the avenger's joyl 



««But Hmn^ wy flowsflp, whose bseath VM givw 

By milder geaii o'er the despi 

The spirits of the white man's heaven 

Forbid not thee to weep: 

Nor will the Christian host, 

Kor win tiiy fiiahec^i spirit gnev% 

To see thee, ea Ihe batHs's eve, 

Lamenting, tidEe a monmfM lesere 

Of her who loved thee most: 

She was the rainbow to tiiy sigMt 

Thy son— thy htatm^^ iMfe dafi^t 

ZZZTXX. 

^'To-morrow let us do or die! 

Bnt when the bolt of death is hwM, 

Ah! whither then with thee to fly. 

Shall Ontalissi roam the world? 

Seek we thy once-loved home? 

The hand is gone that cropped its flowecsl 

Unheard their dock repeats its honrs ! 



m OAMPBXJLL'S POIMS. 



,; 



Cold is the hearth within their bowen! 
And thoiiid we thither roam, 
Iti eohoea, and its empty tread, 
Wonld aonnd like yoices ftom the dead I 



And should we thither roam, I 

Its echoes, and its empty tread. 



xxxyni. 

**Ox shall we cross yon mountains blne^ 

Whose streams my kindred nation quaiM, 

And by my side, in battle true, 

A thousand warriors drew the shaft? 

Ah! there» in desolation cold. 

The desert serpent dwells alone^ 

^Wl^re^fgnaa o'er^ws each mouldering boa% 
And stones themselves to ruin ^wn, 

~S^e me,Jare^d§9J^rl3ke old. 
Then secK we not their camp,— te thsM 
The sileaoe dwells of my despalrl 



** But hade, the trump ! — to-monow thoa 
In glory's fires shalt dry thy teaa: 
Syn from the land of shadows now 
My fnther^s awful ghost appears, 
Amidst the clouds that round us toil; 
He bids my soul for batUe thirst^ 
He bids me dry the last — the first — 
The only tears that ever burst 
From Outalissi's soul; 
Because I may not stain with grief 
The death-song of an Indian chief! 



THEODRIC: 



A DOMESTIC TALE. 



TwAS sunset, and the Kanz des Yaches was sang. 
And lights were o'er the Helvetian monntams fiung, 
That gave the glacier tops their richest glow, 
And tinged the lakes like molten gold below. 
Warmth flushed the wonted regions of the stoim» 
Where, Phoenix-like, you saw the eagle's form, 
That high in Heaven's vermilion wheeled and soared^ 
Woods nearer frowned, and cataracts dashed and roared 
From heights browned by the bounding bouquetin; 
Herds tinkling roamed the long-drawn vales between^ 
And hamlets glittered white, and gardens flourished green, 
'Twas transport to inhale the bright sweet air ! 
The mountain-bee was revelling in its glare. 
And roving with his minstrelsy across 
The scented wUd weeds, and enamelled moss. 
Earth's features so harmoneously were linked. 
She seemed one great glad form, with life instinct, 
That felt Heaven's ardent breath, and smiled below 
Its flush of love, with consentaneous glow. 

A Gk)thic church was near; the spot around 
Was beautiful, even though sepulchral ground; 
Tor there nor yew nor cypress spread tiieir gloom. 
But roses bloesomed by each rustic tomb. 
10 



110 Campbell's poems 

Amidst them, one of spotless marble shone — . 
A maiden's grave — and 'twas inscribed thereon, 
That young and loved she died whose dust was there : 

" Yes/' said my comrade, ** young she died, and fair ! 
Grace formed her, and the soul of gladness played 
Once in the blue eyes of that moimtain-maid : 
Her fingers witched the chords they passed along, 
And her lips seemed to kiss the soul in song : 
Yet wooed, and worshipped as she was, till few 
Aspired to hope, 'twas sadly, strangely true. 
That heart, the martyr of its fondness, burned 
And died of love that could not be returned. 



"Her father dwelt where yonder Castle shines 

O'er clustering trees and terrace-mantling vines. 

As gay as ever, the laburnum's pride 

Waves o'er each walk where she was wont to glide,-— 

And still the garden whence she grazed her brow, 

As lovely blooms, though trode by strangers now. 

How oft, from yonder window o'er the lake, 

Her song of wild Helvetian swell and shake 

Has made the rudest fisher bend his ear 

And rest enchanted on his oar to hear ! 

Thus bright, accomplished, spirited, and bland, 

Well-bom, and wealthy for that simple land, 

Why had no gallant, native youth the art 

To win so warm — so exquisite a heart? 

She, 'midst these rocks inspired with feelings strong 

By niountain-freedom — music — fimcy — song, 

Herself descended from the brave in arms, 

And conscious of romance-inspiring charms. 

Dreamt of Heroic beings; hoped to find 

Some extant spirit of chivalric kind; 

And scorning wealth,« looked cold even on the claim 

Of manly worth, that lacked the wreath of feme. 



Campbell's poems. Ill 

•*B.er younger brother, sixteen siumners old. 

And much her likeness both in mind and mould. 

Had gone, poor boy ! in soldiership to shine, 

And bore an Austrian banner on the Khine. 

'Twas when, alas ! our Empire's evil star 

Shed all the plagues, -without the pride of war; 

When patriots bled, and bitterer anguish crossed 

Our brave, to die in battles foully lost. 

The youth wrote home the rout of many a day; 

Yet still he said, and stLlL with truth could say, 

One corps had ever made a valiant stand, — 

The corps in which he served, —^ Thbodric's band. 

His fame, forgotten chief^ is now gone by, 

EcUpsed by brighter orbs in Glory's sky; 

Yet once it shone, and veterans, when they show 

Our fields of battle twenty years ago, 

Will tell you feats his small brigade perfonned, 

In charges nobly faced, and trenches stormed. 

Time was, when songs were chanted to his fiune^ 

And soldiers loved the march that bore his name : 

The zeal of martial hearts was at his call. 

And that Helvetian's, Udolph's, most of aU. 

'Twas touching, when the storm of war blew wild, 

To see a blooming boy, — almost a child, — 

Spur fearless at his leader's words and signs, 

Brave death in reconnoitring hostile lines. 

And speed each task, and tell each message clear, 

In scenes where war-trained men were stunned with fear. 

" Theodbio praised him, and they wept for joy 

In yonder house, ^ — when letters from the boy 

Thanked Heaven for life, and more, to use his phrase, 

Than twenty lives — his own Commander's praise. 

Then followed glowing pages, blazoning forth 

The fEoicied image of his leader's worth. 

With such hyperboles of youthful styles 

As made his parents dry their tears and smile : 



113 Campbell's poems. 

But differently far his words impressed 

A wondering sister's well-believing breast; — 

She caught the illusion, blessed Tkeodbzo's name. 

And wildly magi^ed his worth and fieane; 

Kejoicing life's reality contained 

One, heretofore, her fancy had but feigned, 

Whose love could make her proud ! — and .time and 

chance 
To passion raised that day-dream of Bomahce. 

'* Onc^ when with hasty charge of horse and man 
Our arriere-guard had checked the Gallic Tan, 
Th£odbic, visiting the outposts, found 
His Udolfh wounded, weltering on the ground: 
Sore crushed, — half-swoomng, half-upraised he lay. 
And bent his brow, ftor boy ! and grasped the day. 
His fate moved even the common soldier's ruth — 
Thbodbic succored him; nor left the youth 
To vulgar hands, but brought him to his tent. 
And lent what aid a brother would have lent. 

<< Meanwhile, to save his kindred half the smart 
The war-gazette's dread blood-roU might impart. 
He wrote th' event to them; and soon could teU 
Of pains assuaged and symptoms auguring well ; 
And last of all, prognosticating cure, 
Enclosed the leech's vouching signature. 

"Their answers, on whose pages you might note 
That tears had fallen, while trembling fingers wrote^ 
Gave boundless thanks for benefits conferred. 
Of which the boy, in secret, sent them word. 
Whose memory Time, they said, would never blot; 
But which the giver had himself forgot. 

<*In time, the stripling, vigorous and healed, 
Kesumed his barb and banner in the field. 



Campbell's poems. 113 

And bore himself right soldier-like, till now 

The third campaign had manlier bronzed his brow» 

When peace, though but a scanty pause for breath, — 

A curtain-drop between the acts of death, — 

A check in frantic war's unfinished game, 

Tet dearly bought, and direly welcome, came. 

The camp broke up, and Udolph left his chief 

As with a son's or younger brother's grief: 

But journeying home, how rapt his spirits rose ! 

How light his footsteps crushed St. Gothard's snows ! 

How dear seemed ey'n the waste and wild Shreckhom, 

Though rapt in clouds, and frowning as in scorn 

Upon a downward world of pastoral charms ; 

"Where, by the very smeU of dairy-farms, 

And fragrance from the mountain-herbage blown. 

Blindfold his native hills he could have known ! 

"His coming down yon lake — his boat in view 
Of windows where love's fluttering kerchief flew — 
The arms spread out for him — the tears that burst — 
('Twas Julia's, 'twas his sister's, met him first:) 
Their pride to see war's medal at his breast, 
And all their rapture's greeting may be guessed. 

"Ere long, his bosom triumphed to unfold 
A gift he meant their gayest room to hold — 
The picture of a friend in warlike dress ; 
And who it was he first bade Jxtlia guess. 
'Yes,' she replied, * 'twas he methought ii; sleep. 
When you were wounded, told me not to weep.' 
The painting long in that sweet mansion drew 
llegards. its living semblance little knew. 

"Meanwhile Theodric, who had years before 
Learned England's tongue, and loved her classio lore, 
A glad enthusiast, now explored the land, 
Where Nature, Freedom, Art, smile hand in hand; 
10* 



114 Campbell's poems. 

Her women fair; her men robust for toil; 
Her vigorous souls, high-cultured as her soil; 
Her towns, where dyio independence flings 
The gauntlet down to senates, courts, and kings; 
Her works of art, resembling magic's powers ; 
Her mighty fleets, and learning's beauteous bowei% 
These he had visited witil^ wonder's smile, 
And scarce endured to quit so fedr an isle. 

; 

('"But how. our fates from unmomentons things 
May rise, like rivers out of little springs ! 
A trivial chance postponed his parting day. 
And public tidings caused, in that delay. 
An English Jubilee. 'Twas a glorious sight; 
At eve stupendous London, clad in light, 
Poured out triumphant multitudes to gaze; 
Youth, age, wealth, penury,* smiling in the blaze ; 
Th' illimuned atmosphere was warm and bland. 
And Beauty's groups, the fairest of the land. 
Conspicuous, as in some wide festive room. 
In open chariot's passed with pearl and plume. 
Amidst them he remarked a lovelier mien \ 

Than e'er his thoughts had shaped, or eyes had 
The throng detained her till he reined his steed. 
And, ere the beauty passed, had time to read 
The motto and the arms her carriage bore. 
Led by that clue, he left not England's shore 
TUl he had known her; and to know her well 
Prolonged, exalted, boimd, enchantment's spell; 
For with affections warm, intense, refined, 
She mixed such calm and holy strength of mind, 
That, Hke Heaven's image in the smiling brook, 
Celestial peace was pictured in her look. 
Hers was the brow, in trials unperplexed. 
That cheered the sad, and tranquillized the vexed; 
She studied not the meanest to eclipse. 
And yet the wisest listened to her lips ; 



i 



CAMFBKLl's FOEM8. IIS 

She sang not, knew not Mxisic's magic skill. 
But T^t her voice had tones that swayed the wilL 
He sought — he won her — and zesolved to make 
His fatuze home in England for her sake. 

'*Tet, ere they wedded, matters of c<mcetn 

To Cjbsab'b Court commanded his return, 

A season's space, — and on his Alpine way, 

He reached those bowers, that rang with joy that day: 

The boy was half beside himself — the sire, 

All frankness, honor, and H^vettan fire» 

Of speedy parting would not hear him speak; 

And tears bedewed and brightened Jvmjl'b cheek. 

"Thus, loath to wound their hospitable pride, 

A month he promised with them tp abide; 

As blithe he trod the mountain-sward as they, 

And Mt his joy make ev'n the young more gay. 

How jocund was their breakfast-parlor, fanned 

By yon blue water^s breath — their walks how bland! 

Fair Juuea seemed her brother's softened sprite— 

A gem reflecting Nature's purest light — 

And with her graceful wit there was inwrought 

A wildly sweet unworldliness of thought, 

That almost child-like to his kindness drew. 

And twin with Udolph in his- friendship grew. 

But did his thoughts to love one moment range I 

No ! he who had loved Constakcs could not change I 

Besides, till grief betrayed her undesigned, 

Th' unlikely thought could scarcely reach his mind, 

Ihat eyes so young on years like his should beam 

TJnwooed devotion back for pure esteem. 

*< -f^roe she sang to his very soul, and brought 
Those trains befiDre him of luxuriant thought, 
Which only Music's Heaven-bom art can bring. 
To sweep across the mind with angel wing. 



116 Campbell's foehb. 

Onoe, as he smiled amidst that waking tranoe» 
She paused o'ercome: he thought it might be chaaoa^ 
And, when his first suspicions dimly stole, 
Bebuked them back like phantoms from his souL 
But when he saw his caution gave her pain. 
And kindness brought suspense's rack again. 
Faith, honor, friendship, bound him to unmask 
Truths which her timid fondness feared to ask. 

"And yet wiUi gracefully ingenuous power 
Her spirit met th' explanatory hour; 
EVn conscious beauty brightened in her eyes. 
That told she knew their love no Yulgax prize; 
And pride^ like that of one more woman-grown. 
Enlarged her mien, enriched her voice's tone. 
'Twas then she struck the keys, and music made 
That mocked all skill her hand had e'er displayed: 
Inspired and warbling, rapt from things around, 
She looked the very Muse of magic sound. 
Painting in sound the forms of joy and wo. 
Until the mind's eye saw them melt and glow. 
Her closing strain composed and calm she played, 
And sang no words to give its pathos aid; 
But grief seemed lingering in its lengthened swell. 
And like so many tears the trickling touches felL 
Of Constance then she lu»ard Theodbic speak, 
And steadfast smoothness still possessed her cheek. 
But when he told her how he oft had planned 
Of old % journey to their mountain-land, 
That might hare brought him hither years before, — 

* Ah ! then,' she cried, * you knew not England's shore; 
And, had you come, — and wherefore did you not ? ' 

* Yes,' he replied, * it would have changed our lot 1 ' 
Then burst her tears through pride's restraining bands, 
And with her handkerchief and both her hands, 

She hid her voice and wept. Contrition stung 
JThsodbic for the tears his words had wrung. 



Campbell's pokms. 117 

<BiLt no,' Bhe cried, 'uiuuty not what yoa'Te iaid. 

Nor grudge one prop on which my pride it iteya d ; 

To think I could haye merited your fidlh 

Shall be my solace even unto death ! ' 

* Julia,' Thsodbio said, with purposed look 

Of firmness, < my reply deserved rebuke ; 

But by your pure and sacred peace of mind. 

And by the dignity of womankind, 

Swear that when I am gone you'll do your best 

To chase this dream of fondness from your bresst' 



** Th' abrupt appeal electrified her thought ; •— 
She looked to HeaVn as if its aid she sought, 
Dried hastily the tear-drops firom her cheek, 
And signified the tow she could not speak. 

'<£re long he communed with her mother mild; 

' Alas ! ' she said, < I warned — cox\}ured my child, 

And grieved for this affection £rom the first, 

But like fatality it has been nursed; 

Por when her filled eyes on your picture fixed. 

And when your name in all she spoke was mixed, 

'Twas hard to chide an over-grateful mind ! 

Then each attempt a likelier choice to find 

Made only fresh-rejected suitors grieve. 

And Udolph's pride — perhaps her own — believe 

That, could she meet, she might enchant ev'n yoo. 

You came. — I augured the event, 'tis true, — 

But how was ITdolph's mother to exclude 

The guest that claimed our boundless gratitude? 

And that unconscious you had cast a spell 

On Julia's peace, my pride refused to tell : 

Yet in my child's illusion I have seen, 

Believe me well, how blameless you have been : 

Nor can it cancel, howsoe'er it end. 

Our debt of friendship to our boy's best friend.' 



118 Campbell's. POEMS. 

At night he. parted with the aged pair; 
At early mom rose Jitlia. to -prepare 
The last repast her hands for him shoiild make; 
And Udolpk to oonyoy him o er the lake. 
The parting was to her such bitter grie^ 
That of her own accord she made it brief; 
But, lingering at her window, long surveyed 
His boat's last glimpses melting into shade. 

"TusoDRic sped to Austria, and achiered 
His journey's object. Much was he reUeved 
When Udolfh's letters told that Julia's mind 
Had borne his loss firm, tranqxul, and resigned. 
He took the Rhenish route to England, high 
Elate with hopes, fulfilled their eostacy. 
And interchanged with Constajtce's own breath 
The sweet eternal vows that bound their faith, 

**To paint that being to a grovelling mind 

Were like portraying pictures to the blind. 

'Twas needful e^n infectiously to fed 

Her temper's fond and firm and gladsome zeal, 

To share existence with her, and to gain 

Sparks firom her love's electrifying chain 

Of that pure pride, which, lessening to her breast 

Life's ills, gave all its joys a treble zest, 

Before the mind completely imderstood 

That mighty truth — how happy are the good! 

'♦EVn when her light forsook him, it bequeathed 
Ennobling sorrow ; and her memory breathed 
A sweetness that survived her living days, 
As odorous scents outlast the censer's blaze. 

*< Or, if a trouble dimmed their golden joy, 
'Twas outward dross, and not incised aUoy * 



Campbell's poems. 119 

Tkeir home knew but aifection's looks and speeoh — 
A little Heaven, above dissension's reach. 
But 'midst her kindred there was stanfe and gall ; 
Save one congenial sister, they were all 
Such foils to her bright intellect and grace, 
, As if she had engrossed the virtue of her race. 
Her nature strove th* unnatural feuds to heal, 
Her wisdom made the weak to her appeal; 
And, though the wounds she cured were soon uncloaed, 
Unwearied still her kindness interposed. 



'* Oft on those errands though she went in vain. 

And home^ a blank without her, gave him pain, 

He bore her absence for itd pious end. — 

But public grief his spirit came to bend; 

For war laid waste his native land once more. 

And German honor bled at every pore. 

Oh ! were he there, he thought, to rally back 

One broken band, or perish in the wrack ! 

Nor think that Ck>N8TANCB sought to move and melt 

His purpose : like herself she spoke and felt : — 

*Tour fame is mine, and I will bear all wo 

Except its loss ! — but with you let me go 

To aim you for, to embrace you &om, the fight ; 

Harm will not reach me — hazards will delight I ' 

He knew those hazards better; one campaign 

In England he conjured her to remain. 

And she expressed assent, although her heart 

In secret had resolved they should not part. 

<*How oft the wisest on misfortune's shelves 

Are wrecked by errors most unlike themselves ! 

That little fault, thai fnud of love's romance, 

That plan's concealment, wrought their whole mischaaoa 

He knew it not preparing to embark, 

But felt extinct his comfortTs latest spark. 



ttti CAMFBKLL's POSM8. 

Whan, 'raidUt thooe numbered days, ahe made repair 

Agam to kindled worihleai of her care. 

TU true ahe aaid the tidings she would wzite 

Would make her absence on his heart sit light; 

But, haplesslj, rerealed not yet her plah, 

And left him in his home a lonely man. 

« Thus damped in thoughts, he mused upoxi the past : 

'Xwas long «nce he had heard from Udolpx last» 

And deep misgivings on his spirit fell 

That all with TJdolph's household was not well. 

TVas that too true prophetic mood of fear 

That augurs grieft ineyitably near, 

Yet makes them not less^ startling to the mind 

When come. Least looked-for then of human kind, 

His Udolfh ('twas, he thought, at fiist, his sprite,) 

With mournful joy that mom surprised his sight 

How changed was TJdolph ! Scarce Theodbio durst 

Inquire his tidings ; — he revealed the worst 

* At first,' he said, < as Jxtua bade me tell, 

She bore her fate high-mindedly and well, 

Resolved firom common eyes her grief to hide, 

And from the world's compassion saved our pride ; 

But still her health gave way to secret wo, 

And long she pined — for broken hearts die alow ! 

Her reason went, but came returning, like 

The warning of her death-hour — soon to strike; 

And all for which she now, poor s uffer er ! sighs. 

Is once to see TKaonBio ere she dies. 

Why should! como to tell you this caprioei 

Forgive me ! for my mind has lost its peace. 

I blame myad:^ and ne'er shall cease to blame, 

That my insane ambition for the name 

Of brolher to TsBODBZOt fbunded all 

Those high-bnUt busies that omshed her by thear Ml 

I made her slight her mother's counsel sage, 

But now my parents droop with grief and age; 



Campbell's poems. li] 

And, though my sister's eyes mean no re^bnkeb 

They orerwhehn me with their dying look. 

The journey's long, but you are fiill of ruth ; 

And she who shares your heart, and knows its trath, 

Has fiiith in your afiEection, far above 

The fear of a poor dying object's love.' — 

*She has, my Udolph/ he replied, ''tis true; 

And oft we talk of Julia. — oft of you.' 

Their converse came abruptly to a dose; 

For scarce could each his troubled looks compose^ 

When visitants, to Constajtce near akin, 

(In all but traits of soul,) were ushered in. 

They brought not her^ nor midst their kindred band 

The sister who alone, like her, was bland j 

But sadd — and smUed to see it give him pain — 

That CoNSTANOB would a fortnight yet remain. 

Vexed by their tidings, and the haughty view 

They east on TJdolph as the youth withdrew, 

Theodbic blamed his Constance's intent. 

**The demons went, and left him as they went 
Te read, when they were gone beyond recall, 
A note from her loved hand explaining all. 
She said, that with thdr house she only stayed 
That parting peace might with them all be made. 
But prayed for love to share his foreign life. 
And shun all future chance of kindred stzife. 
He wrote Vfith speed, his soul's consent to say : 
The letter sussed her on her homeward way. ' 
In six hours Constance was within his arms : 
Koved, flushed, unlike her wonted calm of charms. 
And breatidess — with uplifted^ hands outspread ^- 
Burst into tears upon his neck, and said, — 
*1 knew that those who brought your message lauglM^ 
"With poison of their own to point the shaft; 
And this my one Idnd sister thought, yet loath 
Confessed she feared 'twas true you had been wralh. 
11 



128 Campbell's POEMS. 

But here you are, and smile on me : my pain 
Is gone, and Constance is herself again.' 
His ecstacj, it may be guessed, was much : 
Yet pain's extreme and pleasure's seemed to touch. 
What pride ! embracing beauty's perfect mould ; 
What terror ! lest his few rash words, mistold. 
Had agonized her pxdse to fever's heat: 
But calmed again so soon it healthful beat, 
And such sweet tones were in her voice's sound. 
Composed herself she breathed composure round. 

** Fair being ! with whai sympathetic grace 
She heard, bewailed, and pleaded Julia's case; 
Implored he would her dying wish attend, 
* And go,' she said, < to-morrow with your friend; 
m wait for your return on England's shore. 
And then we'll cross the deep, and part no more.' 

'* To-morrow both bis soul's compassion drew 

To Julia's call, and Constance urged anew 

That not to heed her now would be to bind 

A load of pain for life upon his mind. 

He went with TJdolph — from his. Constance went — 

Stifling, alas ! a dark presentiment 

Some aliment lurked, cv'n whilst she smiled, to mock 

His fears of harm from yester-moming's shock. 

Meanwhile a fedthful page he singled out. 

To watch at home, and follow straight his route. 

If aught of threatened change her health should show 

— With XJdolfk then he reached the house of wo. 

**That winter's eve how darkly Nature's brow 
Scowled on the scenes it lights so lovely now ! 
The tempest, raging o'er the realms of ice. 
Shook fragments from the rifted precipice ; 
And, whilst their fiBlling echoed to the wind. 
The wolfs long howl in dismal discord joined. 



Campbell's foxms. £!& 

While white 70x1 water^s foam wiiB raised in oloodt 
Ihat whirled like spirits wailing in thdr shnmdi: 
Without was Natnre's elemental din — 
And beauty died, and Mendship wept, within 

<* Sweet Julia, though her fate was finished hal^ 

StiU knew him — smiled on him with feeble laugh ^o- 

And blessed him, tiU she drew her latest sigh ! 

But lo ! while Udolph's bursts of agony, 

And age's tremulous wailings, round him rose, 

What aocents jnerced him deeper yet than those ! 

Twas tidings, by his English messenger. 

Of Constance — brief and terrible they were. 

She still was living when the page set out 

Prom home, but whether now was left in doubt 

Poor Julia ! saw he then thy death's reUef — 

Stonned into stupor more than wrung with grief? 

It was not strange ; for in the humsn breost 

Two master-passions cannot coexist, 

And that alarm which now usurped his brain 

Shut out not only peace, but other pain. 

Twas ftmcying Constance underneath the shroud 

That covered Jttlia made him first weep loud, 

And tear himself away from them that wept. 

Past hurrying homeward, night nor day he slept» 

Till, launched at sea, he dreamed that his soul's saint 

Clung to him on a bridge of ice, pale, fiiint. 

O'er cataracts of blood. Awake^ he Uessed 

The shore; nor hope left utterly his breast, 

nil reaching home, terrific omen ! there 

The straw-laid street preluded his despair — 

llie servant's look — the table that revealed 

His letter sent to Constance last, stiU sealed — 

Though speech and hearing left him, told too olear 

Hist he had now to suffer — not to fear. 

He felt as if he ne'er should cease to feel — 

A wretch live-broken on misfortune's wheel : 



U4 CAMFBXLIt's P0XM8. 

Her ^mtii'B cauM — hft might nuke liis p«M0 idtti 

Bmvipw 
Abflolyed from guilt but nciTer aelf-liargiyeii. 

**The ocean has its eblnngs — so has grief; 

'Twas yent to anguish, if 'twas not relief 

To lay his biow eVn on her death-cold cheek. 

Then flist he heaxd her one kind sister speak: 

She bade him, in the name of Heaven, fbrbear 

With self-xepxoach to deepen his despair: 

<'Tw8s hlame/ she said^ *I shudder to relate^ 

But none of yours, that caused our darling's fate ; 

Her mother (must I call her such ?) foresaw, 

Should CoNSTAifOB leave the land, ahe would withdraw 

Our House's charm against the world's neglect •*- 

The only gexft that drew it some respect. 

Hence, when you went, she came and Tunly ipoko 

To change her purpose — grew incensed, and broke 

With execrations from her kneeling child. 

Start not! your angd from her knee rose mild* 

Peared that she should not long the scene outUyei 

Yet bade even you the unnatural one forgive. 

TOl then her aOment had been slight, or none; 

But fast she drooped, and fatal pains came on : 

Poreseeing their event, she dictated 

And signed these words for you.' The letter said— 

" < Thbodrio, this is destiny above 

Our power to baffle ; bear it then, my love I 

Bavc not to leam the usage I have borne. 

For one true sister left me not forlorn; 

And though you're absent in another land. 

Sent from me by my own well-meant comnumdv 

Tour soul, I know, as firm is knit to mine 

As these clasped hands in blessing you. now join. 

Shape not imagined honors in my fate— 

Even now my sufferings are not very great 



Campbell's poems. 135 

And when your grief's first transports shall subside, 

I call upon your strength of soul and pride 

To paj my memory, if 'tis worth the debt, 

Loye's glorying tribute— not forlorn regret: 

I charge my name with power to conjure up 

JSeflections bahny, not its bitter cup. 

My pardoning angel, at the gates of Heayen, 

ShaU look not more reg^ard than you haye giyen 

To me; and our life's union has been clad 

In snules of bliss as sweet as life e'er had. 

Shall gloom be from such bright remembrsnce cast? 

ShaU bitterness outflow from sweetness past? 

No ! imaged in the sanctuary of your breast, 

There let me smile, amidst high thoughts at rest; 

And let contentment on your spirit shine. 

As if its peace were still a part of mine : 

For if you war not proudly with your pain. 

For you I shall have worse than liyed in yain. 

But I conjure your manUness to bear 

My loss with noble spirit — not despair : 

I ask you by our love to promise this. 

And kiss these words, where I have left a kiss, — 

The latest from my living lips for yours/ — 

« Words that wiU solace him while life endures; 

For though his spirit from affliction's surge 

Could ne'er to life, as life had been, emerge. 

Yet still that mind whose harmony elate 

Bang sweetness, even beneath the crush of fate,— 

That mind in whose regard all things were placed 

In yiews that softened them, or lights that graced. 

That soul's example could not but dispense 

A portion of its own blessed influence; 

Inyoking him to peace, and that self-sway 

"Which Fortune can not give, nor take away : 

And though he mourned her long, 'twas with saoh wo 

As if her spirit watched him still below." 



TaANSliTTONS. 



FRAGMENT. 

ntOM THB GKBSK OF ALCXAJT. 

The mountain summits sleep : glens, clifb, and cares 
Are silent — all the black earth's reptile brood — 
The bees — the wild beasts of the mountain "wood: 

In depths beneath the dark red ocean's waves 
Its monsters rest, whilst wrapt in bower and spray 
Each bird is hashed that stretched its pinions to the day. 



SOKQ OP HYBBIAS, THE GBETA29. 

Mt wealth's a burly spear and brand. 
And a right good shield of hides tmtanned, 

Which on my arm I buckle: 
With these I plough, I reap, I sow. 
With these I make the sweet yintage flow, 

And all around me truckle. 

But your wights that take no pride to widd 
A massy spear and well-made shieldi 



Campbell's poems. 197 

Nor joy to draw the sword : 
Oh, I bring those heartless* hjq;>less dronss^ 
Down in a trice on their manow-bonss^ 

To call me King and Lord. 



MARTIAL ELEGY. 

FROM THE GSBBK OF TTBTAUS. 

How glorious IibII the valiant, sword in hand. 

In front of battle for their natiye land ! 

But oh ! what ills await the wretch that yields, 

A recreant outcast from his country's fields ! 

Hie mother whom he loves shall quit her home, 

An aged father at his side shall roam; 

His litde ones shall weeping with him go, 

And a young wife participate his woe; 

While scorned and scowled upon by every &ce^ 

They pine for food, and beg fix)m place to place. 

Stain of his breed ! dishonoring manhood's form ! 
AU ills shall cleave to him : — afiliction's storm 
Shall Innd him wandering in the vale of years. 
Till, lost to all but ignominious fears. 
He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name. 
And children,, like himself, innured to shame^ 

But we will combat for our fathers' land. 
And we will drain the life-blood where we stand, 
To save our children : — fight ye side by side. 
And serried dose, ye men of youthful pride. 
Disdaining fear, and deeming lig^t the cost 
Of life itadf in glorious battle lost 



138 Campbell's poems. 

Leaye not our sireB to stem the unequal fight, 
Whose limbs aie nerved no more -with buoyant might 
Nor, lagging backward, let the yonnger breast 
Permit the man of age, (a sight unblessed,) . 
To welter in the oombafs foremost thrust. 
His hoary head disheyeUed in the dust. 
And yenerable bosom bleeding bare. 

But youth's .fair form, though fallen, is eyer fiiir, 
And beautiful in death the boy appears, 
The h»o boy that dies in blooming years: 
In man's regret he liyes, and woman's tears. 
More sacred than in life, and loyelier far. 
For haying perished in the front of war. 



SPECIMENS OF TEUNSLATION PROM MEDEA« 

S«aioo( is Xeywv, KovSiv rt o-o^ovf 
Tov( xpoc$s 0porovs ovk av anaprotf, 

Medea^ v. 194, p. 33, Glasg. edit. 

Tell me, ye bards, whose skill sublime 
Pirst charmed the ear of youthful Time, 
With nimibers wrapt in heayenly fire* 
Who bade delighted Echo swell 
The trembling transports of the lyre, 
The murmur of the shell — 
Why to the burst of Joy alone 
Accords sweet Music's soothing tone? 
Why can no bard, with magic strain. 
In slumbers steep the heart of pain ? 
While yaried tones obey your sweep, 
The mild, the plaintiye, and the deep, 



sws^t 



CAMFBSI.X.'b VOSMf. 189 

Bendi not deRpaizing Gxifif to ketr 
Tour goldNL liite^ mth iwuhed e«r? 
Hub ftll your art no po^irer to bund 
Tbe fittoor pangs tbyat shake tbo mind. 
And lull the -wzoth at whose command 
Mnzder bares ker gory hand? 
When flnahed with joy, the rosy thimig 
Weave the light danee^ ye swell the song ! 
Cease^ ye Tain warblers I oease to chasna. 
The breast with other raptures warm! 
Cease! till yonr hand with magio strain 
hk dnmbers steep the heart of pain ! 



SPEECH OF THE CHOBTTS, 

nr THX SAMS TRAeXDT, 

TO JHiaiJA PB XBDBA. FBOK HBK FOBP08B OP g U ' i ' IlW HIE 
OHILDSBN TO ViEJLTR, AND FLTXNG POB PBOTBOBON TO 
ATHENS* 

O KAGOABD qneen I to Athens dost thou guide 
Thy glowing chariot, steeped in kindred gore : 

Or seek to hide thy foul infanticide 
Where Peace and 3£ercy dwell for erennore } 

mie land where Truth, pure, precious, and subUxna^ 
Wooes the deep silence of sequestered bowers. 

And warriors, matchless since the first of time, 
Bear their bright banners o'er imconquered towers I 

WheM joyous youth, to Music's mdlow strain, 
Twinas in the dance with nymphs fore?er lUr, 

RThile Spring eternal on the lilied plain, 
Wftres amber radiance through the fields of air I 



130 OAMPBXLL's FOSIIS. 

Hie tanefal Nine (so sacred legends tell) 

First waked their heavenly lyre these scenes among; 
Still in your g ree n wood bowers they lore to dweQ; 

Still in your rales they swell the choral song ! 

But there the tuneful, chaste Pierian fiur, 
The guardian nymphs of green Parnassus, now 

Sprung from Harmonia, while her graceftd hair 
Waved in high auburn o'er her polished brow I 

ANTIBTBO^HE I. 

Where silent yales, and glades of green array. 
The murmuring wreaths of cool Cephisus lave, 

There, as the muse hath sung, at noon of day, 
Tlie queen of Beauty bowed to taste the waye ; 

And blest the stream^ and breathed across the land 
Tlie soft, sweet gale that fans yon summer bowers; 

And there the sister Loyes, a smiling band. 
Crowned with the fragrant wreaths of zosy flowen I 

"And go," she cries, "in yonder yalleys roye. 
With Beauty^s torch the solemn scenes illume; 

Wake in each eye the radiant light of Loye, 
Breathe on its cheek yoimg Passion's tendec bloonu 

"Entwine, with myrtle chains, your soft control. 
To sway the hearts of Freedom's darling kind ! 

With glowing charms enrapture Wisdom's soul, 
And mould to grace ethereal Virtue's mind." 

STROPHE n. 

The land where Heay^i's own hallowed waters {^y. 
Where iKendship binds the generous and the good^ 

Say, shall it hail thee from thy frantic way. 
Unholy woman ! with thy hands embrued 



camfbe.ll's pox MS. 131 

In thine own children's gore ? Oh ! ere they blee(l» 
Let Nature's yoice thy ruthless heart appall! 

Pause at the bold, inrevocable deed — 
The mother strikes — the goiltleBS babes shall fJaXL I 

Think what remorse thy maddening thoughts shall sting. 
When dying pangs their gentle bosoms tear I 

Where shalt thou sink, when lingering echoes ring 
The screams of horror in thy tortured ear ? 

No ! let thy bosom melt to Pity's cry, — 
In dust we kneel — by sacred Heav'n implore— 

O ! stop thy lifted arm, ere fet they die. 
Nor dip thy horrid hands in infismt gore! 



AimSTBOPHB n. 

Say, now shalt thou that barbarous soul assume, 
trndamx>ed by horror at the daring plan? 

Hast thou a heart to work thy children's doom } 
Or hands to finish what thy wrath began? 

When o'er each babe you look a last adieu, 
And gaze on Innocence that smiles asleep, 

Shan iA> fond feeling beat to Nature true. 
Charm thee to pensive thought — and bid thee weep! 

When the young suppliants clasp their parent dear, 
Heaye the de^ sob, and pour the artless prayer, — • 

Ay ! thou shalt melt ; — and many a heart-shed tear 
Gush o'er the hardened features of despair ! 

Nature shall throb in every tender string, — 
Thy trembling heart the ruffian's task deny ; — 

Thy horror-smitten hands a&r shall fling 
The blade, undrenched in blood's eternal dy«. 



m CAMrSELL'tt POEMS. 

OXOBUI. 

Hallowed Earth ! with indignatioa 
Harky oh mark, the mtirderoiia deadt 

Radiant eye of wide creation. 
Watch the accnned infiinticide ! 

Tet, ere Colchia's nigged daughter 
Perpetrate the dire design. 

And consign to kindred slaaghter 
Children of thy golden line ! 

Shan mortal hand, with murder gory, 
Canae immortal blood to flow? 

Sun of Heayen ! — arrayed in glory 
Biae, forbid, avert the blow! 

In the vales of placid gladness 
Let no rueful maniac range ; 

CShaae a&r the fiend of Madness, 
Wrest the dagger from Revenge I 

Say, hast thou, with kind proteetii»i« 
Reared thy amiling race in vain; 

Fostering Nature's fond affeotioii. 
Tender cares, and pleasing pain? 

Hast thou, on the troubled ocean, 
Brarad the tempest loud and ttvoiigb 

Whara the waves, in wild commotion. 
Roar Cjranean rocks among? 

Didst thou roam the paths of dangBr* 

Hymenean joys to prove ? 
Spare, O aaaguinary straagv, 

Fladfes of thy sacred love! 



Campbell's pobms. 

Aflk not Heayen's oonmiiMnition. 

After thou hast done the deeds 
Meroyy pazdonf expietionf 

Peiidi when thy yietims hleed. 
12 



0*CONNOR»S CHILD; 



Oh ! onoe the harp of TnniBfail 

Was strong foil high to notes of gladness; 

But yet it often told a tale 

Of more prevailing sadness. 

Sad was the note, and wild its fall, 

As wiiids that moan at night forlorn 

Along the isles of Fion-Gall, 

When, for 0*Connor^s child to mourn, 

The haiper. told, how lone, how far 

From any mansion's twinkling star. 

From any path of social men. 

Or voice, but fiK>m the fox's den, 

The lady in the desert dwelt ; 

And yet no wrongs, no fear she felt; 

Say, why should dwell, in place so wild, 

0'Ck>nnor*s pale and lovely child ^ 



Sweet lady! she no more inspires 
Green Eihi's. hearts with beauty's powcr» 
As, in the palace of her sires. 
She bloomed a peerless flower. 



Campbell's posits. 188 

Gtone from her hand sad bosom, gons^ 
The royal brooch, the jewelled xing, 
That o'er her dazzling whiteness shone. 
Like dews on lilies of the spring. 
Tet why, thoogh ftll'n her brother's 
Beneath De Bonrgo's battle stem. 
While yet in Leinster nnezplored, 
Her friends surviye the English sword; 
Why lingers she from Erin's host, 
So fiir on Oalway's shipwrecked coast ; 
Why wanders she a hnntreas wild— 
O'Connor's pale and lovely child? 



And fixed on empty space, why bum 

Her eyes with momentary wildness ; 

And wherefore do they thai return 

To more than woman's mildneas ? 

Dishevelled are her raven locks ; 

On Connocht Moran's name she calls; 

And ofb amidst fhe lonely rocks 

She sings sweet madrigals. 

Placed 'midst the fox-glove and the mosi» 

Behold a parted warrior's cross ! 

That is the spot where, evermore, 

The lady, at her shieling door. 

Enjoys that, in communion sweet. 

Hie living and the dead can meet. 

For, lo ! to love-lorn fSmtasy, 

The hero of her heart is nigh. 



Bright as the bow that spans the storm. 
In Erin's yellow vestore dad, 
A son of light — a lovely form. 
He comes and makes her glad; 



MM campbbi*l's poxmi. 

Now on the grttw-green torf he aiti» 

Hiii taaselled horn beside him laid; 

Now o'er the' hills in chase- he flits. 

The hunter and the deer a shade ! 

Sweet mourner ! these are shadows yaln 

That cross the twilight of her brain ; 

Yet she wHl tell you, she is blest. 

Of Connocht Moran's tomb possessed. 

More richly than in Aghrim's bower, 

When bards high praised her beauty's power, 

And kupfiing pages offered up 

The morat in a oLdeii eup. 



*< A hero's bride ! this desert bower. 

It ill befits thy gentle breeding : 

And wherefore dost thou loye this flower 

To caU — 'My love lies bleeding?'" 

"This purple flower my tears have nursed; 

A hero's blood supplied its bloom : 

I lore it, for it was the first 

That grew on Connocht Moran's tomb. 

Oh ! hearken, stranger, to my yoice ! 

This desert mansion is my choice! 

And blest, though fatal, be the star 

That led me to its wilds afar.; 

For here these pathless mountains free 

Gare shelter to my love and me; 

And every rock and every stone 

Bore witness that he was my own. 



▼I. 

•< O'Connor's child, I was the bud 
Of Erin's royal tree of glory ; 



C-AMPBEI.I.'S POWS 187 

But iro to them that wrapt in blood 
The tissue of my story! 
Stall as I dasp my burning brain, 
A death-scene rushes on my tight; 
It rises o'er* and o'er again. 
The bloody feud— the fatal nigSt, 
When chafing Connocht Moran's sconi. 
They called my hero basely bom ; 
And bade him choose a meaner bride 
Than from O'Connor's house of pride. 
Their tribe, they said, their high degree^ 
Was sung in Tara's psaltery; 
Witness their Bath's yictorious brand. 
And Cathal of the bloody hand ; 
Glory, they said, and jrawer, and honor, 
Were in the mansion of 0'Ck>nnor; 
But he, my loyed one, bore in field 
A humbler crest, a meaner shield. 



"Ah, brothers! what did it ayail* 
That fiercely and triumphantly 
Ye fought the English of the pale. 
And stemmed Be Bourgo's chiyalry? 
And what was it to loye and me. 
That barons by your standard rode; 
Or beal-fires for your jubilee 
Upon a hundred mountains glowed? • 
What though the lords of tower and dome 
!From Shannon to the North-sea foam, — 
Thought ye your iron hands of pride 
Could break the knot that loTe had tied? 
No ! — let the eagle change his plume, 
The leaf its hue, the flower its bloom ; 
But ties around this heart were spun. 
That could not, would not, be undone! 
12* 



in CJlMPBJSIiX.'8 pasM». 

▼in. 

**At bleating of the wild watch-fold. 
Thus sang my lore — *0h, come with.nes 
Our bark la on the lake, — behold* 
Omr steeds are iiAStenlll to the tree. 
Come flu: from Castle-Connor's elans; 
Come with thy belted forestere, 
And I, beside the lake of swans, 
Shall hunt for thee the fUlow-deer; 
And bnild thy hut, and bring thee home 
The wild-fowl and the honey-comb; 
And bezzies ftom the wood provide. 
And play my daraheoh by thy aide. 
Then come, my love I ' — Qow could I staj^ 
Our nimble stag-hounds tracked the way, 
And I puisued, by moonless skies, 
The light of Connoeht Moran's eyes. 



I 



"And fleuit and far, before the star 

Of day-spring, rushed we tiirough the i^ade^ 

And saw st dawn the lofty bawn 

Of Castle-Connor fide. . . 1 

Sweet was to us the hermitage i 

Of this usploughed, untroddoi shore ; 

Like birds aU Joyous fiom the cage, 

Por man's neglect we loved it. more ; 

And well he knew, my huntsman dear, 

To search the game with hawk and spear; 

While I, his evening food to dress. 

Would .sing to him in happiness. 

But, oh, that midnight of despair ! 

When I was doomed to rend my hair: 

The night, to me^ of shrieking sorrow ! 

The night, to him, Ihat had no moxKOWl 



Campbell's poems. I9B 



"When all was hushed, at eyen tide, 

I heard the' baying of their beagle : 

Be hushed ! my Connocht Moran cried* 

"Da bat the screaming of the eagle. 

Alas! 'twas not the eyrie's sound; 

Their bloody bands had tracked ns out; 

Up-listening starts our couchant hand — 

And, hark ! again, that nearer shout 

Brings feurter on the murderers. 

Spare — spare him — Brazil — Desmond fioce! 

In Tain — no voice the adder charms; 

Their weapons crossed my sheltering arms. 

Another's sword has laid him low « - 

Another's and another's; 

And every hand that dealt the blow — 

Ah me ! it was a brother's ! 

Yes, when his meanings died away. 

Their iron hands had dug the clay. 

And o'er his burial turf they trod. 

And I beheld— oh God! oh Gk)d! — 

His life-blood oozing from the sod! 



••Warm in his death- woimds Bepulohred* 
Alas ! my warrior's spirit brave 
Nor matft nor uUa-kiUa heard, 
Lamenting, sooth his grave* 
Dragged to their hated mans&on book, 
How long in thraldom's grasp I lay 
I knew not, for my soul was black, 
And knew no change of night or day. 
One night of horror round me grew ; 
Or if I saw, or felt, or knew, 
Twas but when those grim visages, 
The a0gry brothers of my race. 



140 CAMFBELI.'8 POEMS. 

Olared on each eye-ball's aching throb, 
And checked my boaom's power to sob» 
Or when my heart with pxtlses drear 
Beat like a deathrwatch to my ear. 



" But Heayen, at last, my soul's eclipse 
Did with a vision bright inspire ; 
I woke, and felt upon my lips 
A prophetess's fire. 
Thrice in the east a war-dnmi beat, 
I heard the Saxon's trumpet sound. 
And ranged, as to the judgment-seat. 
My guilty, trembling brothers round. 
Clad in the hehn and shield they came ; 
For now Be Bourgo's sword and flame 
Had ravaged Ulster's boundaries. 
And lighted up the midnight skies. 
The standard of O'Connor's sway 
"Was in the turret where I lay; 
That standard, with so dire a lode. 
As ghastly shone the moon and pale^ 
I gave, — that every bosom shook 
Beneath its iron mail. 



" And go ! (I cried) the combat seek, 
Ye hearts that unappalled bore 
The anguish of a sister's shriek. 
Go ! — and return no more 
For sooner guilt the ordeal brand 
Shall grasp unhurt, than ye shall hold 
The banner with victorious hand. 
Beneath a sister's curse unrolled. 
O stranger ! by my country's loss I 
And by my love ! ' and by the cross ! 



Campbell's poxMa. lil 

I swear I never could hare fpokft 
The curse that severed nature's yoke ; 
But that a spirit o'er me stood. 
And fired me with the wrathful mood; 
And frenzy- to my heart was giTon, 
To speak the malison of heaven. 



** They would have crossed themselves, all mute ; 

They would have prayed to burst the spell; 

But at the stamping of my foot 

Each hand down powerless fell ! 

And go to Athunree I (I cried) 

High lift the banner of your pride ! 

But know that where its sheet unrolls. 

The weight of blood is on your souls I 

GK> where the havoc of your kerne 

Shall float as high as mountain fern ! 

Men shall no more your mansion know; 

The nettles on your hearth shaU growl 

Dead, as the green oblivious flood 

That mantles by your walls, shall be 

The glory of O'Connor's blood ! 

Away ! away to Athunree ! 

Where, downward when the sun shall fUl* 

The raven's wing shall be your pall! 

And not a vassal shall unlace 

The visor from your dying face ! 

XV. 

''A bolt that overhung our dome 
Suspended tUl my curse was given* 
Soon as it passed these lips of foam. 
Pealed in the blood-red heaven. 
Dire was the look that o'er their backs 
The angry parting brothers threw : 



149 C*AKFBELX.'8 POEMS* 

But now, behold I like catanctB, 
Come down the hUls in Tiew 
O'Connor's plmned partisans ; 
Thrice ten Kihiagorvian clans 
Were marching to their doom: 
A sudden storm their plxmiage tossed* 
A flash of lightning o'er them crossed* 
And all again was gloom! 



«< Stranger ! I fled the home of grie^ 
At Connocht Moran's tomb to taJl ; 
I found the hehnet of my chie^ 
His bow still hanging on our wall. 
And took it down, and yowed to rove 
This desert place a huntress bold; 
Nor would I change my buried lore 
For any heart of living mould. 
No ! for I am a hero's child : 
I'll hunt my quarry in the wild ; 
And still my home this mansion mak% 
Of all unheeded and unheeding. 
And cherish, for my warrior's sake-~ 
•The flower of love lies bleeding.' " 



CAMPBELL S POXMl. 148 



LOCHIEL'S WAKNING. 

WIZARD. — LOCHIKL. 
WIZABD* 



LocHiEL, Lochiel ! beware of the' day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle aziay! 
For a field of the dead mshes red on my sight, 
And the clans of ^ulloden are scattered in fight. 
They rally, they bleed, for theilb kingdom and crown; 
Wo, wo to the riders that trample them down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But haSk ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert fiies firantic and fer? • 

Tis thine, oh GlenulUn ! whose bride shall await, 
Like a loye-Hghted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despai]^ 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captiyity led ! 
Oh weep ! but thy tears can not number the dead : 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, — 
CuUoden! that reeks with the blood of the braye. 



Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer I 
Or, if gory CuUoden so dreadful appear. 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of firight. 



Ha ! laugh*8t thou, Lochiel, my visioA to scorn ? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume uhsSX be 



144 Campbell's pokms. 

Sfijf nuhed the bold eagle ezultingly forth. 

From hii home, in the dark rolling douds of the north } 

Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode 

Companionlesa, bearing destruction abroad; 

But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 

Ah ! home let him speed, — for the spoiler is nigh. 

Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast 

Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 

'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 

From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 

Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 

Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 

Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to bum; 

Ketum to thy dwelling ! all lonely return I 

For the blackneSs of ashes shall mark where it stood* 

And a wild, mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 



False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled my dan. 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath. 
And like iftapers descend to | the harvest of death. 
Hien welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rook ! 
But wo to his kindred, and wo to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald. the dauntless, and Moray the proud. 
All plaided and nlumed in their tartan array -7^ — 



Lochiel, 'Lochiel! beware of the day; 

For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal. 
But man cannot cover what God would xeT«al; 
'TIs the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows befi>re« 



CAJCPBJEX.L*8 P0IM8. 14$ 

I tell tiiee, Cnlloden's dread echoei shall xing 

'With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. 

Jjo ! anointed by Heaven -with the yials of mnth. 

Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 

Now in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight : 

Bise, rise ! ye wild tempests, and coyer his flight ! 

'Tis finished. Their thimders are hushed on the moon ; 

Colloden is lost, and my country deplores : 

But where is the iron-bound prisoner^ — where? 

Por the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 

Say, mounts he the octeua-wove, banished, forlorn. 

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn? 

Ah no ! for a darker departure is near ; 

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier; 

His death-beU is tolling : oh ! mercy, dispel 

Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 

Life flutters conyulsed in his quivering limbs. 

And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 

Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his foet. 

Where his heart shaU be thrown era it ceases to beal^ 

"With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale 

LOCKIEL. 

Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale: 

Por never shall Albin a destiny meet 

So black with ^Ushonor, so foul with retreat. 

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in fhiif 

■gore. 
Like ocean- weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field, and his foet to the foe! 
And lea;ving in battle no blot on his name. 
Look pnnidly to "Bemven from the death-bed of i 
18 



146 cakpbxll's pokks. 



BATTLE OF THB BALTIC. 



Ov Nelson and the North, 

Sing the gloiioiu day's renown 

When to battle fierce can^ forth 

All the might of 'Denmark's crown. 

And her arms along the deep proudly ahoiie; 

By each gun the lighted brand, 

in a bold determined hand, 

And the^rince of all the land 

Led them on. — 

n. 

like leriathans afloat, 

Lay their bulwarks on the fadne; 

While the sign of battle flew 

On the lofty British line: 

It was ten of April mom by the chime: 

As they drifted on their path. 

There was silence deep as death; 

And the boldest held his breath, 

For a time. — 



But the might of England flushed 

To anticipate the scene; 

And her van the fleeter rushed 

O'er the deadly space between. 

•< Hearts of oak I " our captains cried, when atoh 

Fnm. its adamantine lips [gna 

Spread a death-shade round the ships, 



CAMPBJBtL's POXMi. 147 

like the himicaiie ed^pie 
Of the tnn.^ 



Again! againl again! 

And the hsroo did not daek* 

TiH a feeble cheer the Dana 

To our cheering sent ns back : 

Their ahots along the deep slowly boom; 

Then ceased — and all is irailt 

As they strike t£e shattered sail; 

Or, in conflagratiQn pale^ 

light the g^oonu- 



Out spoke the Tietor flieoy 

As he hailed them o'er the wsro; 

** Te are brothers ! ye are men ! 

And we conquer but to save : — 

So peace instead of death let us bring ; 

But yield, proud foe, thy fleets 

With the crews, at England's feet, 

And make submission meet 

T6 our King." — 



Then Demnark blessed our ohie( 

That he gaye her wounds repose ; 

And the sounds of joy and grief 

From her people wildly rose, 

As death withdrew his shades from the day» 

While the sun looked smiling bright 

O'er a wide and woful •sight, 

Where the fires of funeral light 

Died away. — 



118 CAUTMMhV9 Yosat* 

Now Jo7» Old England, raise ! 
For the tidings of thy might, 
By the festal cities' blaae, 
Whilst the wine-cap shines in U^; 
And yet amidst that joy and upioai^ 
Let ns think of them that sleep. 
Full many a &thom deep, 
By thy wild and stormy steep» 
Elainore! — 



Brave hearts! to Britain's pride 

Once so £Eiithfiil and so true, 

On the deck of £une that died, 

With the gallant, good Biou : « 

Soft sigh the winds of Heayen o'er their grannftt 

While the billow monmM rolls, 

And the mermaid's song condoles,. 

Singing glory to the souls 

Of the braye ! — 



• OaiMam Rion, justly entitled the gallant and the good, bjr Loed Hit 
sai^ when he wrote home hit dupatche*. 



CAMPBXLI.'8 POKKt. 149 



YE MARINBRS OF BNQLAND: 



▲ NATAL ODB. 



Yb Maimcn of England ! 

That guard our natiye seaa; 

Whose flag has brayedt a thousand yean, 

Hie battle and the breese! 

Tour glozious standard launch again 

To match another foe ! 

And sweep through the deep, 

While the stonny winds do blow; 

While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. 



The spirits of your f&thers 

Shall start from eyery wave ! — 

For the deck it was their field of fiune^ 

And Ocean was their grave: 

Wbere Blake and mighty Nelson fell. 

Tour manly hearts shall glow. 

As ye sweep througb the deep, 

While tile stozmy winds do blow; 

While the batde rages loud and long. 

And the stormy winds do blow. 



Britannia needs no bulwarks, 
Ko towers along the steep ; 
18* 



ISO CAKPBXLZ. 8 FOKBI 

Her march is o'er the muuntain-wsTei^ 
Her home ia on the deep. 
With thunders from her natiTe oak. 
She qnella the floods below, — 
As they roar on tlie ahore, 
When the stonny winds do blow; 
When the battle ngfiB loud and long 
And the stonny winds do blow. 



The meteor flag of England 

Shall yet terriflc bum ; 

Till danger^s troubled night depttt» 

And the star of peace return. 

Then, then, ye ocean-waniors ! 

Our song and feast shall flow i 

To the fame of your nfine, ) 

When the storm has ceased to blow; 

When the flery flght is heard no mat^ 

And the storm has ceased to blow. 



HOHENUNBEN. . 

Ok Tiinden, when the sun was low. 
All bloodless lay the untrodden ooaw* 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Lser, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat, at dead of ni^il» 
Commanding fires of death to Ii|^ 
13ie darkness of her scenery. 



ti9B» 



By 'torch and tnimi>et fast axrayed. 
Each hoTseman drew his battle-blade^ 
And fiuiotis erery charger neighed. 
To join the dreadfal rerehy. 

Then shook the hilk nith thunder riTen, 
Then raahed the ileed to baittle dnren, 
And louder than the bolti of hesrsBp 
Far flashed the zed artiUery. 

But redder yet that light shall g^w 
On linden's hills of stained snow. 
And Moodier yet the torrent flow 
Of Iter rolling rapidly*. 

'Tis mom, bnt scarce yon lerel sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds rolling duil, 
"Where forious Frank and fiery Hun, 
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brare, 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
Wove, Munich 1 all thy banners wsTCb 
And charge with all thy chmlry ! 

Few, few shall part where many meetL 
The^snow shall be their winding-sheet» 
And erery turf beneath their fiset 
Shall be a aoldier's sepukhxet 



CAMrBK&Xt • yOBMt. 



aLENABA. 

O HSAX9 je 70& pSvocli •oimd Md in tha gate. 
Where a band oonieth alowly with WMpbig and miXi 
Til the chief of GlAuota lamenti for his dear ; 
And her ore, and the people, are called to her bier. 

Olenara came first with the moomen.and ahrood; 
Her kinamnn they followed^ but monined not aloud: 
Their pUdda all their boaoma were folded around : 
They marched aU in ailence — They looked on the gronnd* 

In BQence they reached oyer mountain and moor, 
To A heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar : 
" Now here let ua place the gray atone of her cairn : 
YHij apeak ye no word? " — aaid Glenara the atem. 

** And teU me, I charge you ! ye dan cf my 8poQae» 
Why fold ye your mantlea, why cloud ye your browa)" 
So spake the rude chieftain : — no answer is made, 
But tm^ mantle unfolding a dagger displayed. 

« I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her ahxoud»" 
died a yoioe from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; 
*< And empty that shroud, and that coflSn did aeem : 
Glenara I Glenara ! now read me my dream ! " 

O ! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween. 
When the ahroud was unclosed, and no lady waa aaen 
When a Toioe from the kinsmen spoke louder in Boonit 
Twaa the youth who had loved the foir Ellen of Lom: 



CAK^PBXLL'8 FOEITI. J 

** I dxeamed of my lady, I dreamed of lier giieC 
I dreamed that her lord was a berbaxoos cfaief : 
On a rock of the ocei^ fair Ellen £d teem ; 
Olenara ! GHenara! now read me my dream ! " 

la dtiat, low tiie traitor has knelt to the giotmd, 
And the dtisert rerealed where his lady was finmd; 
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is boxne—- 
Kow joy to the honse of fidr EQen of Lorn ! 



EXILE OF EBIN. 

Thku came to Aie beach a poor Exile of Briiv 

13ie dew on his thin robe was heavy and ehUf : 
For his coimtiy he sighed, when at twilight repaiiiBf 
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hilL * 

But the day-star attracted his eye's sad d^rotion, 
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the oeetbi 
'Where once in the fire of his youdiftil emotioi, 
He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragfi ! 

Sad is my fate ! said the heart-broken stranger; 

The wild deer and wolf to a ooyert can flee, 
But I have no refuge from fEomne and danger, 

A home and a ooimtry remain not to me. 
Never again, in the green sunny bowers, 
Where my fbre&thers lived» shall I spend the sweet houxsi 
Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers, 

And strike to the nimibers of Erin go bragh ! 

Erin, my country 1 though sad and forsaken. 
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore; 



i I OJkUTSiXhh^S P0XM8. 

But, alas ! in a £eu* fbreigxi land I awaken, 

And aigh for the Mends who can meet me no mate 1 
Oh cmel fate I.wilt thou never replace me 
In a mansion of peace — where no perils can chase mfti 
Never again shall my brothers embrace me? 
They died to defend me, or live to deplore ! 

Where is my cabin-door, fSast by the wild wood ? 

Sisters and sire ! did ye weep for its iaU. ? 
AVhete is the mother that looked on my ohildhood? 

And where is the bosom-Mend, dearer than all? 
Oh ! my sad heart ! long abandoned by pleasure, 
Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure i 
Tears, like the rain drop, may fall without measure. 

But rapture and beauty they can not recalL 

Yet all its sad recollection suppressiiig. 
One dying wish my lone bosom can draw : 

Jtrin I an ftyiV> bequeaths thee <:hi>» ^^pag^m g ! 
Land of my fbrefiathers ! Erin go bragh ! 

Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion. 

Green be thy fields, — sweetest isle of the ocean ! 

And th^ harp-striking bards sing aloud with derotion,- 
Eiin n^TOUznin — Erin go bragh I * 



LOBD XJLLINS DAUGHIER. 

A ouiEFTAiN, to the Highlands bound. 
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry !^ 

And m give thee a silver poimd 
To row us o'er the ferry." — 

* Ircdaiul my dftriing— Ireland fi>r erer. 



CAMPBXI.l'8 POKMt. 15B 

''Now who be ye, would ctom Loohgylei 

This dark and stonny water r* 
** O, Pm the chief of Uhra's iale^ 

And this Lord UUin's daughter. — 

*' And fast before her father's men 

Three days we'ye fled together, 
For ahonld he find ua in the glen. 

My blood wotdd stain the heather. 

" His horsemen hard behind ns ride ; 

Should they our steps discoyer, 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride 

"When they have slain her lover ? " — 

Oatspoke the hardy Highland wight, . 

"TU go, my chief — Fm ready: — 
It is not for your silyer bright ; 

But fiir your winsome lady : 

** And by my word ! the bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry ; 
So though the wayes are raging white* 

ril row you o'er the ferry." — 

By this the storm grew loud iipaee, 

The wator- wraith was shriekmg; 
And in the scowl of hearen each fece 

Grew darl; as they were speaking. 

But BtiU as wilder blew the wind, 

And as the night grew drearer, 
Adown the glen rode anned men* 

Their trampling sounded nearer. — 

** O haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries. 
Though tempests round us gather; 



HP a^MVBXXiX's FO»M».. 



rn aMt tii» xagiiig of thA iklBi» 
But not ill aagiy findwr/' — 

Thb bott liii left a itoimy laad* 

A itonny sea befine her, — 
Wlient oil I too ttrong for huxMoi hnA^ 

The tempett gatliered o'er her. — 

And Ml th«y rowed amidst I2ie loer 

Of wmten fiurt prerailing : 
Lord XJllm MMdied that fttel above; 

Hia 'wzath was cbasged to wailing* 



For aote dinujed, thxongh atocm and idiadab 

SSs ehild be did diecoyer: — 
One lovely baud she streCobed for aid. 

And one wae zonnd ber lo?er. 

** Come back ! oome back ! " be cried in giie( 

** Aerofli tbifl stormy water : 
And rU.I6rgbre your Highland clueC 

Ky daoghter ! — ob my daughter ! ' 

'Twas yain : the brad wavee Uihed the ihon^ 

Betum or aid preventing ; — 
The w«t«i wild went o'er bia oWkU 

Aad be wii left laroenlini^ 



CAirPBSLL*i POMMt. 18f 



ODE TO TH8 MEHORY OF BtmKa 

BovL of the Poet I wheresoe'er, 
Reclaimed from earth, thy genius plume 
Her wings of immortality : 
Suspend thy harp in happier sphere, 
And with thine influence illume 
The gladness of our jubilee. 

And fly like fiends from secret speU* 
Discord and Strife, at Burns's name^ 
Exorcised by his memory; 
For he was chief of bards that swell 
The heart with songs of social flame, 
And high delicious rerelry. 

And Love's own strain to him was giTsn, 

To warble all its ecstades 

With Pythian words unsought, unwilled — 

Love, the surviving gift of Heaven, 

The choioest sweet of Paradise, 

Jn life's else bitter cup distiUed. 

VHko, that has melted o'er his la,y 
To Mary's aoul, in BaaTeit above, 
But pictured sees, in frnoy strong, 
The landscape and the Hvekmg day 
That smiled upon their mutual lore ? — 
Who that has fblt forgets the song ? 

Nor skiHed one flame alone to fhn : 
Bis oountr3r'# high-souled peasantry 
What patitot-pride he taught! — how mueh 
14 



i 



119 Campbell's pobhs. 

To weigh the inborn worth of man ! 
Anl rattio life and poverty 
Grow beautiful beneath his touch. 

Hhn, in bis day-built cot, the muse 
Entranced, and showed him aU the fbnnSt 
Of fairy-light and wizard gloom, 
(Tliat only gifted Poet views,) 
The Genii of the floods and storms, 
And martial shades from Glory's tomb. . 

On Bannock-field what thoughts arouse 

The swain whom Bubns's song inspires ! 

Beat not his Caledonian ydns, 

As o*er the heroic turf he ploughs. 

With all the spirit of. his sires, 

And all their scorn of death and chains } 

And see the Scottish exile tanned 

By many a £» and foreign clime. 

Bend o*er his home-bom verse, and weep 

In memory of his native land. 

With loye that sooms the lapse of time. 

And ties that stretch beyond the deep. 

Bncamped by Indian ziveis wild, 

The soldier resting on his arms, 

In Buhns's carol sweet recalls 

The scenes that blessed him when a diiUU 

And glows and gladdens at the chaims 

Of Sootia's woods and water-falls. 

O deem not» 'midst this worldly strife^ 

An idle art the Poet brings : 

Let high Philosophy control. 

And sages calm, the stream of life, 

lis he refines its Ibuntain-epringa, 

The nobler passions of the soul. 



0AMPBXLI.'8 POKMI. JSl 

It is the muse that oonflecrates 
The natiye bmmer of the brave, 
XXnforling, at the trumpef 8 breath, 
Boee, thifltLe^ haip ; 'tis she elates 
To sweep the field, oar ride the waye^ 
A son-burst in the storm of death. 

And thou, young hero, when thy pall 

Is crossed with moumfol sword and pliim% 

When pubUc ig^ef begpns to fade. 

And only tens of kindred fall, 

Yf%o hint the Bard shall dress thy tomb, 

Aiid ipreet with fame^ thy gallant shade? 

Sueh was the soLdier — Bubns, IbrgiTe 

That sorrows of mine own intrude 

In strains to thy great memory due. 

In yerse like thine^ oh I oould he liTe^ 

The fiiend I mourned^ the brave, the good— 

Sdward that died at Waterioo ! • 

Farewell, high chief of Scottish song I 
That couldst altemately impart 
Wisdom and rapture in thy page^ 
And brand each vice with satire strongs 
Whose lines are mottoes of the heart, 
Whose tmtiis eleetaEity the sage. 

Farewell ! and ne*er may Envy dare 
To wring one balefol poison drop 
From the crushed laurels of thy bust : 
But while the lark sings sweet in air. 
Still may the grateful pilgrim stop, 
To Uess the i^ot that holds thy dust. 



* lUjor Edward Hodge, of the 7th HuMars, who fell at the hesd si 
bia aqoadron in the attack of the Poliah Lanoen. 



Mil CAMP^r-LL's rofiif 



IJNES. 

WBITTBN ON YIBITINO A SCKNB IN ABOTUWHUB. 

1& &elil££ of tiifiic^* eontPimj^/^y^ hmtf ^^ 
1 hUe muaed ik a Bonnftu iMoiSC *^ ^ 

^Whm me home of my ianimfm sEooSU ^ 
AU fc^Md aiid^lwld y tgr dsa&i aboS^ £• 

.^l]l^ Inidly ul|B daik nrgoiBj^sS^&ik faee[: ^ 
And tnnrelliid ^ £ir is tbe gnM-iKvrevttd r«i4 ^ 
Wliae tbe huaftor ai dear and lilka mri 

To his hills IhsEt anoirele te saa. ^ 

Y«i jwwdwring, I f»iiiid on my minoas mikf 

By the dial-slcnie aged and gieflB» 
One rose of the inldemess left on iti stalk. 

To msxc irlHco a gafden had been, 
like a farotherless hennit, the last of its nos^ 

All wild in the sOsnoe of naten^ It dzmr. 
From each wawdfrnig ann-beam, a lonely i 
For the nigfat-weed and tiiom OYenihadoiwad Iha pliBa^ 

Wherid the flower of my fomMhi&n grew. 

Sweet bud of the wildemesB I embLem of all 

That remains in this desolate heart! 
The fkbrio of bliss to iti centre may UbIB^ 

Bat patience shall never depart ! 
Tboogh the wilds of enchantment, all Tsmal and bfi^4 

In the days of delusion by fimcy oembnied 
^th the yanishing phantoms of lore and deli{[^t» 
Abandon my sonl, like a dream of the nigh^ 

And leaye but a desert behind. 



CAHFBELL'i POElff«; 16t 

Be luiihed, my dark spirit ! for wifldom oondenuw 

Whoi the faint and the feeble deplore ; 
Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems 

A thousand wild waves on the shore ! 
llaongh the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdaiB* 

May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate! 
Yea ! even the name I 'hare worshipped in Vain 
Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again : 

To bear is to conquer our fete. 



THE SOLDIER'S BBSAM. 

. OuB bugles sang trace — for the night-cloud bad lowerad, 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; 
And thousands had sunk on the ground OTerpowered, 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 

When repomng that night on my. pallet of straw. 
By the wolf-scazing fagot that guarded the slain ; 

At the dead of the night a sweet Tision I saw, 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again. 

Methought from th% battle-field's dreadftd array. 
Far, £u I had roamed on a desolate track: 

Twas Autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft 
In life's mormng march, when my bosom was young ; 

I heard my own motmtain-goats bleating aloft* 
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sun^ 
14* 



JidMkMBB 



)fl| CA|fPBE|*I.'9 POBHS. 

Then pUdfigl Ft tbe wi«e-c!ip, nod £n)4)y I 9wm9k 
Tmnx my honi9 md my neepong fiiead^ ii«?9r t» pvt ; 

My little opm kkied m« « thooyvid timef o'^r. 
And my wife sobbed alood in ber folnew eC iMNorl. 

Stay, stey with iu^— lest, tbo^ ert weazy and womi 
And £iin was tbew war-bxoken soldi^ to s^y: — 

But Boixow x^tii|a#d with t]i# dawniof of SMMen* 
And the yoioe hi my. dseaming ear meUed tm99* 



TQ IHB BAMBOW. ^ 

l^jmfrEAL azch, that fiU'st the sky 

When stocms prepare to part 1 
I ask not proud Philosophy 

To teach me what thou art — 

StUl seem* as to my chUdhood's si^t, ^ 

A midway station given { 

For hiq^py spirits to alight . 

Betwixt the earth and heaven. 

Can all that Optics teaoh* unfold 

Thy form to please me apf 
As when I dreamed of gems and go]A 

Hid in thy radiant bow 9 

Whyn Science from Creation's face. ; 

Snchantment's veil withdraws^ 
What lorely visions yield their place 

To ^sold material laws ! 



And 7«t, fmx bow, no fiMiaf 
Bnt woxda of the Uott Higb* 

Hsre told why fixst ihy robe of 
Wag uroren in the aky. 



Wh«n o'er tbe green, nndelnged entii 
Hearen'e oovenant thou didfl •bine. 

How came the world's gray ftthen fSnrih 
To wateh thy sacred sign I 

And when its yellow lustre smiled 

O'er monntains yet nntrod, 
Each mother held aloft her child 

To bless the bow of Ood. 

Methinks, thy jubilee to Iceep* 

The first made anthem rang 
On earth deliTered from the dacp. 

And the first poet sang. 

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye 

Unraptured greet tiiy beam: 
Theme of primend propheey. 

Be, still the prophet's theme ! 

The earth to thee her incense yidds, 

The lark thy welcome sings, 
'When glittering in the freshened fields 

The snowy mushroom springs, 

• 
How glorious is thy girdle cast 

O'er mountain, tower, and town. 
Or, mirrored in the ocean Tast, 

A thousand fiithoma down ! 

As fresh in yon hoxison daxk. 
As young thy beantiea seem. 



IM 



A« when the eagle from the irk 
First sported in thy beam. .J 

For, £nthfol to its sacred page, 

Heayen still rebnildB thy span 
Nor lets the type grow pide with age 

Ilial first spoke peaee to maa. 



THE LAST MAK. 

All worldly shapes shall melt in s^orai« 

The son himself must die, 
Before tiiis mortal shall assume . 

Its Immortality ! 

I saw a vinon in my sleep, 

Tliat gave my i^irit strength to sweep 

Adown the gulf of Time ! 
I saw the last of human mould. 
That shall Creation's death behold. 

As Adam saw her prime I 

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare. 

The Earth with age was wan. 
The skeletons of nations w^^ 

Aroundythat lone ly man ! 
Some had expired in fight, — the fasaada 
Stall rusted in their bony hands; 

In plague and famine some! 
£arth*s. cities had no sound nor tread; 
And ships were drifting with the dead 

To shores where all was dumb! 



gahpball's poxms. 

Tet, pnphetJikie, that hatub one elood^ 

"WA, dami^atm words nd bic^» 
That ihodk the lere lesvee from the wood 

As If ft stoxBL passed bjr, 
Saying, We ore twins in deafli, pcond aiin« 
Thy &ce is cold, thy noe is nm, 

'Tis Mercy bids thee go. 
For thou ten thonsand thonsamd yaan 
Hast seen the tide of human teaai» 

That shall no longer flow. 

What though beneath, thee man put Mh 

His pompt his pride, his ddU; 
And arts that made five, ikiod and aai^t 

The yassals of his wiU;-r- 
Tet monm I not thy psftod sway, 
Thon dim diaorowned king of day: 

For all these trophied arts 
And triumphs tlkat beneath thee ^praagb 
Healed not a paailon or a pang 

Entailed on hnman hearts* 

Qo, let oblhion's coxCain fiOl 

Upon tiifi stage of men. 
Nor with thy rising beams xeoall 

Life's tragedy again. 
Its piteous pageants bring not back* 
Nor waken flesh, upon the ladk 

Of pain anew to writhe ; 
Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred 
Or mown in battle by the sword, 

like grass beneath the scythe.^ [ 
/ I . 

Xren I am weary in yon skies 

To watch thy fading flre ; 
Test of all sumless agonies, 

Behold not me expire. 



Ml CAMPBSIiL'fl POXMS. 



My li^ tint ipedL thy diige of dMifli-* 
Tlieir nnmded gaqp tod giugUag tareatli 

To iM thou whalt not boMt. 
The edipw of Nature wpnadM my pilU-^ 
Hw msjeity of DaikneM ■hall 

Beceire my parting ghoat ! 

Thia ^idt ahall return to ]ffim 

Who gave ita hesrenly apaik; 
Tot thiok not, Sun* it ahall be dim 

When thou thyaelf art dark 1 
No 1 it ahall lire again, and ahine 
In bljaa unknown to beama of t]mi% 

By Him recalled to bfeath. 
Who captiye led captiTity, 
Who robbed the gntre of VldtQEy*— 

And took the ating from Deatii ! 

Q09 Sun, while Merey holda me «p 

On Nature^a awful waate 
To drink thia laat and bitter oup 

Of grief that man ahall taate — 
Go, ten the night that hidea thy froib 
Thou aaw'st the laat of Adam'a zaec^ . 

On Earth'a aepulehral dod, 
The darkening uniTerM defy 
To queoeh hia IxnnuNriality» 

Or ahake hia tmtt in GodI 



CAMPBBLL'b POKMfl. 197 



A BREAM. 

Wbll may sleep present ue fldionai 

Siiiee our waking momeats teem 
With such fimciful conrictions 

Ab make life Itself a dream. — 
Half onr daylight fiiith's a &ble ; 

Sleep disports with shadows too, 
Seeming in their torn as stable 

Ab the world we wake to Tiew 
Ne'er by day did Season's mint 
Otre my thoughts a clearer print 
Of assured reality, 
Than was. left by Fantasy 
Stamped and colored on my sprite, 
In a dream of yesternight. 

In a bark, methonght, lone steering, 

I was cast on Ocean's strife; 
This, 'twas whispered in my hearing. 

Meant the sea of lifis. 
Sad regrets from past eziatence 

Game, like gales of chilling breath ; 
Shadowed in the forward diatanoe 

Lay the land of Death. 
Now seeming more, now less remote^ 
On that dim-seen shore, methoi^^t, 
I beheld two hands a space 
Slow Tmshrond a spectre's face; 
And my flesh's hair npstood, — 
Twaa mine own similitude. ^- 

But my soul rerired at seeing 
Ocean, like an emerald spwk. 



1M eAH»BEL-L s roftlfi 

Kindle, while an air-dropped being 

Qmiiing flteered my bark. 
Heaven-like — yet he looked as human 

As sapemal beantj can, 
More compassionate than woman, 

LefAy more than man. 
And as some sweet claxion's breaUt 
Stun the soldier's scorn of deatlii-^ 
So his accents bade me brook 
The spectre's eyes of icy look. 
Till it fldiirt them — turned its head. 
Like a beaten foe, and fled. 



"Types not this," I said, "Hair spixit! 

That my death-hour is not oooae ? 
Say, what days shall I inherit? — 

Tell my soul their sum." 
"No," he said, "yon phantom's aspect, 

Trust me, would appall thee worse, 
field in clearly measured prospect : — 

Ask not for a curse ! 
Make not, for I overhear 
Thine unspoken thoughts as dear 
As thy mortal ear could catch 
Tlie dose brou^t tiddngs of a wildi - 
Make not the untold request 
That's now revolving in thy breast. 

'Tis to live again, remeasuring 

Youth's years, like a scene rdiearsed, 
In thy second lifetime treasuring 

Knowledge from the first. 
Hast thou fdt, poor sdf-deceiver ! 

lifo's career so void of pain, 
As to wish its fitful fever 

New begun again ? 



CAirrVEtL^S p-aKM8. lib 

Could cKpeiienoe, ten timoi Iliine» 
Pain from Being diaentwine — 
TniGaQB by ]rete togeoier Bpttti? 
Could thy flight Heaven's Hghtbing ihiin ? 
No, nor cotdd thy foresight i glAoe 
'&cape the myxiad shafts of Chanee. 

Wouldst thou bear again Lore^i trouble — 

Friendship's death-disserered ties ; 
Toil to grasp or miss the babble 

Of i^bition's prize ? 
Say thy life's new guided action 

Flowed firom Virtue's fidrest springs — 
Still would Enry and Detraction 

Double not their stings ? 
Worth itself is but a charter 
To be mankind's distinguished martyr'* 
— I caught the moral, and cried, ^'Hail! 
Spirit! let us onward sail, 
EuTying, fearing, hating none — 
Ghiardian Spirit, steer mc tnyl*' 



VALBDICrOItY STANZAS, 

TO J. P. KXMBLK, S8(^ 
OOMPOSID VOB A PXTBUC MXETINO HBLD TtTKB, 18l7« 

Pbide of the British Stage, 

A long and last adieu ! 
Whoacf image brou^t th' heroie age 

Berhred to Fancy's view. 
IS 



170 Campbell's foxms. 

Like fields zefinsfaed with dewy light 

When the sua smiles his lart» 
Tliy parting presence makes more hzight 

Our znemorj of the past; 
And memory coi^ures feelings up 

That wine or music need not swell. 
As high we lift the festal cup 

To Kemble— fare thee well! 

His was the spell o'er hearts 

Which only Acting lends — • 
The youngest of the sister Arts, 

Where all their beauty blends : 
For ill can Poetry express 

Full many a tone of thought sublime, 
And. Painting, mute and motionless, 

Steals but a glance of time. 
But by the mighty actor brought. 

Illusion's perfect triumphs come, — 
Verse ceases to be airy thought, 

And Sculpture to be dumb. 

Time may again revire. 

But ne'er eclipse the charm, 
When Cato spoke in him sHve, 

Or Hotspur kindled warm. 
What soul was not resigned entire 
* To the deep sorrows of the Moor? 

What English heart was not on fire 

With him at Agincourt? 
And yet a majesty possessed 

His transport's most impetuous toae^ 
And to* each passion of the breast 

The Graces gave their lone. 

Wif^ were the task — too high, 
Ye oonsoious bosoms hers I 



• AMPBELL'b POEKfl. 171 

In words to paint yonr memory 
Of Kemble and of Lear ; 
Bttt who forgets that white discrowned head. 

Those bursts of Reason's half-extinguished glan. 
Those tears npon Cordelia's bosom idied 
In doubt more touching than despair, 
If 'twas reality he felt ? 

Had Shakspeare's self amidst you been. 
Friends, he had seen you melt, 
And triumphed to have seen I 



And there was many an hour 

Of blended, kindred fSEone, 
When Siddons's auziliar power 

And sister magic came. 
Together at the Muse's side 

The tragic paragons had grown; 
They were the children of her pride, 

The columns of her throne; 
And undivided favor ran 

From heart to heart in their appkrasa^ 
Save for the gallantry of man 

In lovelier woman's cause. 

Fair as some classic dome^ 

Robust and richly graced, 
ITour Kimble's spirit was the home 

Of genius and of taste ; 
Taste like the silent dial's power, . 

That when supernal light is given. 
Can measure inspiration's hour. 

And tell its height in heaven. 
At once ennobled and correct. 

His mind surveyed the tragic page^ 
And what the actor could effip«4. 

The scholar could presasr 



lU: 



199 CAMV9Zl*h^B rOSMS 

These were idi troits of worth : — 

And must we lose thorn now i 
And abflU the scene no more show forth 

His sternly plensing brow? 
Ala% the moral hns^B a tear! — 

'Ti9 all a transient hour below ; 
And we that would detain thee here, 

Ouraelyes as fleetly go ! 
Yet shall our latest age 

This parting scene reyiew : — 
Pride of the British stage, 

A long and last adieu ! 



LINES 



WBITTBN AT THB KBWJJtAT OP THB HIiQHLiiia> 800IBTT Of 
LONDOIIf WUSS IfBT TO CPMMKMQRATB THE 2l8T 09 ^ 
MABCH, THB DAY 09 YVTSaSLY IN EQYBT. 

Pledge to the much-loyed land that gaye us birth ! 

Invincible romantic Scotia's shore ! 
Pledge to the memory of her parted worth I . 

And fizst, amidst the brare, remember Hoore ! | 

And be it deemed not wrong that name to give, 
In festive hours, which prompts the patriot's si^t 

Who would not envy such as Moore to live ? 
And died he not as heroes wish to die? 

Yes, though too soon attaining glory's goal. 

To us his bright care^ too short was given; . 
Yet in a mighty cause his phoenix soul 

Bose on the flames of victory to Heaven t 



Campbell's pokms* 173 

How oft (if beats in subjugated Spain 
One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn 

For him ! — How oft on far Corunna's plain 
Shall British exiles weep upon his nm! 

Peace to the mighty dead; — our bosom thanks 
In sprightlier strains the living may inspire ! 

Joy to the chie& that led old Scotia's ranks. 
Of Boman garb and more than Roman fire ! 

Triumphant be the thistle still unfurled. 
Dear symbol wild ! on Freedom's hills it grows, 

Where Fingal stemmed the tyrants of the world* 
And Roman eagles fotmd imconquered fbes. 

Joy to the band * this day on Egypt's coast, 
Whose Talor tamed proud France's tricolor. 

And wrenched the banner fiK>m her bravest host, 
Baptized Invincible in Austria's gore ! 

Joy for the day on red Yineira's strand. 

When, bayonet to bayonet opposed, 
First of Britannia's host her Highland band 

Oave but the death-shot once, and foremost dosed i 

Is there a son of generous England here 
Or fServid Erin ? — he with us shall join. 

To pray that in eternal union dear, 
The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine ! 

Types of a race who shall th' invader scorn. 
As rocks resist the billows round their shoie; 

Tj]peB of a race who shall to time unborn 
Their country leave unconquered as of yore I 

* The 4ad Regiment 
16* 



174 GAMPSEIiL's P0XM8. 



STANZAS 

TO THS MBXO&T OF THS SPAIVISK PATRIOTS LATEST ZILLIO 

IN Basntnro ths iiboehct akd tsb bukb of akoovlbmb, 

BsATB mjRi THbu> at the Trocadero fell — 
Beside your CMmaos oonqoered not, thoagph slain, 
There is a yictory in dying well 
For Freedom, — and ye have not died in yain; 
For come what may, there shall be hearts in Spain - 
To honor, ay embrace yonr martyred lot, \ 

Cursing the Bigof s and the Bourbon's chain. 
And looking on yonr graves, though trophied not, ; j 

As holier hallowed ground than priests could mak4 tin 
spot! 



What though your case be baffled — freemen cast 

In dungeons — dragged to death, or forced to flee; 

Hope is not withered in affliction's blast — 

The patriot's blood 's the seed of Freedom's tree ; 

And short your orgies of revenge shall be. 

Cowled demons of the Inquisitorial cell ! 

Earfii shudders at your victory, — for ye 

Are worse than common fiends from Heaven that feU^ \ 

The baser, ranker sprung, Autochthanea of Heill ! 

Go to your bloody rites again — bring back 

The hall of horrors and the assessor's pen. 

Recording answers shrieked upon the rack; 

Smile o'er the gaspings of 'spine-broken men ; — 

Preach, perpetrate damnation in your den; — 

Then let your altars, ye blasphemers ! peal 

With thanks to Heaven, that let you loose again. 

To practise deeds with torturing fife and BtetH 

No eye may search — no tongue may challenge or reveal ) 



Campbell's poems. 17j{ 

Tet laugh not in your camiyal of czime, 

Too proudly, ye oppressors ! — Spain was free, 

Her soil has felt the foot-prints, and her clime 

Been winnowed by the wings of Liberty ; 

And these even parting scatter as they flee 

Thoughts — influences, to live Iq hearts unborn, 

Opinions that shall wrench the prison-key 

From Peuiecutlon — show her mask off-torn. 

And tramp her bloated head beneath the foot of Scorn. 

Glory to them that die in this great cause; 
Kings, Bigots, can inflict no brand of shame. 
Or shape of death, to shroud them from applause : — 
No ! — manglers of the martyr's earthly frame ; 
Your hangman fingers can not touch his £Eune. 
Still in yoiir prostrate land there shall be some 
Proud hearts, the shrines of Freedom's vestal flame. 
Long trains of ill may pass unheeded, dumb, 
Bmt vengeance is behind, and justice is to come. 



SONG OF THE GREEKS. 

AoAJN to the battle, Achaians ! 

Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance ; 

Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree — 

It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free ; 

For the cross of our faith is replanted, 

The pale dying crescent is daunted, 

And we march that the foot-pnnts of Mahom«f • tiUjm 

May be washed oufia blood from our forci&tfami' gnsnt^ 

ThmJt spirits are hovering o'er us. 

And the sword shall to glory restore us. 



176 CAHPBELL'8 POEMS 

Ah! what though no succor adyances, 

Nor Chiistendom's chiTalrotis lances. 

Are stretched in our aid — be the combat our own! 

And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone; 

For we've sworn by our Country's assaulters, 

By the yirgins they dragged from our altars. 

By our massacred patriots, our children in chains. 

By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veina. 

That, liying, we shall be yictorious. 

Or that, dying, our deaths shall be glorious. 

A breath of submission we breathe not ; 

The sword that we've drawn we will sheath not ! 

Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid. 

And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade. 

Earth may hide — waves ingulf — fire consume us, 

But they shall not to slavery doom us : 

If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves ; 

But we've smote them slready with fire on the wavea» 

And new triumphs on land are before us. 

To the charge ! — Heaven's banner is o'er us. 

This day shall ye blush for its story. 

Or brighten your lives with its glory. 

Our women, oh, say, shall they shriek in despair. 

Or embrace us from conquest with wreaths in their luux } 

Accursed may his memory blacken. 

If a coward there be that would slacken 

Till we've trampled the turban, and shown oursdrw 

worth 
Being sprung from and named for the godlike of earth. 
Strike home and the world shall revere us 
As heroes descended from heroes. 
Old Greece lightens up with emotion j 

Her inlands, her isles of the Ocean ; 
Fanes rebuilt and fair towns shall with jubilee ring, 
And the Nine shall new-hallow their Helicon's spring t 



^ 



CAMP3eLL's r 09 If 8 X77 

Our hearths shall be kmdled in gladness, 

That were cold and extinguished in sadness ; 

Whilst our mai4ens shall dance with their white- wayiiig 

arms, 
Singing joy to the brave that delivered their charms, 
When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens. 
Shall have purpled the beaks of our ravens. 



ODE TO WINTER. 

When first the fii^y-mantled sun 
His heavenly race began to run;^ 
Bound the earth and ocean blue 
His children four, the Seasons, flew. 
First, in green apparel dancing, 

The young Spring smiled with angel grace; 
Rosy Summer next advancing, 

Rushed into her sire's embrace — 
Her bright-haired sire, who bade her keep 

For ever nearest to his smiles. 
On Calpe's olive-shaded steep. 

On India's citron-covered isles ¥ 
More remote and buxom-brown. 

The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne: 
A rich pomegranate gemmed her crown, 

A ripe sheaf bound her zone. 
But howling Winter fled afar. 
To hills that prop the polar star. 
And loves on deer-bome car to ride 
With barren Darkness by his side. 
Round the shore where loud Lofoden 

Whirls to death the roaring whale, 



176 CAMPBELL t POEMS. 

Bound the hall where Rrniic Odin 

HowIb his war-Bong to the g^e; 
Save -when adown the rayaged globe 

He traTels on his natiye stonn, 
Deflowering Nature's grassy robe, 

And trampling on her £Eided form ; 
Till lighf s returning lord assume 

The shaft that drives him to his polar fields 
Of power to pierce his raven plume 

And crystal-covered shield. 
Oh, sire of storms ! whose savage ear 
The Lapland drum delights to hear, 
When Frenzy with her blood-shot eye 
Implores thy dreadful deity, 
Archangel ! power of desolation ! 

Fast descending as thou art. 
Say, hathjnortal invocation 

Spells to touch thy stony heart? 
Then sullen Winter, hear my prayer. 
And gently rule the ruined year; 
Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare. 
Nor freeze the wretch's felling tear : 
To shuddering Want* s immantled bed 
Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lead. 
And gently on the orphan head I 

Of innocence descend. — 



But chiefly spare, O king of donds ! 
The sailor on his airy shrouds ; 
When wrecks and beacons strew the steeps 
And spectres walk along the deep. 
Milder yet thy snowy breezes 

Pour on yonder tented shores, 
Where the Khine's broad billow freeseSy 

Or the dark-brown Danube roars. 
Oh, winds of Winter ! list ye there 

To many a deep and dying groan 



Campbell's poxmb. 179 

Or 8tart» ye demons of the midnight air* 
At shrieks and thunders louder than your owiL 

Alas ! eVn your unhallowed breath 
May spare the yictim fallen low ; 

But man will ask no truce to death. 
No bounds to human wo.* 



LINES, 



SPOKBV BT MBS. BABTLBT, AT DBT7B.T-LANB THBATBB, OV 
THE PIBST OPENING OF THE HOUSE APTBB THE DBATB 
OP THE PBINCESS CHABLOTTB, 1817. 

BBTToys ! although our task is but to show 

The scenes and passions of fictitious wo. 

Think not we come this night without a part 

In that deep sorrow of the public heart. 

Which like a shade hath darkened every plaoe^ 

And moistened with a tear the manliest face ! 

The bell is scarcely hushed in Windsor^s piles. 

That tolled a requiem from the solemn aisles, 

Por her, the royal flower, low laid in dust, 

That was your fairest hope, your fondest trust. 

Unconscious of the doom, we dreamed, alas! 

That e^n these walls,, ere many months should pass, 

Which but return sad accents for her now, 

Perhaps had witnessed her benignant brow, 

Cheered by the voice you would have raised on higli« 

In bursts of British love and loyalty. 

But, Britain ! now thy chief; thy people mourn. 

And Claremont's home of love is left forlorn : — 

* This ode was written in 6erman}% at the doM of 1800» befcvs tlM 
t of hostilities 



18D CAUPBELL^S POXMII. 

There, where the happiest of the happy dwdt, 

The 'scutcheon glooms, and royalty hath fdt 

A wound that every bosom feels its own, — 

The blessing of a fiither's heart overthrown — 

Hie most beloved and most devoted bride 

Tom from an agonized husband's side, 

Who, "long as Memory holds her seat," shall view 

That speechless, more than spoken, last adieu. 

When the fixed eye long looked connubial faith, 

And beamed affection in the trance of death. 

Sad was the pomp that yesternight beheld, 

As with the moumei^s heart the anthem swelled ; 

While torch succeeding torch illumed each high 

And bannered arch of England's chivalry. 

The rich plumed canopy, the gorgeous pall. 

The sacred march, and sable- vested wall, — 

These were not rites of inezpressiYe show. 

But hallowed as the types of real wo ! 

Daughter of England! for a nation's sighs, 

A nation's heart went with thine obsequies ! 

And oft shall time revert a look of grief 

On thine existence, beautiful and brie£ 

Fair spnt I send thy blessing from above 

On realms where thou art canonized by love ! i 

Gtive to a father's, husband's bleeding mind, 

The peace that angels lend to human-kind ; 

To us who in thy loved remembrance feel 

A sorrowing, but a soul-ennobling zeal — 

A loyalty that touches all the best 

And loftiest principles of England's breast! 

Still may thy name speak concord from the tomb-* 

Still in the Muse'^ breath thy memory bloom ! 

They shall describe thy life — thy form portray; 

But all the lov* that mourns thee swept away, 

'Tib not in lang)t>age or expressive arts 

To pamt— ye f^el ij;, Britons, in your hearts ! 



CAMPBCLL's POBMf. 181 



UKES ON THE QltlVE OF A STTKaDB. 

Bt strangers left upon a lonely shore, 
Unknown, nnhonored, was the Mendlen dead ; 

For child to weep, or widow to deplore, 
There nerer came to his nnbnried head — 
All from his dreary habitation fled. 

Nor will the lanterned fisherman at eve 
Launch, on that water by the witches' tower, 

"Where hellebore and hemlock seem to weaye 
Boimd its dark yaults a melancholy bower 
For spirits of the dead at night* s enchanted hour** 

They dread to meet thee, poor unfortunate I 

Whose crime it was, on life's unfinished road* 
To feel the step-dame buffetings of fiite. 

And render back thy being's heayy load. 

Ah ! once, perhaps, the social passions gloired 
In thy devoted bosom — and the hand 

That smote its kindred heart, might y^ be prant 
To deeds of mercy. Who may understand 

Thy many woes, poor suicide, unknown?-^ 
He who thy being gsre shall judge of thee aUniB. 
16 



campbbll's fosmi* 



BEXJLLXJRA.* 

Stab of the mom and eve, 

BeuUura Bhone like thee^ 
And well for her might Aodh grieye, 

The dark-attired Culdee. 
Peace to their shades ! the pure Coldees 

Were Albyn's earliest priests of Qod, 
Ere yet an island of her seas 

By foot of Saxon monk was trod, 
Long ere her churchmen by bigotry 
Were barred from wedlock's holy tie. 
'Twas then that Aodh, famed afnr, 

In lona preached the word with poweTy 
And Benllara, beauty's star, 

Was the partner of his bower. 

But» Aodh, the roof lies low, 

And the thistle-down waves bleaching. 
And the bat flits to and fro 

Where the Gael once heard thy preaching; 
And frdlen is each columned aisle 

Where the chiefr and the people knelt. 
'Twas near that temple's goodly pile 

That honored of men they dwelt ; 
For Aodh was wise in the sacred law, 
And bright Beullura's eyes oft saw 

The veil of fate uplifted. 
Alas, with what visions of awe 

Her soul in tiiat hour was gifted — 
When pale in the temple and front. 

With Aodh she stood alone 

* RenllOTa, in Oaelic, ligTiifiea «beaatiAiI Mar." 



POEMS. \SS 

By the statue of an aged Saint ! 

Fair sculptured was the stone — 
It bore a crucifix ; 

Fame said it once had graced 
A Christian temple, which the FictB 

In the Britons' land laid waste: 
The Rctish men, by St. Columb taught^ 
Had hither the holy relic brought. 
Reullura eyed the statue's face, 

And cried, "It is, he shall come, 
Even he, in this very places 

To avenge my martyrdom. 

" For, wo to the Gael people ! 

Ulvfagre is on the main. 
And lona shall look from tower and steeple 

On the coming ships of the Bane; 
And, dames and daughters, shall all your looks 

With the spoiler's grasp entwine? 
No ! some shall have shelter m. caves and roeks, 

And the deep sea shall be mine. 
Baffled by me shall the Bane return, 
And here shall his torch in the temple bum. 
Until that holy man shall plough 

Xhe waves from Lmisfedl. 
His sail is on the deep e'en now. 

And swells to the southern gale." 

** Ah ! knowest thou not, my bride," 

The holy Aodh said, 
**That the Saint whose 'form we stand betide 

Has for ages slept with the dead?" 
"He Uveth, he liveth," she said again, 

"For the span of lus Ufe tenfold extends 
Beyond the wonted years of men. 

He sits by the graves of well-loved friends 



t84 CAUPBSLL'b F0XM8. 

That died ere tkj gnndf^e^i gMUdsiM'k birth; 
Ihe oak is decayed with age on eaiih* . 
Whose acozn-seed had been planted by him; 

And his parents remember the day o£ dread 
'When the sim on the cioes looked dim, 

And the graves gave up their dead. 
Tet preaching from dime to dime, 

He hath roamed the earth for ages, 
And hither he shall come in time 

When the wrath of the heathen rages, 
In time a remnant from the sword — 

Ah ! but a remnant to deliyer ; 
Tet, blest be the name of the Lord ! 

His martyrs shall go into bliss for ever. 
Lochlin,* appalled, shall put up her sted. 
And thou shalt embark on the bounding keel; 
Safe shalt thou pass through her hundred shipa^ 

With the Saint and a remnant of the Gael* 
And the Lord will instruct thy lips 

To preach in 'lnni8faiL"t 

Hie sun, now about to set, 

Was burning o'er Tiree, 
And no gathering cry rose yet 

O'er the isles of Albyn's sea, 
Whilst ReuUuxa saw far rowers dip 

Their oars beneath the sun. 
And the phantom of many a Danish ship, 

Where ship there yet was none. 
And the shidd of alarm was dumb. 
Nor did their warning till midnight come, 
When watch-fires burst from across the main 

From Bona, and TJist, and Skye 
To tdl that the ships of the Dane 

And the red-haired slayers were nigh. 

* Denmark. t Ireland. 



Campbell's poems. 185 

Our iflle-men arose &om slumbers. 

And buckled on their aims ; 
Birt few, alas ! were their numbers 

hi Lochlin's mailed swarms. 
And the blade of the bloody Norse 

Has filled the shores of the Gael 
With many a floating corse, 

And with many a woman's waiL 
They have lighted the islands with ruin's torch, 
And the holy men of lona's church 
In the temple of God lay slain ; 

All but Aodh, the last Culdee, 
But bound with many an iron chain, 

Bound in that church was he. 
And where is AodVs bride? 

Bocks of the ocean flood ! 
Plunged she not from your heights in pride. 

And mocked the men of blood? 
Then XJlvfagre and his bands 

In the temple lighted their banquet up. 
And the print of their blood-red hands 

Was left on the altar cup. 
'Twas then that the Norseman to Aodh said, 
**Tell where thy church's treasure's laid, 
Or m hew thee limb from limb." 

As he spoke the bell struck three, 
And every torch grew dim 

That lighted their revelry. 

But the torches again burnt bright. 

And brighter than before, 
When an aged man of majestic height 

Entered the temple door. 
Hushed was the revellers' sound. 

They were struck as mute as the dead. 
And their hearts were appalled by the very sound 

Of his footsteps' measured tread. 
16* 



IB$ CAMPBXLL 8 POXK8. 

Nor word was spoken by one beholder, 

While he flung his white robe back o'er his shoulder, 

And stretching his arms — as each * 

Unriyeted Aodh's bands. 
As if the gyves had been a wreath 

Of willows in his hands. 

All saw the stranger's similitude 

To the ancient statue's form; 
The Saint before his own image stood. 

And grasped XJly&gre's arm. 
Then uprose the Danes at last to deliyer 

Their chief^ and shouting with one accord* 
They drew the shaft &om its rattling quiyer. 

They lifted the spear and sword. 
And levelled their spears in rows; 
But down went axes, and spears, and bows, — 
When the Saint with his crosier signed. 

The archer's hand on the string was stopped. 
And down, like reeds laid flat by the wind. 

Their lifted weapons dropped. 
The Saint then gave a signal mute, 

And though Ulvfagre willed it not. 
He came and stood at the statue's foot, 

Spell-riveted to the spot, 
TiU hands invisible shook the wall. 

And the tottering image was dashed 
Down from its lofty pedestal. 
, On XJlvfegre's helm it crashed — 
Helmet, and skull, and flesh, and brain. 
It crushed as millstones crush the grain. 
Then spoke the Saint, whilst all and each 

Of the HeaHien trembled round. 
And the pauses amidst his speech 

Were as awfdl as the sound: 

**Go back, ye wolves, to your dens," he died, 
*<And tell the nations abroad, 



How the fiercest of your herd has died 

That slaughtered the flock of Ood. 
Qather him bone by bone, 

And take with you o'er the flood . 
The fragments of that avenging stone 

That drank liis h^ithen blood. 
These are the spoils from lona'S sack* 

The only spoils ye shall carry back ; ' 
For the hand that upUfteth spear or sword 

Shall be withered by palsy's shock* 
And I come in the name of the Lord 

To deUTer a remnant of his flodL." 

A remnant was called together, 

A doleful remnant of the Gael, 
And the Saint in the ship tliat had faronght him liithcv 

Took the mourners to Innisfail. 
Unscathed they left lona's strand, 

When the opal mom first flushed the sky. 
For the Norse dropped spear, and bow, and bnmd» 

And looked on them silently; 
Sale from their hiding-places came 
Orphans and mothers, child and dame: 
But, alas ! when the search for Beollura qnead, 

No answering yoice was given. 
For the sea had gone o'er her lorely head, 

And her spirit was in Hearen, 



188 campbbll'b poems. 



TEDB TUBSISH LADT. 

TwAS the hour wheu ritetr unholy 
Called each Faynim yoice to prayer. 

And the star that faded slowly 
Left to dews the freshened 'air. 

Day her sultry fires had wasted. 
Calm and sweet the moonlight rose; 

Ey'n a captiye spirit tasted 
Half obliTion of his woes. 

Then 'twas from an Emir's palace 
Came an Eastern lady bright ; 

She^ in spite of tyrants jealous, 
Saw and loved an English knight. 

**TeU me, captive, why in anguish 
Foes have dragged thee here to dwdl* 

Where poor Christians as they languish 
Hear no sound of Sabbath beU?" — 

«**Twas on Transylvania's Bannat, 
When the Crescent shone afkr, 

like a pale disastrous planet 
O'er the purple tide of war — 

" In that day of desolation. 

Lady, I was captive made; 
Bleeding for my Christian nation 

By the walls of high Belgrade." 

** Captive ! could the brightMt jewel 
From my turban set thee free?" 



caiipbsx.l'8 poems. ItB 

•<Lady, no ! -- the gift irere etfoaH, 
Ransomed, yet if reft of thee. 

•< Say, fair prineesa ! wonld it griere thee 
Chiiatian climea ahoidd we behold?" — 

««Nay, bold knight ! I would not lean 
Were thy ranaom paid in gold ! " 

Now in Heayen's blue ezpanaion 

Bose the midnight star to Tiew, 
"When to quit her &thei^8 mansion 

Thrice tihs wept, and bade adieu I 

*<Ply we then, while none disoover! 

Tyrant barks, in yain ye ride ! " 
Soon at Bhodes the British loyer 

Clasped his blooming Eastern biide. 



THE BRAVB ROLAND. 

Thx brave Roland ! — the brave RoUmd ! — 
False tidings reached the Rhenish strand. 

That he had £dlen in fight; 
And thy fiedthfdl bosom swooned with pain, 
O loveliest maiden of Allemayne ! 

For the loss of thine own true knight. 

But why so rash has she ta'en the veil. 
In yon Nonnenwerder's cloisters pale? 

For her vow had scarce been sworn. 
And the fatal mantle o'er her flung, 
When the Brachenfels to a trumpet rung — 

'Twas her own dear warrior's horn! 



IM)' 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



Wo! wo! each heart shall bleed — shall break! 
She would have hung upon his neck, 
Had he come but jester-eyen; 
And he had clasped those peerless charms 
That shall never, never fill his arms, 
^ Or meet him but in heaven. 

Yet Roland the brave — Roland the true — 
He could not bid that spot adieu ; 

It was dear still 'midrt his woes; 
For he loved to breathe the neighboring air. 
And to think she blessed him in her prayer. 

When the Halleluiah rose. 



There's yet one window of that pile. 
Which he built above the Nun's green isle; 

Thence sad and oft looked he 
CWhen the chant and organ sounded slow> 
On the mansion of his love below. 

For herself he might not see. 

She died ! — he sought the battle-plain ; 
Her image filled his dying brain. 

When he fell and wished to fiill : 
And her name was in his latest sigh« 
When Roland, the flower of chivaby. 

Expired at Roncevall. 



CAMPBELL'S POXMS. 191 

THE SPECTBE BOAT. 

A BALLAD. 

Li»KT rued falw Ferdinand to leave a lanXy maid fo* 

loin, 
Wbo broke her heart and died to hide her Uuahing 

cheek from acorn. 
One night he dreamed he woo'd her in their ironted 

bower of lore, 
Where the flowers sprang thick aionnd them, and the 

birds aang sweet above. 

But the. scene was swiftly changed into a churchyaxd'a 
dismal view. 

And her lips grew black beneath his kiss, from loTe'a 
deUdous hue. 

What more he dreamed, he told to none ; but shudder- 
ing, pale, and dumb. 

Looked out upon the wares, like one that knew hia 
hour was come. 

"Twas now the dead watch of the night — the hehu was 

lashed a-lee. 
And the ship rode where Mount JEtna lights the deep 

Levantine sea; 
When beneath its glare a boat came, rowed by a woman 

in her shioud. 
Who, with eyes that made our blood run cold, stood up 

and spoke aloud: — 

** Gome, IMtor, down, for whom my ghoet still wanders 

unforgiyen! 
Come down, frJse Ferdinand, for whom I broke my 

peace with heaven ! " 



181 CAMrB«I.I.'8 f 9«|lt. 

It WM Tain to hi^ the liotim, for he plunged to meet 

her call, 
like the bird that ahxieks and flutten in the gazing 

aerpentf a thxalL 

Ton may gaeaa the boldaet mariner ahrunk daunted 

from the aight, 
Ber the Bpeetre and her 'wmding-afaeet ahone bhie widi 

hideous light; 
lilw a fiery wheel Ihe boat i^im with the waring of 

her hand. 
And Eonnd they went, and down they went, as the 

eock crew from the land. 



/i 



80NO. 



Osp how hard it la to find 

The one jnat auited to onr mind; 

And if that one ahonld be 
Falfle^ unkind, or fonnd too late, 
What can we do but aigh at fiite. 

And aing Wo'a me — Wo's me ! 

\fj9f9'n a bonndleaa bnjBDing w«rt% 
Where Bliaa'a stream we seldom taate, 

And atill more seldom fiee 
Suspense's thorns, Snsj^don'a atuigs; 
Tet somehow Love a something bExngs 

Thafa sweet — «tv«n when we aigh *<We's me!" 



THE LOVBR TO HIS MISTRESS 

ON HBB BQITH-DAT. 

I» any white- winged Power above 

My joys and griefii survey. 
The day when thou wert bom, my love — 

He suiely blessed fhat day. 

I laughed (till taught by thee) when told 

Of Beauty's magic powers. 
That ripened life's dull ore to gold. 

And changed its weeds to flowexs. 

My mind had lovely shapes poftnyed; 

But thought I earth had one 
Could make even Fancy's visions fade 

Like stars before the sun? 

I gazed, and felt upon my lips 

The unfinished accents haUg: 
One moment's bliss, one burning k&u 

To rapture changed each pang. 

And though as swift as lightning's (i^h 

Those tranced momeats flew. 
Not aH the waves of time shall wash 

Their memory from my viow. 

But duly shall my raptured song. 

And gladly shall my eyes 
StiU bless tiiis day's return, as long 

As thou sfaalt see it rise. 
17 



IM gamfbell's roxMS, 



ADELQITELl. 

Thb ordeal's fittal trumpet sounded, 

And sad pale Adblgitha came, 
When forth a valiant champion, bounded. 

And slew the slanderer of her flEune. 

She wept, deiiyered from her danger; 

But when he knelt to claim her glove — 
*' Seek not," she cried, *< oh ! gallant stranger, 

For hapless Adei.oitha'8 love. 

*'For he is in a foreign for land 

Whose arm should now have set me free; 
And I must wear the willow garland 

For him that* s dead, or folse to me." 

••Nayl.say not that his foith is tainted!" — 
He raised his visor — At the sight 

She foil into his arms and fointed : 
It was indeed her own true knight! 



LINES 



ON BSOBIVINO A SEAL YTTOL THE CAMPBELL CHEST, VBOIf 
K. M — , BEFORE HEB XABBIAOE. 

This wax returns not back more foir 
Th' impression of the gift you send. 

Than stamped upon my thoughts I bear 
The image of yeur worth, my friend ! 



Campbell's poems. 195 

We are not Mends of yesterday ; — 

But poets' frndes are a litUe 
Disposed to heat and cool, (they say,) — 

By turns impressible and brittle. 

Well ! shoidd its frailty e'er condemn 
My heart to prize or please you less. 

Tour type is stUl the sealing gem, 
And mine the waxen brittleness. 

What transcripts of my weal and wo 

This little signet yet may lock, — 
What utterances to friend or £oe. 

In reason's calm or passion's shock ! 

What scenes of life's yet curtained page 

May own its confidential die. 
Whose stamp awaits th' unwritten page^ 

And feelings of faturity I — 

Tet wheresoe'er my pen I lift 

To date the epistolary sheet, 
The blest occasion of the gift 

Shall make its recollection sweet; 

Sent when the star that rules your fates 
Hath reached its influence most benign— 

When every heart congratulates. 
And none more cordially than mine. 

So speed my song — marked with the crest 
That erst the advenf rous Norman wore, 

Who won the Lady of the West, 
The daughter of Macaillan Mor. 

Crest of my sires ! whose blood it sealed 
With glory in the strife of swords. 



IM CAMrBBItl's rOBMS. 

Ntf'tt may Uia wmH Ihit bMn U yiald 
Degenente thoogUi or fdthlMi woidft! 

Yet litUe aighi I priie the itoae^ 
If it but typed the feudal tree 

YioBDL whence^ a scattered leai^ Vm, hkmtk 
In Fortone's mutability. 

No ! — but it tells me of a heart 
AlHed by friendship's Uying tie; 

A prize beyond the herald's art — 
Our soul-sprung consanguinity I 

Kath'bihb ! to many an hour of mine 
Light wings and sunshine you hare kuft; 

And so adieu, and stiU be thine 
The all-in-all of fife— Gdntent! 



TBDB DIRGE OF WALLAG8. 

Text lighted a tsper at the dead of night. 

And chanted their holiest hymn ; 
But her brow and her bosom were damp with aAight- 

Her eye was aU deepless and dim! 
And the lady of Eldenlie wept for her lord, 

When a death-watch beat in her londy room* 
When her curtain had shook of its own accovd, 
And the raven had flapped at her window-board— 

To teQ of her warrior's doom. 

'*Now, sing ye the death-song, and loudly pray 

For the soul of my knight so dear ; 
And call me a widow this wretched day, 

Sinoe the warning of God ia here. 



Campbell's poems. ]f)7 

For a nigbtDiAre rides on my strangled sleep : — 
The lord of my bosom is doomed to die ; 

His TaloroQS heart they haye wounded deep; 

And the blood-red tears shall his country weep 
For Wallace of Elderalie ! " 

Tet knew not his country that ominous hour, 

Ere the loud matin beU was rung, 
That a trumpet of death on an English towa 

Had the dirge of her champion sung! 
"When his dungeon light looked dim and red 

On the high-bom blood of a martyr slain, 
No anthem was sung at his holy death-bed ; 
No weeping there was when his bosom bled — 

And his heart was rent in twain ! 

Oh, it was not thus when his oaken spear 

Was true to that knight forlorn. 
And hosts of a thousand were scattered, like deer 

At the blast of the hunter^s horn; 
When he strode on the wreck of each well-fbught field 

With the yeUow-haired chie£si of his natiye land; 
For his lance was not shivered on helmet or shield—- 
And the sword that seemed fit for Archangel to wield 

Was light in his terrible hand! 

Tet bleeding and bound, though the Wallace wight 

For his long-lored country die, 
The bugle ne'er sung to a brarer knight 

Than William of Elderslie ! 
But the day of his glory shall never depart; 

His head unentombed shall with glory be palmed: 
YxoEBL its blood streaming altar his spirit shaU start; 
Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart, 

A nobler was never embalmed ! 
17» 



C&XFBXI.L'* FOSMt. 



CHAUCER AND WINDSOB. 

Long ahalt thou flouxiBh* Windsor ! bod}ping forth 

Chhralric times, and long shall live azouad 

Thy Castle — the old oaks of British birth, 

Whose knarled roots, tenaeioits and profoimd. 

As -with a lion's talons grasp the ground. 

But should thy towers in ivied ruin rot, 

There's one, thine inmate onoe, whose strain renowaed 

Would interdict thj name to be forgot; 

For Chikucer lored thy bowers and trode this Twy spelw 

Chaucer ! our Helicon's first fountain-stream, 

Our morning star of song — that led the way 

To welcome the long-after coming beam 

Of Spenser^s light and Shakspeare's perfoet day. 

Old England's fatliers liye in Chauce/s lay. 

As if they ne'er bad died. He grouped md itnfW 

neSx likeness with a spirit of life so gay, 

That still they Hto and breathe in Fanc/s fiewv 

Ftesh beings fraught with truth's impeiishabk hivs. 



GILDBROY. 



Thx last, the fotal hour is come. 
That bears my lore from me : 

I hear the dead note of the drmn, 
I mark the gallows' tree I 

The bell has toU'd ; it shakes my heart; 
The trumpet speaks thy name; 



CAMPBELL PO«MS, U)9 

And most my GHlderoy depart 
To bear a death of shame? 

No bosom trembles for thy doom; 

No mourner 'wipes a tear; 
The gallows' foot is all thy tomb, 

The sledge is. all thy bier. 

Oh, GKlderoy! bethought we then 

So soon* so sad to part, 
When first in Boslin's Lorely glen 

Ton trinmph'd o'er my heart? 

Tour locks they ghtter'd to the sheai, 

Tour hunter garb was trim ; 
And graceful was the riband green 

That bound your manly Hmb! 

Ah! Httle thought I to deplore 

Those limbs m fetters bound; 
Or hear upon the scaffold floor. 

The midnight hammer sound. 

Te cruel, cruel, that combined 

The guiltless to pursue; 
My GUderoy was ever kind. 

He could not injure you. 

A long adieu ! but where shall fly 

Thy widow all finrlom, 
When every mean and cruel eye 

Begards my woe with scorn? 

Yes they will mock thy widow's 

And hate thy orphan boy ; 
Alas! his infant beauty wfUM 

The form of GKlderoy. 



900 Campbell's pokms. 

Then "will I seek the dreary mound 
That wraps thy monldftring day, 

And weep and linger on the gnrand« 
And sigh my heart away. 



STANZAS, 

ON THB THBS^TBNBD DTrABION, 1803. 

OvR bosoms we'll bare for the gloxiotis strife, 

And onr oath is recorded on high, 
To prerail in the cause that is dearer than life, 

Or crushed in its ruins to die ! 
Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the ri§^t hand» 
And swear to prevail in yoiur dear native land! 

Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust — 
God bless the green Isle of the brave ! 

Should a conqueror tread on our forefethers' dust, 
It would rouse the old dead from their grave! 

Then rise, feUow freemen, and stretch the rij^t hand^ 

And swear to prevail in yoiur dear native land ! 

In a Briton's sweet home shall a spoiler abide, 

Profening its loves and its charms? 
Shall a Frenchman insult the loved fedr at our side? 

To arms ! oh, my Country, to arms ! 
llien rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand* 
And swear to prevail in yoiu: dear native land! 

Shan a tyrant enslave us, my countrymen ! — Ko I 
His head to the sword shall be given — 



camfbsll's rOMUB. Ml 

A death-bed repeptaace be taught the provd fbe^ 

And his blood be an ojBTeting to HeaTea I 
Then ziae, fellow freemen, and stietdh the f!^ hand. 
And iwear to pief$Sl in your dear ualiTe ktid! 



THE BITTER j^ANfK. 

^tes Bitter Baanfrom Hungaty 
Came back, renowned in anus, 
^Bu^ seommg jonsts of ehiraby, 
And love and ladies' chama. 

While o&er knights held revels, he 
Was wrapped in thoughts of gloom, 

Asd la Tleima's hostelrie 
Sbw paced his londy room. 

There entered one whose £aee he knew,- 

Whose voice, he was aware, 
He. oft at mass had listened to, 

In the holy house of prayer. 

Twas the Abbot of St James's monks, 

A fresh and fEur old mia\ • 
His reverend air arrested even 

The gloomy Bitter Bann. 

But seeing with him an ancient «iOT>*^ 

Come clad in Scotch attire, 
The Bitter's color went and came^ 

And loud he i^ke in ire. 



CAMPBBLIt'fl rOBMB. 

<«BaI mam of her that was my bau^ 

Name not her name to me ; 
I nUh it blotted firom my brain: 

Art poor?— take abna, and flee." 

«8ir Sjughtp" the Abbot interpoaed, 

**'DdB caae your ear demanda;" 
And the crone cried, "with a croaa endoaed 

In both her tzemhling handa: — 

-R e member, each hia aentenoe waita; 

And he that ahall r^mt 
Sweet Mercy'a aoit^ on him the gatea 

Of Mercy ahali be ahnt. 

•*Tou wedded* nndiapenaed by Chnieht 

Tour oouain Jane in Spring; — * 

In Autmnn, when yon went to aeaich 
. For Chnrchmen'a pazdomnn^ 

**Her house denoonoed yonr nuKriag^bandt 

Betrothed her to De Grey, 
And the ring you put upon her hand 

Was wrenched by force away. 

''Then wept your Jane upon my neck. 

Crying, 'Help me, nurse, to flee 
To my Howel Bann's Glamorgan hills;' 

But word arrived — ah me ! — 

"You were not there; and 'twas their thiM^ 

By foul means or by fair, 
To-monow morning was to set 

The seal on her despair. 

** 1 had a son, a sea-boy, in 
A ship at Hartland Bay; 



>-'i 



Campbell's poems. 908 

By his aid from her cruel kin 
I bore my bird away. 

««To Scotland from the Devon's 

Green myrtle shores we fled; 
And the Hand that sent the rayens 

To El^ah, gave us bread. 

••She wrote you by my son, but he 

From England sent us word 
Ton had gone into some fax eountrie, 

In grief and gloom he heard. 

••For they that wronged you, to elude 

Your wrath, defamed my child ; 
And you — ay, blush. Sir, as you should — 

Believed, and were beguiled. 

••To die but at your feet, she TOwed 

To roam the world; and we 
Would both have sped and begged our bread. 

But so it might not be: 

•• For when the snow-storm beat our rool^ 

She bore a boy. Sir Bann, 
Who grew as frur your likeness proof 

As child e'er grew like man. 

••Twas smiling on that babe one mom. 
While health bloomed on the moor. 

Her beauty struck young Lord Kinghom 
As he hunted past our door. 

•• She shunned him, but he raved of Jane, 

And roused his mothei^s pride: 
Who came to us in high disdain, — 

•And Where's the Isuse,' she cried. 



904 Campbell's pobms* 

«<<Ha8 witched my boy to wish Id? omt 

80 wretched for his wife? — 
Doet loY* thy husband } Know, my son 

Has sworn to seek his life.' 

*'Her soger sore dismayed us, 
For our mite was wearing scant. 

And, unless that dame would aid us. 
There was none to aid our wanL 

*< So I told her, weeping bitterly, 
What all our woes had been ; 

And, though she was a stem ladie. 
The tears stood in her een. 

"And she housed us both, when, cheerfiitty 

My child to her had sworn, 
^lat even if made a widow, she 

Would never wed Kinghom." •— 

Heie paused the nurse, and then began 

The Abbot, standing by:*- 
** Three months ago a wounded man 

To our abbey came to die. 

**He heard me long, with ghastly eyis 

And hand obdurate clenched. 
Speak of the worm that never dies, 

And the fire that is not quenched. 

« At last by what this scroU attest! 

He left atonement brie^ 
For years of anguish to the breasts 

]EGfl guilt had wrung with gjaeL 



' 'There Uved,' he said, < a fidr young 
Beneath my mother's roof; 



CAMPBXI«l'8 VQMUn. 90i 

I loved her, but against my flao|0 
Her purity was proo£ 



•«<I deigned repentance^ friendship 
That mood she did not check. 

But let her husband's miniatm 
Be copied from her neck, 



** * As means to seajrch him ; my ^aottX 

Took care to him was borne 
Nought but his picture's coimterfeiU 

And Jane's reported scoxn. 

M<The treachery took: she waited wUd; 

My shiTe came back and lied 
Whate'er I wished ; she clasped her childt 

And swooned, and all bat died. 

*" I felt her tears, for years and yeai% 

Quench not my flame, but stir ; 
The very hate I bore her mate 

Increased my love for her. 

«< < Fame told us of his gkiry, whila 

Joy flushed the face of Jane ; 
And while she blessed Yub nama, bar smiU 

Struck fire into my brain. 

*<<No fears coald damp; X reached, the OMnp, 

Sought out its champion; 
And if my broad-sword friled at last» 

'Twas long and well laid on. 



« * This wound's my meed, my name's 
My foe's the Bitter Bann.' 

The wafer to his Ups was borne. 
And we shrived the dying man. 
18 



m CAVrBBLL S POBMS. 

<«He died not tm you went to fight 

Hie Turks at Wanadem; 
But I aee my tale has changed 70a pale." — 

The Abbot went for wine; 

And brought a little page who poured 

It oat, and knelt and smiled ; — 
The stunned knight saw himself restored 

To childhood in his child ; 

And stooped and caught him to his breast. 

Laughed loud and wept anon« 
And with a shower of kisses pressed 

The darling little one. 

*< And where went Jane ?" — ** To a nunnery, Sir — * 

Look not again so pale — 
Kinghom's old dame grew hazah to her." — 

«• And she has ta'en the Teil ! " — 

<<8it down. Sir/' said the priest, "I bar 
Bash words." —They sat all three, 

And the boy played with the knighfs broad itWy 
As he k^t him on his knee. 

••Think ere you ask her dwelling-plaoe," 

The Abbot farther said ; 
••Time draws a yeU o'er beauty's ftoe 

More deep than cloister's shade. 

'* GMef may have made her what you eaa 

Scarce love perhaps for life." 
«Hush, Abbot," cried the Bitter Bann, 

•• Or tell me whers's my wife." 

The priest undid two doors that hid 
The inn's adjacent room, 



Campbell's poibms. 907 

And there a lovely woman stood* 
Tears bathed her beauty's bloom. 

One moment may with bliss repay 

Unniunbered boms of pain ; 
Such was the throb and mutual sob 

Of the Knight embracing Jane. 



SONG. 



•MBN 07 BNQLAND/ 



Mbn of England ! who inherit 

Bights that cost your sires their blood ! 
Men whose und^enerate spirit 

Has been proved on field and flood : — 

By the foes you've fought uncounted, 
By the glorious deeds you've done, 

l^phies captured — breaches mounted* 
Navies conquered — kingdoms won ! 

Yet, remember, England gathers 
Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame. 

If the freedom of your frithers 
QIow not in your hearts the same. 

What are monuments of bravery. 
Where no public virtues bloom? 

What avail in lands of slavery, • 

Trophied temples, arch, and tomb? 



908 Campbell's posm». 

PiLgeaiiti I — Left the woild ttnmn w 
For our people's rights and laws, 

And the breasts of ciyic heroes 
Bared in Freedom's holy cause. 

Tours are Hampden's, Russell's ^ory, 
Sidney's matchless shade is yonis^ — 

Martyrs in heroic story, 
Worth a hundred Agincourts ! 

We're the sons of sires that baffled 
Crowned and mitred tyranny; — 

They deded the field and scaffold 
For their birthrights — so wiU we I 



80Na. 



Dbinx ye to her that each loves best. 

And if you nurse a flame 
Thafs'told but to her mutual breast, 

We will not ask her name. 

Enough, while memory tranced and glad 

Paints silently the fidr, 
That each should dream of joys he's had* 

Or yet may hope to share. 

Yet far, fw hence be jest or boast 
From hallowed thoughts so dear; 

But drink to her that each loves most, 
As she would lore to hear. 



OAMPBXLL's FOX1I8. 909 



THE HABPBR. 



On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh. 

No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I ; 

No haip like my own could so cheerily play. 

And whereyer I went was my poor dog Tray. 

When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part^ 
She said, (while the sorrow was big at her heart,) 
Oh ! remember your Sheelah when feur, hx away ; 
And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray. 

Poor dog ! he was fiiithful and kind, to be snre^ 
And he constantly loved me, although I was poor; 
When the sour-looking folks sent me heartleas away, 
I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. 

When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold 
And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old. 
How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray. 
And he licked me for kindness — my poor dog Tray. 

Though my wallet was scant, I remembered his case^ 
Nor refdsed my last cnlst to his pitiful face; 
But he died at my feet on a cold winter day. 
And I played a sad lament for my poor dog Tray. 

Where now shall I go, poor, fbrsaken, and blind } 
Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind? 
To my sweet natiye Tillage, so feur, far away, 
I can never more return with my poor dog Tray. 
18* 



no GAM]^liEX.L B T0MU9. 



THE WpUNDSD KOBSAB. 

Axmni, to 13i6 banks of the dark^roUmg Danobei 
Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er : 

** Oh whither/' she cried, " hast thoa wandered, my latw^ 
Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the dutfe? 

« What voice did I hear?— 'twas my Henry that sighed!'^ 
AH monmfal she hastened, nor wandered she fiff, 

When, ULeeding and low, on the heath she descried. 
By the li^t of the moon, her poor wounded Hnaav I 

From his bosom that hesTed, the last torrent was stream** 
iiig» 

And pale was his visage, deep marked with a sear I 
And dim was that eye, once exi^essiTely beaming. 

That melted in love, and that kindled in war I 

How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight! 

How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war ! 
''Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sotiowM 
night, 

To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar?'* 

<*Thou shalt live," she replied, "Heaven's merey re> 
lieving 

Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mouxnl** 
<< Ah, no ! the last pang of my bosom is heaving I 

No light of the mom shall to Henry return ! 

**Th0U ehazmer of life, ever tender and true! 

Te babes of my love, that await me a£u I " — 
His fidtering tongue scarce could murmur adieu. 

When he sunk, in her arms — the poor wounded Huiiar I 



CAMPiBLL S POEMS. .311 

LOVE AND MADNESSU 

AN BLBQT. — wm i TlW IN 1796. 

HariL ! from the battlementB of yonder tower * 
The Bolenm bell has tolled the midnight hoiir! 
Boused from drear yisions of distempered sleep. 
Poor B— k wakes — in solitude to weep ! 

"Cease, Memory, cease (the friendless mourner exied) 
To probe the bosom too severely tried ! 
Oh ! ever cease, my pensive thoughts, to stray 
Through the bright fields of Fortune's better day, 
When youthful Hope, the music of the mind. 
Toned all. its chaims, and E ^n was kind! 

''Yet, can I cease, while glows this trembling frame^ 

In sighs to speak thy melancholy name? 

I hear thy spirit wail in every storm ! 

In midnight shades I view thy passing form! 

Pale as in that sad hour when doomed to feel. 

Deep in thy perjured heart, the bloody steel ! 

'* Demons of Vengeance ! ye at whose command 
I grasped the sword with more than woman's hand, 
Say ye, did Pity's trembling voice control, 
Or horror damp the purpose of my soul ? 
No ! my wild heart sat smiling o'er the plan, 
ItU Hate fulfilled what baffled Love began ! 

"Yes; let the olay-cold breast that never k&«w 
One tender pang to generous Nature true, 

• Warwick Castle. 



213 CAMPBSLL's F0XM8. 

Half-mingling pity with the gall of acorn. 
Condemn this heart, that bled in lore forlorn ! 

** And yc, proud fair, whose soul no gladness wansft 
Save Kapture's homage to your conscious channB I 
Delighted idols of a gaudy train, 
111 can your blunter feelings guess the pain. 
When the fond faithM heart, inspired to proye 
Friendship refined, the calm delight of Lore, 
Feels all its tender strings with anguisb torn, 
And bleeds at peijured Pride's inhuman soom! 

" Say, then, did pitying Hearen condemn the deed. 
When Vengeance bade thee, faithless lover ! bleed ? 
Long had I watched thy dark foreboding brow. 
What time thy bosom scorned its dearest tow ! 
Sad, though I wept the Mend, the lover changed, 
Still thy cold look was scornful and estranged. 
Till £rom thy pity, love, and shelter thrown, 
I wandered hopeless, friendless, and alone ! 

*' Oh ! righteous Heaven ! 'twas then my tortured soul 

First gave to wrath imlimited control ! 

Adieu the silent look ! the streaming eye ! 

The murmured plaint ! the deep heart-heaving sigh I 

Long-slumbering Vengeance wakes to better deeds; 

He shrieks, he falls, the perjured lover bleeds ! 

Now the last laugh of agony is o'er. 

And pale in blood he sleeps, to wake no more! 

« 'Tis done ! the ^ame of hate no longer bums : 
Nature relents, but, ah ! too late returns ! 
Why does my soul this gush of fondness fed? 
Trembling and fiEunt, I drop the guilty steel! 
Cold on my heart the hand of terror lies. 
And shades of horror close my languid eyes ! 



CAMPBELL 8 FOE If 8* tlS 

- Oh ! 'twas a deed of Murder's deepest gidn ! 

Could B ^k's Soul so ttae to wrath xemafA^ 

A friend long tnie, a once fond loyer ftll ! — 
Where Loye was fostered could not Pity dwell? 

* «* Unhappy youth ! while yon pale crescent glows 
To watch on silent Nature's deep repose, 
Thy sleepless spidt, breathing from the tomb^ 
Foretells my fate, and summons me to come! 
Once more I see thy sheeted spectte stand, 
Koll the dim eye, and wave the paly hand I 

"Soon may this fluttering spark of Tital flame 
Forsake its languid melancholy frame! 
Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre dose. 
Welcome the dreamless night of long repose 1 
Soon may this wo-wom spirit seek the boun e 
Where, lulled to slumber, Grief forgets to u yaaok I " 



HALLOWED GROUND. 

What^s hallowed ground? Has earth a dod 
Its Maker meant not should be trod 
By man, the image of his God, 

Erect and free, 
Unscourged by Superstition's rod, 

To bow the knee ? 

Thaf s hallowed ground — where, mourned, and mis s ad , 
The lips repose our love has kissed: — 
But Where's their memory's "hianslon ? Is't 

Yon churchyard's bowers! 
Ko! in ourselves their souls exist, 

A part of ours. 



tl4 camfbkll's foxms. 

A kiM can oonsecrttte the ground 
Where mated hearts are mutoal bound: 
The spot where love's first links were woiind» 

That ne'er are riven. 
Is hallowed down to earth's profound, 

And up to Heaven ! 

For time makes all but true love old; 
The burning thoughts that then wero told 
Run molten stiU in memory's mould; 

And wiU not oool. 
Until the heart itself be cold 

In Lethe's pooL 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? « 
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap! 
In .ews that heavens feur distant weep 

Their turf may bloom ; 
Or Genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb: 

But strow his ashes to the wind 

Whose sword or voice has served manWnd-- 

And is he dead, whose glorious mind 

lifts thine on high? — 
To live in hearts we leave behind, 

Is not to die. 

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right? 
He's dead alone that lacks her light ! 
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight 

The sword he draws : — 
What can alone ennoble fight? — 

A noble cause ! 

Give that? and welcome War to brace 

Her drums ! and rend Heaven's reeking spMd 



Campbell's poxmi. 315 

The colon planted Cue to fenoBt 

The charging cheer, 
Though Death's pale horse lead on the ohaae^ 

Shall still be dear. 

And place our trophies where men kneel 
To Heaven ! — but Heaven rebukes my leal ! 
The cause of Truth and human weal, 

O God above ! 
Transfer it £rom the sword's appeal 

To Peace and Love. 

Peace ! Love ! the cherubim that join 
Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shzine, 
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shme^ 

Where they are not — 
The heart alone can make divine 

Religion's spot. 

To incantations dost thou trust. 
And pompous rites in domes august? 
See mouldering stones and metal's mst 

Belie the vaunt, 
H^t men can bless one pile of dust 

With chime or chant. 

The ticking wood- worm mocks thee, man ! 
The temples — creeds themselves, grow waa ! 
But there's a dome of nobler span, 

A temple given 
Thy Mth, that bigots dare not ban~ 

Its space is Heaven ! 

Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling. 
Where trancing the rapt spirit's feeling. 
And Qod himself to man revealing. 
Hie harmonious spheres 



Sgg c^mp^kll's poems. 

ICake music, though unheard their peeling 
By mortal ears. 

Fair stars ! are not your beings pure? 
Can aSn* can death your worlds obscure ) 
Else why so swell the thoughts at your 

Aq;>eot aboVe? 
Ye must be Heavens that make us sure 
^ Of heavenly love! 

And in your harmony sublime 
I read the doom of distant time ; 
That man's regenerate soul from crime 

Shall yet be drawn, 
And reason on his mortal dime • 

Immortal dawn. 

What's hallowed ground > 'Tis what giTei UrOi 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! — 
Feeoe I Independence ! Truth ! go teth 

Berth's compass round ; 
And your high priesthood shall mafcis eaith 

Att haOow&d ground. 



SONG. 



WiTKDBAw not yet those Ups and fingirs 
Whose touch to mine is rapture's speQ ; 

Li&'s joy for us a moment lingers, 
And death seems in the word — FareweUL 

Ihe hour that bids us part and go, 

It sounds not yet, — oh ! no, no, no ! 



CAMFBSLL's POZMf. Skf 

Tims, whilst I gaie upon thy sweotoMi, 
Fliefl like a oouzser nigh the goal; 

To-morrow where shall be his fleetaess. 
When thou art parted from my soul? 

Our hearts shall beat, our tears shall flow. 

But not together, — no, no, no ! m. 






CABOUNE. 

FART I. 



Tll bid the hyacinth to blow, 
m teach my grotto green to be; 

And sing my true loye, all below 
The holly bower and myrtle tree. 

There all his wild-wood sweets to bring. 
The sweet south wind shall wander by, 

And with the music of his wing 
Delight my rustling canopy. 

Come to my close and clustering bower, 
Thou spirit of a milder dime, 

Fresh with the dews of fruit and flower. 
Of mountain heath, and moory thyme» 

With all thy rural echoes come, 
Sweet comrade of the rosy day. 

Wafting the wild bee*s gentle hum. 
Or cuckoo's plaintiye roundelay. 
19 



218 Campbell's poems. 

"Where'er thy morning breath has played* 
Whatever ialee of ocean fiumedt 

Come to my bloaaom-woven shade, 
lliou wandering wind of fairy-land. 

For sure, from some enchanted iale. 
Where Heaven and Love their sabbath hold* 

Where pure and happy spirits smile, 
Of beauty's fairest, brijghtest mould : 

From some green Eden of the deep. 
Where Pleasure's sigh alone is heaved. 

Where tears of rapture lovers weep. 
Endeared, undoubting, undeceived; 

From some sweet paradise afar. 
Thy music wanders, distant, lost — 

Where Nature Hghts her leading star, 
And love is never, never crossed. 

Oh, gentle gale of Eden bowers. 
If back thy rosy feet should roam, 

To revel with the cloudless Hours 
In Nature's more propitious home, 

Name to thy loved Elysian groves. 
That o'er enchanted spirits twine, 

A fairer form than cherub loves, 
And let the name be CAAOumu 



i_:-_3<y I 



POEMS. 919 



CiLROUNE. 



TO THB ETBNXNO STAB. 

Out of the crimson-coloxed Ereiit 

Companion of retiiing day, 
Why at the closing gates of Hearent 

Beloyed star, dost thou delay ? 

So fair thy pensUe beauty bums,^ 
When soft the tear of twilight flows; 

So due thy plighted loye returns, 
To chambers brighter than the rose: 

To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love, 
So kind a star thou seem'st to be. 

Sure, some enamored orb abore 
Descends and bums to meet with thMb 

Thine is the breathing,' blushing hour. 
When all unhearenly passions fly. 

Chased by the soul-subduing powev 
Of Love's deUcious witchery. 

O ! sacred to the fall of day. 
Queen of propitious stars, appear,' 

And early «se, and long delay. 
When Caroline herself is here ! 

Shine on her chosen green resort, 
Whose trees the simward summit crown. 

And wanton flowers, that wcU may court 
An angel's feet to tread them down. 



CAMPBXI.L'S POSMfl. 

flhinft on Imr •weetity-floented roadt 
Hum star ofereDing^s pmple dasoB, 

That lead'st the nightingale abroad. 
And gnid'st the pQgrim to his home^ 

Shine^ where mj chazmer^s sweeter braalh 
Embalms the soft lyrhftKng dew. 

Where dying winds a sigh beqneath 
To kias the chedL of rosy hue. 

Where, winnowed by the gentle air. 
Her silken tg cflocs darkly flow,. 

And BeQ^ipon her brow so fiiir. 
Like sKadows on the moontain snow. 

Tbas, ever thus, at day's decHne, 
In converse sweet, to wander fir, 

O biing with thee my Caroline^ 
And thoa shalt be my RoHng Star! 



THE BEECH TREE'S PETmON. 

O LEAVB this barren spot to me ! 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree I 
Though bush or floVret never grow 
My dark nnwarming shade below; 
Nor summer bud perfume the dew 
Of rosy blush, or yellow hue ! 
Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-bom, 
My green and glossy leaves adorn; 
Nor murmtiring tribes from me derive 
Th' ambrosial amber of the hive * 



Campbell's poemb. fKI 

Tet leave this barren spot to me: 
Spare, woodxjian, spare the beechen tree! 

Thxice twenty summers I hare seen 
The sky grow bright, the forest green; 
And many a wintry wind haye stood 
In bloomless, fruitless solitude, 
Since childhood in my pleasant bower 
First spent its sweet and sportiye hour, 
Since youthful lovers in my shade 
Their vows of truth and rapture made; 
And on my trunk's surviving frame 
Carved many a long-forgotten name. 
Oh ! by the sighs of gentle sound* 
First breathed upon this sacred ground ; ' 
By all that Love has whispered here. 
Or Beauty heard with ravished ear; 
As Love's own altar honor me: 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 



L 



FIELD FLOWERS. 

Yb field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true, 
Yet, wildings of Nature^ I dote upon you, 

For ye waft me to summers of old, 
"When the earth teemed aroimd me with fairy delight, 
And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my light, 

Uke treasures of sUver and gold. 

I love you fbr lulling me back into dreams 
Of the blue Tfighland mountains and echoing 
19* 



Sn CAMPBELL'S FOXHa. 

And of biidieii ^bdes breathing their babn, 
Wliile the deer was eeen glancing in snnflhine remote* 
And the deep mellow crash of the wood-pigeon'e note 

Made muaic that sweetened the oalsa. 

Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune 

Than ye speak to my heart, little wildinga of June: 

Of old ruinous castles ye tell. 
Where I tiiought it delightful your beauties to find, 
When the magic of Nature first breathed <m my mJidy 

And your blossoms were part of hst spelL 

Even no 17 what affeetions the violet awakes; 
What loyed little islands, twice seen in their lakes, 

Can the wUd water-lily restore; 
What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, 
And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brook«> 

In the Yetches that tangled their shore. 

Earth's culturdess buds, to my heart ye were dear. 
Ere the feyer of passion, or ague of fear 

Had scathed my existence's bloom ; 
Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage^ 
"V^th the Tidons of youth to rerisit my age. 

And I wish you to grow on my tomb. 



STANZAS TO PAJNnNG. 

O THOU by whose ezpresslYe art 
Her perfect image Nature sees 

In union with the Ghraces. start. 
And sweeter by reflection pleaie I 



CAMPAsLl's P01M8. ^ 

la whose <ereatlTe hand l&e hnw 
n«(di frdm yon tnieikt fwnbow ddne; 

I Uess thee, Prometikeui Muse ! 
And eaU thee bri|^toBt of the Klne I 

Poflsesshig more than yocal power, 
iPentuiflire more than poefs tongue; 

Whose lineage, in a raptured hour, 
From Lore, the Sire of Natvoe, «prung; 

Does Hope her high possesaioii meet ^ 
is joy triumphant, sorrow flown ? 

Sweet is the trance, the tremor eweet, 
"When all we love is all our own. 



But oh ! thou pulse of pleasure dear, 
l^ew "Oirobbing, oold, I feel thee part ; 

Lone absence plants a pang severe, 
Or death inflicts a keener dart. 

Then for a beam of joy to light 
In memory's sad «nd wakeful eye ! 

Or banish from the noon of night 
Her dreams of deeper agony. 

Shall Song its witching cadence roll? 

Yea, even the tenderest air repeat, 
fhst breathed when soul was knit to soulf 

And heart to heart responsiye beat ? 

What TisioDS rise ! to charm, to melt I 
The lost, the loved, the dead ore near I 

9h, hush that strain too deeply Mt ! 
And 'cease that solace too severe ! 



But thoQ, Mranelj nleiit art I 

By hMTen and 1ot» wast taught to land 
A milder mAtM to tlia heart» 

Tlie aacred image of a friend. 



All ia not lost ! i^ yet poaaeBsed, 
To me that sweet memorial shine; 

If dose and closer to my breast 
I hold that idol all divine. 



Or, gasing through luxurious tears, 
. Melt o'er the lored departed fonn, 
TQl death'a oold boeom half appears 
Witii life» and speech, and spirit warm. 

She looks ! she lives ! this tranced hour, 
Hi» bright eye seems a purer gem 

Than apaddes on the throne of power. 
Or i^lory's wealthy diadem. 

Yes, Genius, yes! thy mimic aid 
A treasure to my soul has giyen, 

Where beanty's canonised shade 
Smiles in tke sainted huea of heaven. 

No spectre forms of pleasure fled. 
Thy softening, sweetening tints restore; 

For thou canst give us back the dead. 
E'en in the loveliest looks they wore. 

Then blest be Nature'a guardian Muse^ 
Whose hand her perished grace redeems ! 

Whoae tablet of a thousand hues 
The mirror of creation seems. 



CAMPliBLL'S POftMB 

From Lore began thy high descent; 

And lorers, cbaimed by gifts of tliine^ 
Shall bless thee mutely eloquent ; 

And call thee brightest of the Nine I 



LINES, 

niBGBIBBD ON XOB MDNIJiaNT I.A.TKLT WHJU W IJUI ST MS. 
OKANTBETf "WHICH HAS BBBN BHBOTED BT THB "WIDOW 
OF ASMIKAL SIB O. OMnrKaLT., X. 0. B., TO XHB MBCOBT 
OF HBB HUBBARD* 

To him, whose loyal, faraye^ and gentie hairt, 

Fulfilled file hero's and the patriot's part,— • 

AVhose charity, like that whioh Panl enjoined. 

Was warm, beneficent, and unconfined, — 

This stone is reared : to public duty true. 

The seaman's Mend, the father of his oiew ; 

Mild in reproof sagacious in command. 

He spread fraternal zeal throughout his band. 

And led each aim to act, each heart to feel, 

What British yalor owes to Britain's weaL 

These were his public -virtues ; — but to traoe 

His priyate life's fair purity and grace, 

To paint the traits that drew affection strong 

From friends, an ample and an ardent throng. 

And, more, to speak lus memory's grateful claim 

On her who mourns him niost, and bears lus name-^ 

O'ercomes the trembliag hand of widowed grie^ 

(yeroomes the hearty mconscious of relief, 

Saye in religion's }si i and holy trust, 

Whilst placing theii mer^arial o'er his dust. 



CAMPBELL'S POEMf. 

SONO, 
TO THB XYBinMO STAR. 

Stak that biingest home the bee. 
And sett* st the weary laborer free ! 
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou. 

That send'st it from above, 
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow 

Are sweet as hers we lore. 

Oome to the luzunant skies, 
WhDst the landscape's odors rise, 
Whilst fitt-off lowing herds are heard, 

And songs, when toil is done, 
From cottages whose smoke nnstizxed 

Curls yellow in the sun. 

Star of love's soft interviews. 
Parted lovers on thee muse; 
Their remembrancer in Heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art, 
Too delicious to be riven 

By absoioe firam the heart 



CAMPBXLL't POBMt. 



STAKZAS, 

OM THB BATTLB OF MAVABINO. 

Hbabtb of oak that haye bnyely delirered tlie bnfti 
And uplifted old Greece from the brink of the grare, 
Twas tiie helpless to help, and the hopeless to saret 

That your thunderbolts swept o'er the brine : 
And aa long as yon sun shall look down on the waTS 

The light of your glory shall shine. 



For the guerdon ye sought with your bloodshed and toil. 
Was it slayes, or dominion, or rapine, or spoil ? 
Ko ! your lofty emprise was to fistter and foil 

The uprooter of Greece's domain ! 
When lie tore the last remnant of food 'from her soil* 

Till her fEunislied sank pale as the slain ! 



Yet, Kavarino's heroes ! does Cristendom breed 

Hie base hearts that will question the fame of your deed I 

Are they men ? — let inefikble scorn be their meed. 

And oblivion shadow their graves ! — 
Aze they women ^ — to Turkish serails let them ^eedi 

And be mothen of Mussulman slaves. 



Abettors of maasacre ! dare ye deplore 

That the dea^-ahziek is sileDoed on Hellas's shore ^ 

That the motiier aghast sees her offspring no more 

By the hand of TufSfintiffidft grasped ? 
And that stretdied on your biUowB distained by thai gore 

MiiBolonghi's assaswins hare gasped ? 



Prouder scene nerer hallowed war's pemp to the mmd« 
Than when Ouistendom's pennons woo'd social the wmdt 
And the flower of her braye for the combat combmed, 

Their watchword, humaiiiky's tow : 
Not a sea-boy that fought in that cause, but manViud 

Owes a garland to honor his' brow ! 

Nor grudge, by our side, that to conquer or £bU« 
Came the hardy rude Buss, and the high-mettled Qaul : 
For whose was the genius, that planned at its call. 

Where the whirlwind of battle should roll ? 
All were braye ! but the star of success over all 

Was tiie light of our Codrington's souL 

That star of thy day-spiog, regenerate Greek ! 
Dimmed the Saxacen's moon, and struok pallid his Aaak; 
In its fiist-flnshing morning thy Muses shall speak 

When their lore and their lutes they redaim ; 
And the first of their songs firom Paznassua^s peak 

Shall be *• Glory to CodnngtoiC* momm." 



THB MAID'S BEMONSTRANCK 



Nbvbr weddiagt fi>v«r wooingi 
StiU a lof^lom heart pursuiag* 
Bead you not the wioag y^ie 

In my cheek'a pale hue^ 
AH my Hfa with soirow strawing ; 

Wed, or eease to weo. 



CAMPBELL'S P0EM8. 

RMb bankhed* ho§tmm pUghltd, 
Stffl oar days an diaunited ; 
Now tlio lamp of hope Is lightedt 

Now half qvencbod appsazsb 
Damped, and. wayezmg, and bemghtsd, 

Midst mj sighs and team. 

Charms you call your dearest blessing, 
lips that thzill at your earessing, 
Eyes a mutual soul oonleising, 

Soon you'U make them grow 
Dim, and worthlesB your posiessing, 

Not with age, but wo! 



ABSENCE. 



Tn not the loss of lovers assunaeeb 
It Is not doubting what thou sit, 

Jhil 'tis Ite too, too kmg enduiaase 
Of sbsence, that aMiets my heart 



The fondest thoughts two hearts can cherish, 
"When each is lonely doomed to weep, 

Are finitB on desert isles that perish. 
Or riches buried in the deep. 



What thoas^ untouohed by jiMdiras 
Onr bosom's peaoe may fill to wteok ; 
20 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

The nndonbtiiig heart, that breaks with sadncM^ 
Is bat more sbwlj doomed to break. 

Absenoe ! is not the soul torn by it 
From more than light, or life, or breatii ! 

'Tis Lethe's gloom, but not its quiet, — 
The pain without the peace of death ! 



LINES, 

ON BSTIBrnNO A SOOTnSH BIVBIl. 

Akd- call they this Lnpzoyement ? — to have changed. 

My natiTe Clyde, thy once romantic shore, 

Where Nature's face is banished and estranged. 

And Hearen reflected in thy wave no more; 

Whose banks, that sweetened May-day's breath before, 

lie sere and leafless now in summer's beam, 

Wiih sooty exhalations oorered o'er; 

And for the dasied greensward, down thy stream 

Unsightly briek-lanes smoke, and clanking eogiiies gleam I 

Speak not to me of swarms the scene sustains ; 

One heart free tasting Nature's breath and bloom 

Is worth a thousand slaves to Mammon's gains. 

But whither goes that wealthy and gladdening whom i 

See, left but life enough and breathing-room 

The hunger and the hope of life to feel. 

Yon pale Mechanic bending o'er his loom. 

And CSbildhood's self as at Ldon's wheel, 

nwm mom till midnight tasked to earn its little meal. 



Campbell's poxxs. 9Bt 

U thiB Improyement? — where the hanuui bleed 

Degenerate as they swarm and oyerflow. 

Till Toil grows cheaper than the trodden weed* 

And man competes with man, like foe with fise, 

Tm Death, that thins them, scarce seems puUio wo I 

Improvement ! — smiles it in the poor man's eyes, 

Or blooms it on the cheek of Labor? — No — 

To gorge a few with IVade's precazioas prise. 

We banish rural life^ and breathe unwholesome skies. 

Kor call that evil slight ; Gk>d has not giyen 

This passion to the heart of man in vain, 

For Earth's green feoe, the untainted air of Heaven, 

And all the bliss of Nature's rustic reign. 

For not alone our frame imbibes a stain 

From feetid skies; the spizifs healthy pride 

Fades in their gloom. — And therefore I complain. 

That thou no more through pastoral scenes shouldst gUde» 

My Wallace's own stream, and once romantic Clyde I 



THE <«NAHE UNKNOWN." 

m DUTATIOSr OF XLOPSTOOK. 

PsoFHsnc pencil ! wilt thou traoe 
A Mthfnl image of the face, 

Or wilt thou write the '<Name XTnknowii, 
Ordained to bless my charmed soul. 
And all my ftiture fitte control, 

TTnriTalled and alone } 




DdBolMit IM oC my thosglit: 
Tbona^ 9jkpk or ipfaifc lurtk ao( (iii§lit 

My bo^Bg bent thy free&oiw mmmi 
Yet inwiBg on my dkfevit ftle^ 
To dteDM uBfem X < 

A 

Tby noy bkwh, tiiy wMWiniilg eyi^ 
Thy yhacffm, Toioe of melody* 

Aze erer present to my heert; 
Thy mnimnzed vo'vrB shall yet be : 
My t^rHlfng ht^ii flhall meet uritii toine^ 

Ax.d neyer» never port ! 

Then fly, my days, on rapid ving^ 
TiU Love the yiewleaa treasure bring; 

While I^ like consdons Athens, own 
A power in mystic silence sealed, 
A guardian angel unrevealed, ' 

And bless the •< Name Unknown I ** 



LINES, 

ON THB CAMP HILL, TXEAB, HASXENGS. 

Ix the deep blue of eye, 
Ere the twxiJding of sta» had beguii* 

Or the lark took his le«?e 
Of th0 skies amd the sweet sfttiag smi, 

I climbed to yon heights, 
Where the Norman encan^»ed him of oldL 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Wiik bis bowmen and knights, 
And biB banner all bundshed irith. gold 

At the Conqueror's side 
There bis minstrelsy sat bazp in band* 

In pavilion wide; 
And tbey cbanted the dseds of Boland. 

Still the ramparted ground 
With 8 vinon my fancy inspires, 

And I bear tbe trump soimd. 
As it marsballed our Cbiyalry's sires. 

On each turf of tbat mead 
Stood the captors of England's domains, 

That-ennobled ber breed 
And bigh-metded tbe blood of ber 



Over bauberk and behn 
As tbe sun's settmg splendor was thrown, 

Tbence they looked o'er a realm — 
And to-morrow beheld it tiieir own. 



FAKEWELL TO LOVE. 

I SAD a beart that doted once in Passion's boundless 

pain, 
And though the tyrant I abjured, I could not break bis 

chain; 
But now that Fancy's fire is quenched, and ne'er can 

bum anew, 
Tts bid to Love, for all my life, adieu ! adieu ! adieu ! 
20* 



9M caxpbxi.l's roBMs. 

I'Te known, if ever mortal knew, Hie qpelli of Beauty't 

thttU, 
And if my song has told them not, my soul has iblt 

them all; 
But Passion robs my peace no moie^ aad Beauty's 

■witching sway 
Ib now to me a star that* s ftU'n—- a dxeam IshetTs passed 

away. 

Hail I welcome tide of life, when no tmnultwyiis billows 

roU; 
How wondioQS to myself appean this halcyon calm of 

sonl! 
The wearied bird blown o'er the de^ wofold sooner quit 

its shore, 
Than I would cross the gulf again that tune has brought 

me o'er* 

Why say they angels fed the flame?— Oh, spirits of 

the ddes! 
Can love like ouis» that dotes on dxis% in hearenly 

bosoms zise)-^ 
Ah no ! the hearts that best haye Mt its power, the 

best can tell, 
That peace on earth itself begins, when Lore has hid 

farewelL 



eAMPBSLL'8 POBMt. 



LINES ON POLAND. 

And hare I lired to see thee swofd in hand 
TTprise again, immortal Polish Land ! — 
Whose flag brings more than ohivalrf to mind. 
And leares the tri-color in shade bdiind—- 
A theme for iminspired lips too strong; 
That swells m j heart beyond the power of song 1 
Migestic men! whose deeds haye dassled fiEdth, 
Ah ! yet your &te's suspense arrests my breath ; 
Whilst enrying bosoms bared to shot and steel, 
I feel the more that fruitlessly I &eL 

Poles! with what indignation I endure 
Th' half-pitying, servile mouths that call you poor; 
Poor ! is it England mocks you with her gxief^ 
Who hates, but dares not chide, th' Imperial Thief f 
France, with her soul beneath a Bourbon's thrall, 
And Germany that has no soul at all, — 
States, quailing at the giant overgrown, 
Whom dauntless Poland grapples with alone ! 
No, ye are rich in fame e'en whilst ye bleed : 
We can not aid you — im are poor indeed ! 

Li Fate's defiance — in the world's great eye, 
Poland has won her immortality; 
The Butcher, should he reach her bosom now, 
Ckrald not tear Glory's garland -from her brow ; 
Wreathed, filleted, the Tictim fiills renowned, 
And all her ashes will be holy ground ! 

But turn, my soul, firom presages so dadL : 
Great Poland's spirit is a deathless spark 



ao CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

lliat's fanned by Heaven to mock the Tyrant's rage: 

8he^ like the eagle, will renew her age, 

And fresh histozic plumes of Fame put on,— 

Another Athena after Marathon, — 

Where eloquence shall fulmine, arts refine. 

Bright as her anna that now In battle shine. 

Come — should the heavenly shock my life destioy. 

And shut its flood-gates with excess of joy; 

Come but the day when Poland's fight is won — 

And on my graye-stone shine the morrow's sun! — 

The day that sees Warsaw's catiiedral glow. 

With endless ensigns rayished firom the foe, — 

Her women lifting their fur hands with thanks. 

Her pious warriors kneeling in their ranks, 

The 'scutcheoned walls of high heraldic boast, 

The odorous altars' elevated host. 

The organ sounding through the aisle's long gloomy 

The mighty dead seen sculptured o'er their tombs; 

(John, Europe's savior — Poniatowski's fair 

Ilesemblance — Kosciusko's shall be there;) 

The tapered pomp — the hallelujah's swell. 

Shall o'er the soul's devotion cast a speU, 

Till visions cross the rapt enthusiast's glance, 

And all the scene becomes a waking trance. 

Should Fate put far, far off that glorious scene. 

And gulfs of havoc interpose between, 

Imagine not, ye men of every clime, 

Who act, or by your sufferance share the crimen 

Your brother Abel's blood shall vainly plead 

Against the **de^ damnoHon** of the deed. 

Germans, ye view its horror and disgrace 

With cold phosphoric eyes and phlegm of feoe. 

Is Allemagne profound in science, lore, 

And minstrel art? — her shame is but the mort . 

To doze and dream by governments oppressed. 

The .spirit of a book- worm in each breast. 

Well can ye mouth fear Freedom's classic line, 



CAHPBEIL'8 POSK8. IV 

And talk of ConstltatLanji o'er jonr wine : 
But aU jonix towb to break the tynmtf s yoke 
Blq p itt in Beechaiiaitian acng and smoke : 
HHitinB ! can no ray of foresight pierce ih« lead 
And BQHiaB netaphyatcs of your heads, 
To show the sdfHHone gpn.Ye» Oppression delras 
For PolaaiTa ri^^ts, is yawning toit yonrselTeB I 

See, whilst the Pole, the vanguard aid of Fnmoe^ 
Has TNiltod on his barb and ooudicd the lanee, 
IVance turns firom. heap aband o n e d Mends afiresh^ 
And soothes the Bear that jatowls fbr patiiot fieili.; 
BiiyH^ ignoinisaous pnrdiase ! abort repose, 
VfiOai dgring emnHs and the groans of those 
That senred, and loTed, and put in her their trust I 
Frenchnan! tibe dead accuse yon from the duat-** 
Brows kiarelled-^ bosoms mariced with many a soak 
For France — that wore her Legion's noUest star^ 
Cast d«mb reproaches, from the field of Death, 
On €tallifi honor: and this broken futh 
Has robbed you more of Fame — the hfie of lift— 
Than twenty battles lost in glorious stzift ! 

And whait of England ? — Is she steeped so low 

In porertyt erest-fiill'n, and palsied s(^ 

That we most sit, mndh wroth, but timoroua xnoct, 

"With Minder knocking at our neighbor's door^ 

Not Murder madLcd and doaked, with hidden knilab 

"Whose owner owes the gallows life for life ; 

But PubUe Murder ! — that with pomp and gaud. 

And royal scorn of Justice, walks abroad 

To wring more tears and blood than e'er were wrung 

By all the culprits Justice ever hung ! 

We read the diademmed Assassin's yaunt, 

And winee, and wish we had not hearts to pant 

With uselees indignation — sigh, and frown. 

But haw not hearts to throw the gaunliet down* 



BB CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

If but a doubt hung o'er thie gioundi of fraj. 
Or trivial rapine stopped the world's highway; 
Were this some common soifs of States embraOad; 
Britannia on the spoiler and the spoiled # 

Might calmly look, and, addng time to braathe^ 
StiU honorably wear his oliye wreath. 
But this is Darkness combatting with Light: 
Earth's adverse ^,^*iinciples for empire fight : 
Oppression, that has belted half the globe, 
Far as his knout could reach or dagger prober 
Holds reeking o'er our brother-freem^ slain 
That dagger — shakes it at us in disdain; 
Talks big to Freedom's States of Poland's thnOl* 
And, trampling one, contemns them one and aU. 

My coimtry ! colors not thy once proud brow 

At this affitont } — Hast thou not fleets enow 

With Glory's streamer, lofty as the lark. 

Gay fluttering o'er each thunder-beaiing bark, 

To warm the insulter^s seas with barbarous bloody 

And interdict his flag from Ocean's flood? 

Ev'n now tu off the sea-cliff^ where I sing» 

I see, my Country and my Patriot King ! 

Tour ensign glad the deep. Becalmed and slow 

A war-ship rides ; while Heaven's prismatio bow, 

Uprisen behind her on th' horizon's base, 

Shines flushing through the tackle, shrouds, and stiy% 

And wraps her giant form in one majestio blaie. 

My soul accepts the omen; Fancy's eye 

Has sometimes a veracious augury: 

The Rainbow types Heaven's promise to my sight; 

The Ship, Britannia's interposing might ! 

But if there should be none to aid you, Potos, 
Te'll but to prouder pitch wind up your souls, 
Above example, pity, praise, or blame. 
To sow and reap a boundless field of Fame. 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 800 

Aflk aid no more from Nations that forget 

Toixr championship — old Europe's mighty debt. 

Though Poland (Lazarus-like) has burst the gloom* 

She rises not a beggar from the tomb: 

In Fortune's frown, on Danger's giddiest brink. 

Despair and Poland's name must never link. 

All ills have bounds — plague, whirlwind, fire, and flood : 

Ev'n Power can spiU but bounded sums of blood. 

States, caring not what Freedom's price may be, 

May late or soon, but must at last be free; 

For body-killing tyrants can not kill 

The public soul — th' hereditary will 

Thaty downward as from sire to son it goes, 

By shifting bosoms more intensely glows : 

Its heir-loom is the heart, and slaughtered men 

Fight fiercer in their orphans o'er again. 

Pcdand recasts — though rich in heroes old — 
Her men in more and more heroic mould: 
Her eagle ensign best among mankind 
Becomes, and types her eagle-strength of mind : 
Her praise upon my flEdtering lips expires: 
Kesume it, yoimger bards, and nobler lyres ! 



MABOAHET AND DORA. 

Mabsabbt^s beauteous — Qreoian 
Ne'er drew form completer, 
Yet why, in my heart of hearts. 
Hold I Dora's sweeter? 



CAMPBKI.L'8 POKHt. 

damf* 0jm of heaTenly blii«» 
Pms all paintmg'B nadh; 
Bing-dore's aotes are diaoord to 
The mxiaio of her apeeeh. 

Artiste! Margarefa amile reeeifa^ 
Ajid on eaBTaea abow it; 
But for perfect iroiahip lea:vo 
Dora' to her poeC 



JL THOUaHT SUOOBSTBD BY THB 
NEW YEAR. 

Thb more we live, more brief appear 

Our life's succeeding stages ; 
A day to childhood seems a year, 

And years like passing ages. 

The gladsome current of our youth, 

Ere passion yet disorders. 
Steals, lingering like a riyer amooth 

Along its grassy borders. 

But as the care-worn cheek grows wan. 

And aorrow's shafts fly thicker, 
Te stars, that measure life to man. 

Why aeam your oouxaea quiekar) 

Whn Joys hare loat thair bkxna and breath, 

AndlifeitaeHiayapid, 
Why, aa we reach the Falls of death. 

Feel we its tide more rapid? 



Campbell's poems. 'SMI 

It may be ttanuge— 7«ft ^idio would dkmgt^ 

Time's course to sierwer spieeding; 
Wben one by one our friends hare gone^ 

And left oar bosoms l)lieding ? 

Hearen giv«s our yean of fading starangth 

Indemnifying fleetnees; 
And those of Youth, a seeminff iM^mft, 

Proportioned to their 



SONG. 



How ddicious is the 'vignning 
Of a kiss at Love's beginning, 
When two mutoal heafcnfe wghiVig 
For the knot there's no untying ! 

Tet, remember, 'midst your wooing. 
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing; 
Otiher smiles may make you fiekle. 
Tears for other charms may trickle. 

Love he comes, and Love he tarries, 
Just as fate or &ncy carries ; 
Longest stays, when sorest chidden; 
Laughs and flies, when pressed and l^den. 

Bind Hie sea to slumber stilly. 
Bind its odor to'the lily, 
'Bind tile aspen ne'er to quiver, 
Then bind Love to last for everi 
21 



9iS Campbell's poems. 

Lore's a fire that needi lenewal 

Of freah beautj for Us fuel; 

Lofra's wmg moults when caged and ci^itiixedt 

Only free, he soars enn^tnxed. 

Can you keep the bee from rangiiig^ 
Or the ring-doTe's neck from ftliMigii*g } 
Mo ! nor frttned Xfore from d]ning» 
In the knot there's no imtying. 



THE POWBR OF RUSSIA. 

So all this .gallant blood has g^hed in rain ! 
And Poland by the Northern Condor's beak 
And talons tom, lies prostrated again. 
O, British patriots, ^hat were -wont to speak 
Once londly on this theme, now hushed or meek I 
O, heartlesa men of Europe — Qt>th and Gaul 
Cold, adder-deaf to Poland's dying shxiek ; -« 
That saw the world's last land of heroes fiiU — 
The brand of buznmg shame is on you all — all — all! 

But this is |iot the drama's closing act ! 
Its tragic curtain must uprise anew. 
Nations, mute accessories to the frust ! 
rhat Upas-tree of power, whose fostering deiw 
Was Polish blood, has yet to cast o'er you 
The lengthening shadow of its head date — 
A deadly shadow, darkening Nature's hue. 
To ah thaf s haUowed, righteous, pure^ and gnat, 
Wo ! wo ! when they are reached by Russia's wiflMriiig 
hate. 



I 



CAMFBBLL's F0SM8. iM3 

Rnasia, that on his throne of adamant, 
Consults what nation's breast shall next be gored : 
He on Polonia's Golgotha will plant 
IDa standard fresh; and, horde suooeeding horde. 
On patriot tomb-stones he will whet the sword, 
For more stupendous sUughten of the free* 
Then Europe's realms, when their best blood is pouved* 
ShaU miss thee, Poland I as they bend the knee, 
All — all in grie^ but none in glory tikening thee. 

Why smote ye not the Qiant whilst he reeled! 
O, fair occasion, gone foreyer. by I 
To haye locked his lances in their northern field» 
Innocuous as the phantom chiyalry 
That flames and hurtles from yon boreal sky! 
Now, ware thy pennon, Russia, o'er the land 
Once Poland ; build thy bristling castles high ; 
Dig dungeons deep ; for Poland's wrested brand 
Is now a weapon new to widen thy command— 

An awful width 1 Norwegian Woods shall build 
His fleets ; the Swede his vassal, and the Dane ; 
.The glebe of fifty kingdoms shall be tilled 
To feed his dazzling, desolating train. 
Camped sumless, 'twixt the Black and fialtio main 
Brute hosts, I own ; but Sparta could not write. 
And Rome, half-barbarous, bound Achaia's chain: 
So Russia's spirit, midst Sdavonic night. 
Bums with a fire more dread than all your polished light 

But Russia's limbs (so Uinded statesmen say) 
, Are crude, and too colossal to cohere. 
O, lamentable weakness! reckoning weak 
The stripling Titan, strengthening year by year. 
What impliment lacks he for war's career. 
That grows on earth, or in its floods and mines, 
(Eighth sharer of the inhabitable sphere) 



SMi CAMP.BBI.I.'8 POBMS. 

Wlioiii Penda boira to^ C3iiaA ill oonftnffi, 
And India's hoon^e waits, when Albion's star dadiiiM) 



Bat time will teach the Buss, even oonqiudng War 
Has handmaid arts : a^, ay, the Buss will woo 
All sdences that speed BeUona's car, 
All mnxdei^s taotie arta, and win them too ; 
But never hoficr MfMes shall imbne 
His bnaalv thalfs made of nature's bssest. clagr: 
The sabre, knout, and dungeon's yoj^t blue 
His laws and ethics : far from him away 
Are all the lovely Nine^ that breathe but freedom's da^. 

Say, even his sezfii, half-humaiuzed, should learn 
Their human lights, — will Mars put out his flasM . 
In Russian bosoms? no, he'll bid them bom 
A thousand years for nought but martial fimie. 
Like Romans ; — yet focgiye me, Roman name! 
Rome oould impart what Russia nerer can ; 
Proud dyic rights to salye submission's shame. 
Our strife is conung; but in Freedom's Tan 
The Polish eagle's &11 is big with fate to man. 

Proud bird of did ! Mohammed's moon recoiled 
Before thy swoop : had we been timely bold. 
That swoop, still freo, had stunned the Ross, and filled 
Earth's new oppressors, as it foiled her old. 
Now thy majestic eyes are shut and cold: 
And colder still Polonia's children find 
The sympathetic hands, that we outhold. 
But, Poles, when we are gone, the world will mind, 
7e bore the brunt of fate, and bled for humankind. 

So hallowedly hare ye fulfilled your part, 
My pride repudiates even the sigh that Uends 
'With Poland's name — name written on my hetr^ 
My heroes, my grief-oonsecrated Mends ! 



caufbell's FOEirs. 94S 

Your Bozrow, in nobility, transcenda 
Tour cpnqueror^s joy : his cheek may hLxuh ; but Bhame 
Can tinge not yours, though exile's tear deaoenda ; 
Kor would ye change your conscience, canae, and name^ 
For his, with all his wealth, and all his ibkn fame, 

Thee, Niemdewits, whose song of stirring power 
The Czar forbids to sound in Polish lands; 
Thee, Czartoryski, in thy banished bower. 
The patricide, who in thy palace stands. 
May envy; proudly may Folonia's bands 
l%row down their swords at £hirope's ftot in scorn, 
Saying — " Russia from the metal of these brands 
Shall forge the fetters of your sons unborn ; 
Ov setting star is your misfbrtanes' xiaing nu»n." 



UNES 

ON LBATINO A BOXNB IN BATABIA. 

Anntv the woods and water's side, 
Imperial Danube's rich domain I 

Adieu the grotto, wild and wide, 
The rocks abrupt, and grassy plain ! 
For pallid Autumn once again 

Hath swelled each torrent of the hill ; 
Her clouds collect, her shadows sail, 
And watery winds that sweep the Tale, 

Ghnow loud and louder still. 

But not the storm, dethroning &st 
Ton monarch oak of massy pile 
21* 



CAMPBELL'S POBKt. 

Nor xirer rottdng to the Uait 

Asomd Its daik and desert Uto; 

Nor ehnrch-beU tolling to begnOe ' 

The dknd-bom thunder passing by. 

Can sound in discord to my soul : 

RoU on, ye nxighty waters, roll ! 
And rage, thou dadiened sky! 

Thy blossoms now no longer bright; 

Tliy withered woods no longer green; 
Tet, Eldnzn shore, with dark delist 

I visit thy nnloyely scene ! 

For many a sunset hour serene 
My steps have trod thy mellow dew; 

When Mb green light the g^ow-wona §kw% 

When Cynihia.from the distant wave 
Her twilight anchor drew, — 

And ploughed, as with a swelling sail. 

The billov^y doudi and starry sea ; 
Then while thy hermit nightingale 

Sang on his fragrant apple-tree, — 

Romantic, solitary, free, 
The visitant of Elduzn's shore. 

On such a moonlight mountain strayed. 

As echoed to the music made 
By Druid harps of yore. 

A^und thy savage hills of oak. 

Around thy waters bright and blue, 
No hunter's horn the silence broke. 

No dying shriek thine echo knew; 

But safe, sweet Eldum woods, to you 
The wounded wild deer ever ran. 

Whose myrtle bound their grassy cave, 

Whose very rocks a shelter gave 
Ttam blood-pursuing man. 



camfbei/l's poems. Si7 

Oh hjeart eStisions, that arose 

From nightly wanderings cherished here ; 
To him who flies from many woes, 

Even hfxneless deserts can be dear! 

The last and solitary cheer 
Of those that own no earthly hmne, 

Say — is it not, ye banished zaoe, 

In such a loved and lonely place 
Companionless to roam ? 

Yes ! I have loved thy wild abode, 

Unknown, unploughed, untrodden shore; 
Where scarce the woodman finds a road, 

And scarce the fisher plies an oar ; 

For man's n^lect I love thee more ; 
That art nor avarice intrude 

To tame thy t(»renf s thunder-shoek, 

Or prune thy vintage of the rock 
Magnificently rude. 

Unheeded spreads thy blossomed bud 

Its milky bosom to the bee; 
Unheeded falls along the flood 

Thy desolate and aged tree. 

Forsaken scene, how like to thee 
The fiite of \inbefriended Worth ! 

like thine her fruit dishonored fims ; 

Like thee in solitude she calls 
A thousand treasures ibrth. 

Oh ! silent spirit of the place. 

If, lingering with the ruined year, 
Thy hoary form and awful £ice 

I yet might watch and worship hen I 

Thy storm were music to mine ear, 
Thy wildest walk a shelter given 

Sublimer thoughts on earth to find. 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And share, with no tmh&Ilowed mindy 
The majesty of heayen. 

"What though the bosom Mends of Fate^- 
Prosperity's unweaned brood, — 

Tbj consolations can not rate, 
O, self-dependent Solitude! 
Yet with a spirit unsubdued, 

Though darkened by the clouds of Gaze, 
To worship thy congenial gloom, 
A pilgrim to the Prophet's tomb, 

The Friendless shall repair. 

^n him the world hath nerer smiled 

Or looked but with accusing eye; — 
All-silent goddess of the wild. 

To thee that misanthrope shall fly I 

I hear Ids deep soliloquy, 
I mark his proud but rayaged form. 

As stem he wraps his mantle round; 

And bids, on winter's bleakest ground. 
Defiance to the storm. 

Peace to his banished heart, at last. 
In thy dominions shall descend. 

And, strong as beech>wood in the blast, 
His spirit shall refuse to bend; 
Enduring life without a Mend, 

The world and falsehood left behind. 
Thy votary shall bear elate, 
(Tnumphant o'er opposing Fate,) 

His dark inspired mind. 

But dost thou, Folly, mock the Muse 
A wanderer's mountain walk to sing, 

Who shuns a warring world, nor woos 
The vulture cover of its wing? 



CAMPBSLL's P0SM8. 911^ 

Then fly, thou cowering* ahiTeiag thiafr 
Baek to the fostering world beguiled, 

To waste in self-cansuming strife 

The loreless brotherhood of life, 
Reviling and reviled I 

Away, thou loyer of the race 

That hither chased yon weeping deer! 
If Nature's all majestio face 

More pitiless than man's appear; 

Or if the wild winds seem more drear 
Than man's cold charities below, 

Behold around his peopled plains. 

Where'er the social savage reigns, 
Exuberance of wo ! 

His art and honors wouldst thou seek 
Embossed on grandeur's giant walls ? 

Or hear his moral thunders speak 
Where senates light their airy halls. 
Where man his brother man enthralls; 

Or sends his whirlwind warrants forth 
To Irouse the slumbering fiends of war. 
To dye the blood-warm waves afar. 

And desolate the earth? 

From dime to clime pursue the scenes 

And mark in all thy spacious way. 
Where'er the tyrant man has been, 

There Peace, the cherub, can not stay; 

In wilds and woodlands far away 
She builds her solitary bower, 

Where only anchorites have trod, 

Or fiiendless men, to worship God, 
Have wandered for an hour. 

Li such a far forsaken vale^ — 
And sudi, sweet Eldum Tale, is thin%* 



980 campbbll's poems. 

Afflicted nature shall Inhale 

Heayen-borrowed thoughts and joys dxrine; 

No longer msh, no more repine 
For man's neglect or woman's scorn ; — 

Then wed thee to an exile's lot, 

For if the world hath loyed thee not, 
Its absence may be borne. 



THOE DEATH-BOAT OF HELIGOLAND. 

Cak restlessness reach the cold sepulchred head? — 
Ay, the quick have their sleep-walkers, so have thd 

dead. 
There are brains, though they moulder, that dream in 

the tomb. 
And that maddening forebear the last trumpet of dooni^ 
Till their corses start sheeted to revel on earth* 
Making horror more deep by the semblance of mirth : 
By the glare of new-lighted yolcanoes they dance. 
Or at mid-sea appall the chill mariner's. glance. 
Such, I wot, was the baud of cadaverous smile 
Seen ploughing the night-surge of Heligo's isle< 

The foam of the Baltic had sparkled like fire, 
And the red moon looked down with an aspect of ire ; 
But her beams on a sudden grew sick-like and gray. 
And the mews that had slept clanged and shrieked &r 

away — 
And the buoys and the beacons extinguished their light, 
As the boat of the stoiiy-eyed dead came in sights 
High boimding from billow to billow; each form 
Had its shroud like a plaid flying loose to the storm ; 



Campbell's poems. 351 

"With an oar in each pulseless and icy-oold hand. 
Fast they ploughed, by the lee-shore of Heligoland, 
' Such breakers as boat of the liying ne'er crossed ; 
Now surf-sunk for minutes again they uptossed. 
And with livid lips shouted reply o'er the flood 
To the challenging watchman that curdled his blood — 
<*We are dead — we are bound from our graves in the 

west, 
First to Hecla, and then to " Unmeet was the 

rest 
For man's ear. ■ The old abbey bell thundered its clang, 
And their eyes gleamed with phosphorous light as it 

rang: 
Ere they vanished, they stopped, and gazed silently 

grim. 
Till the eye could define them, garb, featoie, and limb. 

Now who were those roamers ? — of gallows or wheel 
Bore they marks, or the mangling anatomist's steel? 
No ! — by magistrates' chains 'mid their grave-clothes 

you saw. 
They were felons too proud to have perished by law; 
But a riband that hung where a rope should have been, 
'Twas the badge of their faction, its hue was not green. 
Showed them men who had trampled and tortured and 

driven 
To rebellion the iairest Isle breathed on by Heaven, — 
Men whose heirs would yet finish the tyrannous task. 
If the Truth and the Time had not dragged off their 



They parted — but not till the sight might discern 
A 'scutcheon distinct at their pinnace's stem, 
"Where letters, emblazoned in blood-colored flame. 
Named their faction — I blot not my page with tts 
name. 



958 Campbell's poems 



SONG. 

When Lotb came fint to Earth, the Sninro 
Spread Toae-beds to reoeiTe him. 

And back he vowed his flight he'd wing 
To Heaven, if she should leave him — 

But Spbino departing, saw his faith 
Fledged to the next new-comer — 

He zevelied in the warmer breath 
And richer bowers of SuiofXK. 

Then sportive Autohn cUdniied by rights 

An Archer for her lover, 
And ev'n in WnmsB's dark oold nights 

A charm he oonld discover. 

Her rontis and balls, iihd fireside joy, 
For this time were his reasons — 

In short, Yonng Love's a gallaat boy, 
That likes all times and seasons. 



SONG. 



Sabl Maxch looked on his dying child, 
And smit with grief to view her — 

The youth, he cried, whom I exiled. 
Shall be restored to woo her. 



CAMFBELX'S POEMS. 25B 

She's at the window many an hour 

His coining to discover: 
And ?ie looked up to KUen's bower, 

And «A« looked on her lover — 

Bat ah! so pale, he knew her not, 
Though her smile on him was dwellings 

And am I then forgot — forgot? — 
It broke the heart of Ellen. 

In vain he we<3ps, in vain he sighs, 

Her cheek is cold as ashes; 
Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyw 

To lift their silken lashes. 



SONG. 

Whbn Napoleon was flying 
From the field of Waterloo, 

A British soldier dying 
To his brother bade adieu ! 

<'And take," he said, "this token 
To the maid that owns my faith, 

With the words that I have spoken 
In affection's latest breath." 

Sore mourned the brother's heart, 
When the youth beside him £ell; 

But the trumpet warned to part, 
And they took* a sad feorewelL 



S54 CAMFBELL*8 FOEMS. 

There was many a Mend to lose hixn. 
For that gallant soldier siglied; 

But the maiden of his bosom 
Wept when all thdr tears were dried. 



LINBS TO JTTLIA M . 

SENT WITH A COPT OF THE AUTHOR'S POEMS. 

SnroB there is magic in your look. 
And in your voice a witching charm, 
As all our hearts consenting tell, 
Enchantress ! smile upon my book, 
And guard its lays from hate and harm 
By Beauty's most resistless spelL 

The sunny dew-drop of thy praise^ 
Toung day-star of the rising time, 
Shall with its odoriferous mom 
Refresh my sere and withered bays. 
Smile, and I will believe my rhyme 
Shall please the beautiful imbom. 

Go forth, my pictured thoughts, and rise 
In traits and tints of sweeter tone. 
When Julia's glance is o'er ye flung; 
Glow, gladden, linger in her eyes, 
And catch a magio not your own. 
Read by the music of her tongue. 



Campbell's pobmb: 5156 



DBINKINQ SONG OF MUNICH. 

SwBBT Iser ! were thy sunny realm 

And flowery gardens mine, 
Thy waters I would shade with dm 

To prop the tender vine; 
My golden flagons I would fill 
With rosy draughts Scorn, every hill; 

And under every myrtle bower, 
My gay companions should prolong 
The laugh, the revel, and the song. 

To many an idle hour. 

Like rivers crimsoned with the beam 

Of yonder planet bright, 
Our balmy cups should ever stream 

Profusion of delight ; 
No care should touch the mellow heart, 
And sad or sober none depart ; 

For wine can triumph over wo. 
And Love and Bacchus, brothei; powen, 
Could build in Iser's sunny bowers 

A paradise below! 



256 cavpbbll's pobms. 

LINES, 

ON THB DEPABTXJBB OF EXiaKANTS FOB NBW 80X7TH WAKBIk 

On England's shore I saw a pensive band. 

With sails unfurled for earth's remotest strand, 

Like children parting from a mother, shed 

Tears for the home that could not yield them bread; 

Grief marked each face receding firom the view, 

'Twas grief to nature honorably "true. 

And long, poor wanderers o'er the ecliptic deep. 

The song that names but home shall make you weep; 

Oft shall ye fold your flocks by stars above 

In that far world, and miss the stars ye love ; 

Oft when its tuneless birds scream round forlorn, 

Begret the lark that gladdens England's mom. 

And, giving England's names to distant scenes. 

Lament that earth's extension intervenes. 



But cloud not yet too long, industrious train. 

Your solid good with sorrow nursed in vain; 

For has the heart no interest yet as bland 

As that which binds mb to our native land? 

The deep-drawn wish, when children crown our heaitl^ 

To hear the cherub-chorus of their mirth. 

Undamped by dread that want may e'er unhouse. 

Or servile misery knit those smiling brows. 

The pride to rear an independent shed, 

And give the lips we love unborrowed bread: 

To see a world, from shadowy forests won. 

In youthful beauty wedded to the sun; 

To skirt our home with harvests widely sown. 

And call the blooming landscape all our own, 



Campbell's pobms. 957 

Our children's heritage, in prospect long. 
These are the hopes, high-minded hopes and strongs 
That beckon England's wanderers o'er the brine. 
To reahns where foreign constellations shine; 
Where streams from imdiscovercd fountains roll. 
And winds shall fan them from th' Antarctic pole. 
And what though doomed to shores so &i apart 
From England's home, that eVn the homesick heart 
QuaHs, thinking, ere that gulf can be recrossed. 
How large a space of fleeting life is lost ! 
Yet there, by time, their bosoms shall be changed, 
And strangers once shall cease to sigh estranged. 
But jocund in the year's long sunshine roam. 
That yields their sicklo twice its harvest home. 



There, marldng o'er his £axm's expanding ring 

New fleeces whiten and new fruits upspring. 

The gray-haired swain, his grandchild sporting roimd« 

Shall walk at eve his little empire's bound. 

Emblazed with ruby vintage, ripening com. 

And verdant rampart of acacian thorn. 

While, mingling with the scent his pipe exhales. 

The orange-grove's and fig-trcc's breath prevails; 

Survey with pride beyond a monarch's spoil, 

His honest arm's own subjugated soil; 

And summing all the blessings Qod has given, 

Put up his patriarchal prayer to Heaven^ - 

That when his bones shall here repose in peaces 

The scions of his love may still increase. 

And o'er a land where life has ample room. 

In health and plenty innocently bloom. 

Delightful land, in wUdness even benign. 
The glorious past is ours, the future thine I 
As in a cradled Hercules, we trace 
The lines of empire in thine infant face. 
22* 



258 camfbell's pobms. 

What nations in thy wide horizon's span 

Shall teem on tracts untrodden yet by man ! 

What spacious cities with their spires shall gleam. 

Where now the panther laps a lonely stream. 

And all but brute or reptile life is dumb ! 

Land of the free ! thy kingdom is to come, 

Of states, with laws from Gothic bondage burst; 

And creeds by chartered priesthoods unaccursed : 

Of navies, hoisting their emblazoned flags, 

Where shipless seas now wash unbeaconed crags; 

Of hosts reviewed in dazzling flies* and squares. 

Their pennoned trumpets breathing native airs, — 

Por minstrels thou shalt have of native fire. 

And maids to sing the songs themselves inspire : — 

Our very speech, methinks, in after time. 

Shall catch the Ionian blandness of thy clime ; 

And whilst the light and luxury of thy skies 

Give brighter smiles to beauteous woman's eyes, 

The Arts, whose soul is love, shall all spontaneous rise* 

Untracked in deserts lies the marble mine, 

TJndug the ore that midst thy roofs shall shine; 

Unborn the hands — but bom they are to be — 

Pair Australasia, that shall give to thee 

Proud temple-domes, with gaUeries winding, high.. 

So vast in space, so just in symmetry. 

They widen to the contemplating eye. 

With colonnaded aisles in long array, 

And windows that enrich the flood of day 

O'er tesselated pavements, pictures fair, 

And niched statues breathing golden air. 

Nor there, whilst all that's seen bids Pancy swell, 

Shall Music's voice refase to seal the spell; 

But choral hymns shall wake enchantment round. 

And organs yield their tempests of sweet soimd. 

Meanwhile, ere Ajts triumphant reach their goal. 
How blest the years of pastoral life shall roll ! 



Eren should some wayward hour the settler's mind 

Brood sad on scenes forever left behind, 

Yet not a pang that England's name imparts, 

Shall touch a fibre of his children's hearts ; 

Bound to that native land by nature's bond^ 

Full little shall their wishes rove beyond 

Its mountains blue, and melon-skirted streams. 

Since childhood loved and dreamed of in their dileams* 

How many a name, to us uncouthly wild, 

Shall thrill that region's patriotic child, 

And bring as sweet thoughts o'er his bosom's chords, 

As aught that's named in song to us affords ! 

Dear shall that river's margin be to him, 

"Where sportive first he bathed his boyish limb. 

Or petted birds, still brighter than their bowers. 

Or twined his tame young kangaroo with flowers. 

But more magnetic yet to memory 

Shall be the sacred spot, still blooming nigh. 

The bower of love, where first his bosom burned. 

And smiling passion saw its smile returned. 

Go forth and prosper then, emprisiag band : 

May He, who in the hollow of his hand 

The ocean holds, and rules the whirlwind's sweep. 

Assuage its wrath, and guide you on the deep I 



LINES 

ON XEVISITINa CATHOA&T. 



Oh ! scenes of my childhood, and dear to my heart, 
Ye green waving woods on the margin of Cart, 
How blest in the morning of life I have strayed, 
By the stream of the vale and the grass-covered glade ! 



909 Campbell's poebis. 

Theiit then every rapture was yoimg and smcere, 
Ere the sunshine of bliss was bedimmed by a tear, 
And a sweeter delight every scene seemed to lend, 
Hiat the mansion of peace was the home of a fbiebtd. 

Now the scenes of my childhood, and dear to my heartp 
All pensive I visit, and sigh to depart ; 
Their flowers seem to languish, their beauty to cease, 
For a ztranger inhabits the mansion of peace. 

But hushed be the sigh that untimely complains. 
While Friendship and all its enchantment remains. 
While it blooms like the flower of a winterless dime, 
Untainted by chance^ unabated by time. 



THE CHERUBS. 

8U0OB8TBD BY AN APOLOGUB IN THE WOlftKS OP 
FBANKLIN. 

Two spirits reached this world of ours : 
The lightning's locomotive powers 

Were slow to their agility : 
In broad daylight they moved incog, 
Enjoying, without mist or fog. 

Entire invisibility. 

The one, a simple cherub lad. 
Much interest in our planet had, 

Its foce was so romantic; 
He couldn't persuade himself that man 
Was such as heavenly rumors ran, 

A being base and firantic. 



CAMPBSLL'B P0EV8. ^'' 

The elder spirit, wise and cool, 
Brought down the youth as to a school ; 

But strictly on condition, 
Whateyer they should see or hear, 
With mortals not to interfere ; 

'Twas not in their commission. 

They reached a soyereign city proud, 
Whose emperor prayed to God aloud. 

With all his people kneeling, 
And priests performed religious rites : 
<« Come," said the younger of the spzHes, 

"This shows a pious feeling." 

Toxma spmrr. 
<*Az^n't these a decent godly race?" 

OLD BPIBIT. 

"The direst thieyes on Katnre's &oe." 

TOUNO BPmiT. 

"But hark, what cheers they're giying 
Thm emperor! — And is he a thief?" 

OLD SPIBIT. 

" Ay, and a cut-throat too ; — in brief^ 
Thb obbatbst bcoundkel LiyiNO." 

TOTTKa SPIBIT. 

"But say, what were they praying ^r. 
This pfieople and their emperor ? " 

old SPIBIT. 

" Why, but for God's assistance 
To help their army, late sent out: 
And what that army is about, 
You'U see at no great distance." 



M) Campbell's pobms. 

On wings outspeeding mail or post, 
Our sprites o'ertook the Imperial host; 

In massacres it wallowed : 
A noble nation met its hordes, 
But broken fell their cause and swords, 
- Unfortunate, though hallowed. 

They saw a late bombarded town. 

Its streets still warm with blood ran down; 

Still smoked each burning rafter; 
And hideously, 'midst rape and sack, 
The murderer's laughter answered back 

His prey's convulsiye laughter. 

They saw the captive eye the dead. 
With enyy of his gory bed, — 

Death's quick reward of bravery : 
They heard the clank of chains, and then 
Saw thirty thousand bleeding men 

Dragged manacled to slavery. 

" Ke ! fle ! " the younger heavenly spark 
Exclaimed — ** we must have missed our maik» 

And entered hell's own portals : 
Earth can't be stained by crimes so black; 
Nay, sure, we've got among a pack 

Of fiends and not of mortals." 

•* No," said the elder ; " no such thing : 
Fiends are not fools enough to wring 

The necks of one another : — 
They know their 'interests too well: 
Men fight; but every devil in hell 

Lives friendly with his brother. 

" And I could point you out some fellows, 
On this ill-fated planet Tellus, 



Campbell's poems. 263 

In royal power that revel, 
Who, at the opening of the book 
Of judgment, may have cause to look 

With envy at the devil." 

Name but the devil, and he'll appear, 
Old Satan in a trice was near. 

With smutty face and figure : 
But spotless spirits of the skies. 
Unseen to e'en his saucer eyes, 

Could watch the fiendish nigger. 

** Halloo ! " he cried, " I smell a trick : 
A. mortal supersedes Old Nick, 

Hie scourge of earth appointed : 
He robs me of my trade, outrants 
The blasphemy of hell, and vaunts 

Himself the Lord's anointed. 

*< Folks make a fass about my mischief: 
D — d fools, they tamely suffer this chief 

To play his pranks imboimded." 
The cherubs flew ; but saw from high, 
A.t human inhumanity. 

The devil himself astounded. 



WNEX'S SOLILOQtTY ON HIS yOUTH- 
FUL IDOL. 

PLATOiac friendship at your years, 
Says Conscience, should content ye; 

Kay, name not fondness to her ears, 
•rhe darling's scarcely twenty. 



964 cahp3kll'.s poems. 

Tet, and she'll loathe me unforgiyeiit 
To dote thus out of season ; 

But beauty is a beam from heayen, 
That dazsUs blind our reason. 

m challenge Plato ftom the skies, 
Tea, from his spheres harmonic, 

To look in M— y C 's eyes, 

And try to be Platonic. 



TO Sm FRANCIS BURDETT, 

ON HIS 8PEB0H DELXYED IN PABLIAHENT, AUGUST 7, 1832, 
BESPBCTXNO THE POBEIGN POLIOT OP OBBAT BBITAZN. 

BuBDETT, enjoy thy justly foremost fame, 

Through good and ill report — through calm and 
stoim — 

For forty years the pilot of reform ! 
But that which shall afresh entwine thy name 

With patriot laurels never to be sere, 
Is that thou hast come nobly forth to chide 
Our slumb^ing statesmen for their lack of piide — 

Their flattery of Oppressors, and their fear — 
When Britain's lifted finger, and her frown. 
Might call the nations up, and cast their tyrants down ! 

Invoke the scorn — Alas ! too few inherit 
The scorn for despots cherished by our sires, 
niat baffled Europe's persecuting fires. 

And sheltered helpless states ! — Recall that spirit, 
And conjure back Old England's haughty mind-* 



J 



Campbell's poems* 908 

Convert the men who waver now, and patuse 

Between their love of self and human kmd; 
And move, Amphion-like, those hearts of stone — 
The hearts that have been deaf to Poland's dying groan I 

Tell them, we hold the Rights of Man too dear, 

To bless ourselves with lonely freedom blest ; 

Bnt conld we hope, with sole and sdfish breast, 
To breathe untroubled Freedom's atmosphere? — 

Suppose we wished it? England could not stand 
A lone oasis in the desert ground 
Of Europe's slavery; from the waste around 

Oppression's fiery blast and whirling sand 
Would reach and scathe us ! No ; it may not be : 
Britannia and the world conjointly must be free! 

Burdett, demand why Britons send abroad 
Soft greetings to th' infantlcidal Czar, 
The Bear on Poland's babes that wages war ! 
Once, we are told, a mother's shriek o'erawed 

A lion, and he dropped her lifted child; 
But Nicholas, whom neither Qod nor law. 
Nor Poland's shrieking mothers overawe, 
Outholds to us his friendship's gory clutch: 
Shrink, Britain — shrink, my king and country, from 
the touch I 

He prays to Heaven for England's king, he says-r- 
And dares he to the God of mercy kneel, 
Besmeared with massacres from head to heel ? 

No! Moloch is his god — to him he prays; 

And if his weird-like prayers had power to bring 

An influence, their power would be to curse. 

His hate is baleful, but his love is worse — 
A Sierpent's slaver deadlier than its stiing ! 

Oh* &eble statesmen ! ignominious times 1 

That Hok tJie tyrant's feet, and smile up<m his CliaMsJ 
23 



905 Campbell's poems. 



ODE TO THE OERHANS. 

The Spirit of Britannia 

InTokes across the main, 
Her sister Allemannia 

To burst the Tyrant's chain : 
By our kindred blood, she cries. 
Rise, Allemannians, rise! 

And hallowed thrice the band 
Of our kindred hearts shall be, 

When your land shall be tilie land 
Of the firee — of the freel 

With Preedom's lion-banner 

Britannia rules the waves ; 
Whilst your Bboad stoke op honor • 

Is still the camp of slayes. 
For shame, for glory's sake, 
Wake, Allemannians, wake! 

And thy tyrants now that whelm 
Half the world shall quail and flee, 

When your realm shall be the realm 
Of the free — of the free! 

Mass owes to you his thunder t 

That shakes the battle-field; 
Yet to break your bonds asunder 

No martial bolt has pealed. 
Shall the laurelled land of art 
Wear shackles on her hearth 

No ! the dock ye framed to tell 

• Bhnnbreitttein ■igaifies, in German, "the broad stond of honor.'* 
t OeraMny inTonted gunpowder, clock->inakuig, and printiiif . 



Campbell's poems. 90t 

By its sound, the march of Time, 
Let it clang Oppression's knell 

O'er your dime — o'er your dimel 

The press's magic letters, 

That MessiTig ye brought forth, — 
Behold I it lies m fetters 

On the sou that gaye it birth ! 
But the trumpet must be heard. 
And the charger must be spurred ; 

For your father Armin's Sprite 
Calls down firom heayen, that ye 

Shall gird you for the fight, 

And be free! — and be free I 



UNES, 



Oir A PIOTOBB OP A OIBL IN TKB ATTXTUDB OP PKATBB, 
'BT TEB ABTIST 0BU8B, IN THB POSSESSION OP LADT 



Was man e'er doomed that beauty made 
By mimic art should haunt him; 

Like Orpheus, I adore a shade. 
And dote upon a phantom. 

Thou maid that in my inmost thought 

Art fdncifully sainted. 
Why liVst thou not — why art thou nought 

But canvass sweetly painted ? 



CAMPBELL'S POKMfl. 

Wbofe lookfl seem Ufled to Um dde^ 

Too poM for lore of movtels — 
As if thejr drew cngelie eyos 

To greet thee at heaven's portsls. 

Yet loTeliiiesB has here no gsaoe^ 

Abstracted or ideal — 
Art ne'er but from a liTing faoe i 

Drew looks so seeming real. 

What wort tbon, maid? — thy. life — thy name 

Oblrrion hides in mystery; 
Though from thy hee my heart ooi^ firame 

A long romflntic history. 

Transported to thy time I seem. 

Though dust thy coffin coyers — 
.And hear the songs, in fancy's dream. 

Of thy deyoted loveis. 

How witching must haye been thy breath* 

Sow sweet the Hying channel^ 
Whose eyery semblance after death 

Can make the heart grow warmer! 

Adieu, the charms that yainly move 

My soul in their possession — 
That prompt my lips to speak of love. 

Yet rob them of expression. 

Yet thee, dear picture, to hare praised 

Was but a poet's duty ; 
And shame to him that eyer gaaed 

Impassiye on thy beauty. 



J 



Campbell's -poems, 909 

LINBS» 

Oir TUB TXBW FBOM ST. LBONABD'I. 

Hail to thy face and odoxs, glorioiis Sea ! 
Twerh thankleasneBS in me to bless thee not. 
Great beauteous Being ! in whose breath and smile 
My heart beats calmer, and my very mind 
Inhales salubrious thoughts. How weloomer 
Thy murmtirs than the murmurs of the world ! 
Though like the. world thou fluctuatest, thy din 
To me is peace, thy restlessness repose. 
Er'n gladly I exchange yon spring-green lanes, 
'With all the darling field-flowers in their prime, 
And gardens haunted by the nightingale's 
Long trills and gushing ecstasies of song. 
For these wild headlands, and the sea-mew's dang. 

With thee beneath my windows, pleasant Sea, 

I long not to overlook earth's fairest glades 

And green savannahs — earth has not a plain 

So boimdless or so beautiful as thine ; 

The eagle's Tision can not take it in : 

The lightning's wing, too weak to sweep its space. 

Sinks half-way o'er it like a wearied bird: 

It is the mirror of the stars, where all 

Their hosts within the concave firmament, 

Qay marching to the music of the spheres. 

Can see themselves at once. 

Xor on the stage 
Of roral landscape are there lights and shades 
Of more harmonious dance and |>lay than thinsb 
How vividly this moment brightens forth, 
23* 



WTO Campbell's poems. 

Between gray parallel and leaden breadths, 
A belt of hues that stripes thee many a league. 
Flushed like the rainbow, or the ring-doye's necky 
And giving to the glancing sea-bird's wing 
The semblance of a meteor. 

Mighty Sea ! 
' Chamdeon-like tliou changest, bat there^s loire 
In all thy change, and constant sympathy 
With ycmder Sky — thy Mistress; firom her bxow 
Thou tak'st tLy moods and weaz'st her colem on 
Thy futhfol bosom ; — morning's milky white. 
Noon's sapphire, or the saffron glow of ere ; 
And all thy balmier hours, &xr Element, 
Have such drnne complexion — crisped smiles. 
Luxuriant heavings, and sweet whisperings. 
That little is the wonder Love's own Queen 
From thee of old was fabled to hare sprung —* 
Creation's common ! which no human power 
Can parcel or enclose ; the lordliest floods 
And cataracts that the tiny hands of man 
Can tame, conduct, or boimd, are drops of dew 
To thee that couldst subdue the earth itself. 
And brook'st commandment from the heaf^ens akoe 
For marshalling thy waves — 

Yet, potent Sea ! 
How placidly thy moist lips speak, ev'n now 
Along yon sparkling shingles. Who can be 
So fanciless as to feel no gratitude 
That power and grandeur can be so serene^ 
Soothing the home-bound navy's peaceful way. 
And rocking ev'n the fisher's little bark 
As gently as a mother rocks her child? — 

The inhabitants of other worlds behold 
Our orb more ludd for thy spacious shace 



Campbell's poems. fiffi 

On earih'8 rotundity; and is he not 

A blind worm in the dust, great Deep, the man 

Who sees not, or who seeing has no joy 

In thy magnificence? What thongh thou art 

Unconsdous and material, thou canst reach 

The inmost immaterial mind's recess. 

And with thy tints and motion stir its chords 

To music, like the light on Menmon's lyre ! 

The Spirit of the Uniyerse in thee 
Is visible; thou hast in thee the life — 
Th' eternal, graceful, and majestic Ufe 
Of nature, and the natural hiunan heart 
Is therefore bound to thee with holy love. 

Earth has her gorgeous towns : th' earth-eircUng sea 
Has spires and mansions more amusive still — 
Men's Tolant homes that measure liquid space 
On wheel or wing. The chariot of the land 
With pained and panting steeds and clouds of dust 
Has no sight-gladdening motion like these fair 
Careerers with the foam beneath their bows. 
Whose streaming ensigns charm the waves by day. 
Whose carols and whose watch-beUs cheer the nighti 
Moored as they cast the shadows of their masts 
In long array, or hither flit and yond 
Myst^ously with slow and crossing lights, 
like spirits on the darkness of the deep. 

There is a magnet-like attraction in 

These waters to the imaginative power 

That links the viewless with the visible. 

And pictures things unseen. To realms beyond 

Yon highway of the world my £Bmoy flies, 

When by her tall and triple mast we know 

Some noble voyager that has to woo 

The trade-winds and to stem the ediptie snige. 



973 Campbell's poems. 

The coral groves — the shores of conch and pearlt 
Where she will cast her anchor and reflect 
Her cabm-window lights on warmer waves, 
And under planets brighter than onr own : 
The nights of palmy isles, that she will see 
lit boundless. by the fire-fly — all the smells 
Of tropic fruits that will regale her — all 
The pomp of nature, and the inspiiitiiig 
Varieties of life she has to greet. 
Come swarming o'er the meditative mind. 

True, to the dream of Fancy, Ocean has 

His darker tints; but where's the element 

That checkers not its usefulness to man 

"With casual terror? Scathes not Earth sometimes 

Her children with Tartarean fires, or shakes 

Their shrieking cities, and, with one last clang 

Of bells for their own ruin, strews them flat 

As riddled ashes — silent as the grave? 

Walks not Contagion on the Air itself? 

I should — old Ocean's Satumalian days 

And roaring nights of revelry and sport 

With wreck and human wo — be loath to sing; 

For they are few, and aU their ills weigh lig^t 

Against his sacred usefulness, that bids 

Our pensile globe revolve in purer air. 

Here Mom and Eve with blushing thanks receive 

Their freshening dews, gay fluttering breezes cool 

Their wings to fan the brow of fevered climes, 

And here the Spring dips down her emerald urn 

For showers to glad the earth. 

Old Ocean was 
Infinity of ages ere we breathed 
Existence — and he will be beautiful 
When all the living world that sees him now 
Shall roll unconscious dust around the sun. 



CAMPBEI»L'g POEXJ. V8 

Qnelling firom age to age the vital ihzob 

In hvman heailB, Death ahall not subjugate 

The puke t]iat awells in his stupendous bveait» 

Or interdict his minstrelsy to sound 

In thundmng concert mth the quiring winds ; 

But long as Man to parent Nature owns 

InstinctLYe homage, and in times beyond 

The power of tiiought to reach, bard after bard 

Shall sing thy glory, Bbltoio Sba.. 



THB DEAD £AGLB. 

WBIVXBN AT OJUir. 

Fall'n as he is, this king of birds still seems 

like royalty in ruins. Though his eyes 

Are shut, that look undazzled on the sun. 

He was the sultan of the sky, and earth 

Paid tribute to his eyry. It was perched 

Higher than human conqueror ever biult 

His bannered fort. Where Atlas' top loolcs o'er 

Zahara's desert to the equator's line. 

From thence the winged despot marked his prey, 

Above th' encampments of the Bedouins, ere 

Their watch-fires were extinct, or camels knelt 

To take their loads, or horsemen scoured the plain. 

And there he dried his feathers in the dawn. 

Whilst yet th' unwakened world was dark below* 

There's such a charm in natural strength and povsr. 
That human fancy has for ever paid 



374 Campbell's foek^. 

Poetic homage to the bixd of JoTe. 
Hoice, 'neath his image, Bome azrayed her tiumi 
And cohorts for the conquest of the world. 
And figuring his flight, the mind is filled 
With thoughts that mock the pride of 'wingLeas mob 
True, the carred aeronaut can mount as high ; 
But whafs the triumph of his volant art? 
A raith intrusion on the realms of air. 
• His helmless vehicle, a silken toy, 
A bubble bursting in the thunder-doud ; 
His course has no volition, and he drifts 
The passive plaything of the winds. Xot such 
Was this proud bird : he dove the adverse stormt 
And cuffed it with his wings. He stopped his flight 
As easily as the Arab reins his steed. 
And stood at pleasure 'neath Heaven's zenith, like 
A lamp suspended from its azure dome. 
Whilst underneath him the world's mountains lay 
like mole-hills, and her streams like ludd threads; 
Then downward, fisister than a falling, star, 
He neared the earth, until his shape distinct 
Was blackly shadowed on the sunny groimd; 
And deeper terror hushed the wilderness. 
To hear his nearer whoop. Then, up again . 
He soared and wheeled. There was an air of soom 
In all his movements, whether he threw round 
His crested head, to look behind him, or 
Lay vertical, and sportively displayed 
The inside whiteness of his wing declined, 
Li gyres and undulations full of graces 
An object beautifying Heaven itself. 

He — reckless who was victor, and above 

The hearing of their guns — saw fleets engaged 

Li flaming combat. It was nought to him 

What carnage. Moor or Christian, strewed their deckib 

But if his intellect had matched his wings, 



campbell'^s poems. 275 

Mftthinkfi he would have scorned man's yaunted poirar 
To plough the deep; his pinions bore hun down 
To Algiers the warlike, or the coral groves 
That blush beneath the green of Bona's waves; 
And traversed in an hour a wider space 
Than yonder gallant ship, with all her saQs 
Wooing the winds, can cross from mom till eve. 
£Qs bright eyes were his compass, earth his chart, 
His talons anchored on the stormiest diB^ 
And on the very light-house rock he perched, 
When winds ehximed white the waves. 



The earthquake's self 
Disturbed not him that memorable day, 
When, o'er yon table-land, where Spain had built 
Cathedrals, cannoned forts, and palaces, 
A palsy-stroke of Nature shook Oran, 
Turning her city to a sepulchre. 
And strewing into rubbish all her homes, 
Amidst whose traceable foundations now. 
Of streets and squares, the hyaena hides himself. 
That hour beheld him fly as careless o'er 
The stifled shrieks of thousands buried quick. 
As lately when he pounced the speckled snake, 
Coiled in yon mallows and wide nettle fields 
That mantle o'er the dead old Spanish town. 



Strange is the imagination's dread delight 

In objects linked with danger, death, and pain ! 

Fresh from the luxuries of polished life. 

The echo of these wilds enchanted me; 

And my heart beat with joy when first I heard 

A lion's roar come down the Lybian wind, 

Aefoas yon long, wide, lonely inland lake. 

Where boat ne'er sails from homeless shore to shore. 



976 Campbell's poems. 

And yet Numidia's landscape has its iqK>ts 

Of pastoral pleasantness — though far between; 

The village planted near the Maraboot^s 

Bound roof has aye its feathery palm trees 

Paired, for in solitude they bear no fruits. 

Here nature's hues all harmomze — fields white 

With alasum, or blue with bugloss — banks 

Of glossy fennel, blent with tulips wUd, 

And sunflowers, like a garment pranked with gdd; 

Acres and miles of opal asphodd 

Where sports and couches the black-eyed gazelle. 

Here, too, the air's harmonious — deep- toned doves 

Coo to the fife-like carol of the lark; 

And when they cease, the holy nightingale 

Winds up his long, long shakes of ecstaoy. 

With notes that seem but the protracted sounds 

Of glassy runnels bubbling over rooks. 



SONG. 



To Love in my heart, I exdaimed,- t'other moridng, 
Thou hast dwelt here too long, little lodger, take warn- 
ing; 
Thou shalt tempt me no more from my life's sober dutyt 
To go gadding, bewitohed by the young eyes of beauty. 
For weary's the wooing, ah! weary. 
When an old man wiU have a young dearie. 

The god left my heart, at its surly reflections, 

But came back on pretext of some sweet zeooUeotbuiy 



Campbell's poems. S(77 

And he made me forget what I ought to remember, 
That the rose-bud of Jime can not bloom in Koreiaber. 
Ah! Tom, 'tis all o'er with thy gay days — 
Write psahnSy and not songs for the ladies. 

But time's been so fear from my wisdom enriching, 
TKat the longer I liye, beauty seems more bewitching ; 
And the only new lore my experience traces, 
Is to find fresh enchantment in magkal faces. 

How weary is wisdom, how weary ! 

When one sits by a smiling young dearie ! 

And should she be wroth that my homage pursues her 
I will torn and retort on my lovely accuser ; 
Who's to blame, that my heart by your image is haimted } 
It is you, the enchantress — not I, the enchanted. 

Would you have me behave more discreetly. 

Beauty, look not so kJlBn gly sweetly. 



LINBS, 

WJUlTEfi IN ▲ BLANK LBAF OF LA PSBOTTSB'S VOTAGBS. 

LoYBD Voyager! his pages had a zest 
More sweet than fiction to my wondering breaErf;, 
When, rapt in fiincy, many a boyish day 
I tracked his wanderings o'er the watery way, 
Boamed round the Aleutian isles in waking dreams, 
Or plucked the fleur-de-lya by Jesso's streams — 
Or gladly leaped on that far Tartar strand 
Where Europe's anchor ne'er had bit the sand, 
24 



978 CAMFBSLL^S POEMS. 

Where scarce a roying'wHd tribe crossed the pUun, 
Or human Toice broke nature's silent reign; 
But Tast and grassy deserts fieed the bear. 
And sweeping deer-herds dread no hunter's snare. 
Such young delight his real records brought, 
"His truth so touched romantic springs of thought. 
That aU my after-Hfe — hi» fate and fame 
Entwined romance with La Perouse's name. — 
Fair were his ships, e^qpert his gallant crews, 
And gilorious was the emprise of La Ferouse, — 
Humanely glorious ! Men wiU weep for him. 
When many a guilty martial fame is dim : 
He ploughed the deep to bind no captiye's chain — 
Pursued no rapine — strewed no wreck with slain; 
And, saye that in the deep themselres lie low, 
His heroes plucked no wreatii £rom himum wo. 
Twas his the earth's remotest bound to scan, 
CondliBting with gifts barbaric man — 
Enrich the world's contemporaneous mind. 
And amplify the picture of mankind. 
Far on the yast Pacific — 'midst those isles, 
O'er which the earliest mom of Asia smiles, 
He sounded and gaye charts to many a shore 
And gulf of Ocean new to nautic lore ; 
Yet he that led Discoyery o'er the waye, 
Still fiUs himself an undiscoyered graye. 
He came not back, — Conjecture's cheek grew pale» 
Year after year — in no propitious gale 
Ejs lilied banner held its homeward way. 
And Science saddened at her martyr's stay. 

An age elapsed — no wreck told where or when 
The chief went down with all his gallant men. 
Or whether by the storm and wild sea flood 
He perished, or by wilder men of blood: 
The shuddering Fancy only guessed his doom. 
And Doubt to Sorrow gaye but deeper gloom. 



Campbell's poems. 2!79 

An age elapsed — when men were dead or gray, 

Whose hearts had mourned him in their youihfal day; 

Fame traced, on Maonicolo's shore, at last. 

The boiling surge had mounted o'er his mast 

The islesmen told of some surviTing men. 

But Christian eyes beheld them ne'er again. 

Sad bourne of all his toils — with all his band — 

To sleep, wrecked, shroudless, on a savage strand ! 

Yet what is all that fires a hero's scorn 

Of death ? — the hope to live in hearts unborn : 

life to the brave is not its fleeting breath. 

But worth — foretasting fiEane,'that follows death. 

That worth had La Ferouse — that meed he won ; 

He sleeps — his life's long stormy watch is done. 

In the great deep, whose boundaries ^nd space 

He measured. Fate ordained his resting-plaoe ; 

But bade his fsune, like th' Ocean rolling o'er 

BSs relics — visit every earthly shore. 

Fair Science, on that Ocean's azure robe^ 

Still writes his name in picturing the globe, 

And paints — (what fairer wreath could glory ^wine?) 

His watery course — a world-enciroling line. 



180 <^aiipbell'b poem a. 



THE PILGRIM OF GLENCOE.^ 

The sunset sheds a horizontal smile 

O'er Highland frith and Hehridean isle. 

While, gay with gambols of its finny shoals, 

The glancing wi^ye rejoices as it rolls 

With streamered busses, that distinctly shine 

All downward, pictured in the glassy Mne; 

Whose orews, with faces brightening in \^ sun. 

Keep measure with their oars, and all in one 

Strike up th' old Gaelic song : — Sweep, rowen, swe^ I 

The fisher^s glorious spoils are in the deep. 

Day sinks — but twilight owes the trayeller soon. 
To reach his bourne, a round unclouded moon. 
Bespeaking long undarkened hours of time ; 
False hope ! — the Scots are steadfiEist — not their dime. 

A war-worn soldier horn, the western land. 

Seeks Cona's Tale by BalHhoula's strand f 

The vale, by eagle-haunted clifils o'erhung, 

Where Fingal fought and Ossian's harp was strung — 

Our veteran's forehead, bronzed on sultry plains. 

Had stood the brunt of thirty fought campaigns ; 



* 1 received the substance of the tradition on which this Poem M 
founded, in the first instance, from a friend in London, who wrote to 
Matthew N. Maodonald, Esq., of Edinburgh. He had the kindnen lo 
•end me a circumstantial account of the tradition ; and that gentleman's 
knowledge of the Highlands, as well as his particular acquaintance 
with the district of Glenooe, leave me no doubt of the incident having 
really happened. I have not departed from the main facts of the tradi- 
tion as reported to me by Mr. Macdonald; only t have endeavored to 
color the perwnages of the story, and to make them as distinctive at 



CAMPBELL^! POEMS. SMI 

He well could youch the sad romance of iraxa, 

And count the dates of battles by his scars ; 

Por he had served where o'er and o'er again 

Sritanma's oriflamme had lit the plain 

Of glory — and Tictorions stamped her name 

On Ondenarde's and Blenheim's fields of £une. 

Kine times in battle-field his blood had streamed, 

Yet Tivid still his yeteran blue eye gleamed ; 

FuU well he bore his knapsack — unoppressedt 

And marched with soldier-like erected crest: 

Nor sign of eVn loquacious age he wore, 

Save when he told his life's adventures o'er; 

Some tired of these; for terms to him were dear. 

Too tactical by far for vulgar ear ; 

As when he talked of rampart and ravine, 

And trenches fenced with gabion and fascine — 

But when his theme possessed him all and whole 

He scorned proud puzzling words and warmed the soul; 

Hushed groups hung on his lips with fond surprise, 

That sketched old scenes — like pictures to their eyes; — 

The wide war-plain, with banners glowing bright, 

And bayonets to the furthest stretch of sight ; 

The pause, more dreadful than the peal to come 

Erom volleys blazing at the beat of drum — 

Till all the field of thundering lines became 

Two level and confronted sheets of flame. 

Then to the charge, when Marlboro's hot pursuit 

Trode Prance's gilded lilies imderfbot; 

He came and kindled — and with martial lung 

Would chant the very march their trumpets sung. 



The old soldier hoped, ere evening's light should fidl. 
To leach a home, south-east of Cona's vale ; 
Bttt looking at Bennevis, capped with snow, 
He saw its mist come curling down below, 
And spread white darkness o'er the sunset glow;-* 
24* 



S82 Campbell's pokhs. 

Past loUijig like tempestaous Ocean's sgnj. 
Or clouds from troops in battlers fiery day — 
So dense, his quarry 'scaped the falcon's sight* 
The owl alone exulted, hating light. 

Benighted thus our pilgrim groped his ground. 
Half 'twist the river's and the cataract's sound. 
At last a sheep-dog's bark informed his ear 
Some human habitation might be near ; 
Anon sheep-bleatings rose from rock to rock, — 
'Twas Luath hounding to their fold the flock. 
Ere long the cock's obstreperous clarion rang. 
And next, a maid's sweet voice, that spinning sang : 
J^ last, amidst the greensward, (gladsome sight ! ) 
A cottage stood, with straw-roof golden bright. 

He knocked, was welcomed in; none asked his name, 

Kor whither he was bound, nor whence he came; 

But he was beckoned to the stranger's seat, 

Bight side the chimney fire of blazing peat. 

Blest Hospitality makes not her home 

In walled parks and castellated d(nne ; 

She flies the city's needy greedy crowd. 

And shuns still more the mansions of the proud ; — 

rhe balm of savage or of simple life, 

A. wild-flower cut by culture's polished knife ! 

Che house, no common sordid Hhieling cot, 
Bpoke inmates of a comfortable lot ; 
The Jacobite white rose festooned their door; 
The windows sashed and glazed, the oaken floor. 
The chimney graced with antlers of the deer, 
The rafters hung with meat for winter cheer, 
And all the mansion, indicated plain 
Its master a superior shepherd swain. 

Their supper came — the table soon was spread 
With eggs, and milk, and cheese, and barley bread. 



CAMPBKIiL'S POEMS. Sft 

The fiimily were three — a fether hoar, 
Whose age you'd guess at seventy yeais or more. 
His son looked filty — cheeiful like her lord, 
His comely vn£e presided at the board; 
AH three had that peculiar courteous grace 
Which marks the meanest of the Highland race ; 
Warm hearts liiat bum alike in weal and wo, 
As if the north- wind fanned their bosoms' glow ! 
But wide unlike their souls : old Norman's eye 
Was proudly savage even in courtesy. 
His sinewy shoulders — each, though aged and lean, 
Broad as the curled Herculean head belfween, — 
His soomful lip, his eyes of yellow fire. 
And nostiilB that dilated quick -nith ire, 
With ever downward-slanting shaggy brows. 
Marked the old lion you would dread to rouse. 

Norman, in truth, had led his earlier life 

In raids of red revenge and feudal strife ; 

Religious duty in revenge he saw, 

Proud Honor's right and Nature's honest law. 

First in the charge and foremost in pursuit, 

Long-breathed, dcep-chcsted, and in speed of foot 

A match for stags — still fleeter when the prey 

Was man, in persecution's evil day; 

Cheered to that chase by brutal bold. Dundee, 

No Highland hound had lapped more blood than he. 

Qft had he changed the covenanter's breath 

From howls of psalmody to howls of death ; 

And though long bound to peace, it irked him still 

His dirk had ne'er one hated foe to kill. 



Yet Norman had fierce virtues, that would mock 
Cold-blooded tories of the modem stock. 
Who starve the breadless poor with fraud and oant; 
He slew and saved them from the pangs of want 



284 campbbi.l'8 posms. 

Nor was his solitary lawlesft charm 

Mere danntlessness of soul and strength of aim ; 

He had his moods of kindness now and then. 

And feasted eyen well-mannered lowland men 

Who blew not up his Jacobitish flame, 

Nor prefaced with "pretender" Charles's name. 

Fierce, but by sense and kindness not unwon, 

lie loved, respected even, his wiser son; 

Ajid brooked from him expostulations sage, 

^Mlen .all advisers else were spumed with rage. 

Far happier times had moulded Ronald's mind. 

By nature too of more sagacious kind. 

His breadth of brow, and Boman shape of chin. 

Squared well with the firm man that reigned within. 

Contemning strife as childishness, he stood 

With neighbors on kind terms of neighborhood. 

And whilst his father's anger nought availed. 

His rational remonstrance never failed. 

FuU skilfully he managed fiarm and fold. 

Wrote, ciphered, profitably bought and sold; 

And, blessed with pastoral leisure, deeply took 

BeUght to be informed, by speech or book. 

Of that wide world beyond his mountain home, 

Where oft his curious fancy loved to roam. 

Oft while his fidthful dog ran round his flock. 

He read long hours when summer warmed the rock: 

Guests who coidd teU him aught were welcomed wanv« 

Even pedlers' news had to his mind a chaim; 

That like an intellectual magnet-stone 

Drew truth from judgments simpler than his own. 

His soul's proud instinct sought not to enjoy 
Romantic fictions, like a minstrel boy ; 
Truth, standing on her solid square, from youth 
He wozshipped — stem uncompromising truth. 



poEHs. 965 

His goddess kindlier smiled on him, to find 
A votary of her light in land so blind ; 
She bade majestic History unroll 
Broad views of public welfare to his soul, 
Until he looked on clannish feuds and foes 
With scorn, as on the wars of kites and crows : 
Whilst doubts assailed him, o'er and o'er again. 
If men were made for kings, or kings for men ; 
At last, to Norman's horror and dismay, 
He flat denied the Stuarts' right to sway. 

No blow-pipe ever whitened furnace fire 

Qxiick as these words lit up lus feither^s ire; 

Who envied even old Abraham for his faith. 

Ordained to put his only son to death. 

He started up — in such a mood of soul 

The white-bear bites his showman's stirring pole; 

He danced too, and brought out, with snarl and howlt 

« O Dia ! 'Dia ! and Dioul ! Dioul ! " * 

But sense foils fury — as the blowing whale 

Spouts, bleeds, and dyes the waves without avail — 

Wears out the cable's length that makes him fast. 

But, worn himself comes up harpooned at last — 

EVn so, devoid of sense, succumbs at length 

Mere strength of zeal to intellectual strength. 

His son's close logic so perplexed his pate, 

The old hero rather shunned than sought debate; 

Exhausting his vocabulary's store 

Of oaths and nick-names, he could say no more, 

But tapped his muIL,t rolled mutely in his chair, 

Or only whistled KiUicranky's air. 

Witch legends Ronald scorned — ghost, kelpie, wrailliy 
And all the trumpery of vulgar faith ; 



• God and the devil — a favorite ejaculation of Highland 
t Snuff-horn. 



286 Campbell's poems. 

Ghrave matrons eVn were shocked to hear him sU^t 

Authenticated facts of second-sight — 

Yet nerer flinched his mockery to confoimd 

The brutal superstition reigning round. 

Beserved himself still Bonald loved to scan 

Men's natures — and he liked the old hearty man* 

So did the partner of his heart and life — 

Who pleased her Ronald, ne'er displeased his wife. 

His sense, 'tis true, compared with Norman's son. 

Was common-place — his tales too long outspim* 

Tet Allan Campbell's sympathizing mind 

Had held large intercourse with human kind; 

Seen much, and gayly, graphically drew 

The men of every country, clime, and hue ; 

Nor ever stooped, though soldier-like his strain* 

To ribaldry of mirth or oath profane. 

AH went harmonious till the guest began 

To talk about bis kindred, chiefs and clan ; 

And, with his own biography engrossed, 

lilarked not the changed demeanor of each host ; 

Nor how old choleric Norman's cheek became 

Flushed at the Campbell and Breadalbane name; 

Assigning, heedless of impending haim. 

Their steadfast silence to his story's charm; 

He touched a subject perilous to touch — 

Saying, ** 'Midst this weU-known vale I wondered muoh 

To lose my way. In boyhood, long ago, 

I roamed, and loved each pathway of Glencoe ; 

Trapped leverets, plucked wild berries on its braes. 

And fished along its banks long summer days. 

But times grew stormy — bitter feuds arose, 

Our clan was merciless to prostrate foes. 

I never palliated my chieftain's blame, 

But mourned the sin, and reddened for the shame 

Of that foul mom (Heaven blot it from the year I ) 

Whose shapes and shrieks still haunt my dreaming ear 



Campbell's poxm. 967 

What could I do ? a serf — Glenlyon's page, 

A soldier sworn at nineteen years of age ; 

T ' have breathed one grieved remonstrance to onx ohie( 

The pit or gallows * wotdd have cured my griefi 

Porced, passive as the musket in my hand, 

I marched — when, feigning royalty's command, 

Against the clan Macdonald, Stairs's lord 

Sent forth exterminating fire and sword; 

And troops at midnight through the vale defiled, 

Bnjoined to slaughter woman, man, and child. 

My clansmen many a year had cause to dread 

The curse that day entailed upon their head; 

Glenlyon's self confessed th' avenging spell — 

I saw it light on him. 

"It so befell:-— 
A soldier from our ranks to death was brought, 
By sentence deemed too dreadful for his fault; 
All was prepared — the coffin and the cart 
Stood near twelve muskets, levelled at his heart. 
The chief, whose breast for ruth had still some roomy 
Obtained reprieve a day before his doom ; — 
But of th' awarded boon surmised no breath. 
The sufferer knelt, blindfolded, waiting death, — 
And met it. Though Glenlyon had desired 
The musketeers to watch before they fired ; 
If from his pocket they should see he drew 
A handkerchief — their volley should ensue; 
But if he held a paper in its place, 
It should be hailed the sign of pardoning grace : 
He, in a fatal moment's absent fit. 
Drew forth the handkerchief, and not the writ; 
Wept o'er the corpse and Mrrung his hands in wo. 
Crying * Here's thy curse again, Glencoe ! Glenooe I ' " 



* To hang their vassals, or starve them to death in a dongaon, was 
a priTilefB of the Highland chiefs who had hereditary jnriadictknis. 



269 Campbell's poems. 

Though thns hia guest spoke feelings just and eleVy 

The cabin's patriarch lent impatient ear ; 

Wroth that, beneath his roof, a living man 

Should boast the swine-blood of the Campbell dan; 

He hastened to the door — called out his son 

To follow ; walked a space, and thus begun : — 

"You have not, Ronald, at this day to leain 

The oath I took beside my father's cairn, 

When you were but a babe, a twelvemonth bom; — 

Sworn on my dirk — by all that's sacsed, sworn 

To be revenged for blood that cries to Heaven — 

Blood unforgiveable, and unforgiven ! 

But never power, since tTien, have I possessed 

To plant my dagger in a Campbell's breast. 

Kow, here's a self-accusing partisan. 

Steeped in the slaughter of Macdonald's clan! 

I scorn his civil speech and sweet-lipped show 

Of pity — he is still our house's foe : 

m perjure not myself — but sacrifice 

The caitiff ere to-morrow's sun arise ! 

Stand ! hear me — you're my son, the deed is just ; 

And if I say — it must be done — it must: 

A debt of honor which my clansmen crave, — 

Their very dead demand it from the grave." 

Conjuring then their ghosts, he humbly prayed 

Their patience till the blood-debt should be paid. 

But Bonald stopped him. — " Sir, Sir, do not dim 

Your honor by a moment's angry whim ; 

Your soul's too just and generous, were you cool. 

To act at once th' assassin and the fool. 

Bring me the men on whom revenge is due. 

And I will dirk them willingly as you ! 

But all the real authors of that black 

Old deed are gone — you can not bring them back; 

And this poor guest, 'tis palpable to judge, 

In all his life ne'er bore our clan a grudge; — 

IlxHgged, when a boy, against his will, to share 



Campbell's poemi. 989 

That massacre, he loathed the foul aflGsdr. 
Tliixik, if your hardened heart be coxi8cience-prool« 
To stab a stranger underneath your roof — 
One who has broken bread within your gate — 
Reflect — before reflection comes too late, — 
Such ugly consequences there may be 
AiB judge and jury, rope and gallows-tree. 
The days of dirking snugly are gone by : 
Where could you hide the body privily, 
When search is made for*t?" 

«* Plunge it in yon flood. 
That Campbells crimsoned with our kindred blood." 
«* Ay, but the corpse may float — " 

** Pshaw ! dead men tell 
No tales — nor will it float if leaded well. 
I am determined!" — What could Ronald do? 
Ko house within ear-reach of his halloo ; 
Though that would but hare published household shame '. 
He temporized with wrath he could not tame, — 
And said, " Come in ; till night put off the deed. 
And ask a few more questions ere he bleed." 
They entered: Norman with portentous air 
Strode to a nook behind the stranger's chair. 
And, speaking nought, sat grimly in the shade, 
With dagger in his clutch, beneath his plaid. 
His son's own plaid, shoTild Norman pounce his prey» 
Was coiled thick round his arm, to turn away 
Or blunt the dirk. He purposed leaving free 
The door, and giving Allan time to flee. 
Whilst he sbould wrestle with (no safe emprise) 
His father's maniac strength and giant size. 
Meanwhile he could nowise communicate 
Th' impending peril to his anxious mate; 
But she, convinced no trifling matter now 
Disturbed the wonted calm of Ronald's brow, 
Binned too well the cause of gloom that lowered. 
And lat with speechless tenor overpowend. 
25 



290 Campbell's poems. 

Her face was pale, so lately blithe and Uand, 
The stocking knitting- wire shook in her hand. 
Bnt Konald and the guest resumed their thread 
Of convezse — still its theme that day of dread. 

<«Much/' said the veteran, "much as I bemoan 

That deed, when half a hundred years have flown. 

Still on one circumstance I can reflect 

That mitigates the dreadful retrospect. 

A mother with her chUd before us flew, — 

I had the hideous mandate to pursue; 

But swift of foot, outspeeding bloodier men, 

I chased, o'ertook her in the winding glen, 

And showed her, palpitating, where to save 

Herself and infant in a secret cave; 

Nor left them till I saw that they could mock 

Pursuit and search within that sheltering rock." 

" Heayens ! " Konald cried, in accents gladly wUd, 

*' That woman was my mother — I the child ! 

Of youj unknown by name, she late and air,* 

Spoke, wept, and ever blessed you in her prayer, 

Ev*n to her death; describing you -wdthal 

A well-looked florid youth, blue-eyed and taU." 

They rose, exchanged embrace : the old lion then 

Upstarted, metamorphosed, from his den; 

Saying, " Come and make thy home with us for lif% 

Heaven-sent preserver of my child and wife. 

I fear thou'rt poor — that Hanoverian thing 

Rewards his soldiers ill." — *• God save the king ! " 

With hand upon his heart, old Allan said, 

«*I wear his uniform, I eat his bread. 

And whilst I've tooth to bite a cartridge, all 

For him and Britain's fame I'll stand or fall." 

"Bravo ! " cried Bonald. << I commend your leal," 

Quoth Norman, <* and I see your heart is leal ; 

* Scotch for late and early. 



Campbell's poemb. 291 

But I haye prayed my soul may never thrive 
If thoa Bhouldst leave this house of ours alive. 
Kor Shalt thou ; — in this home protract thy breath 
Of easy life, nor leave it till thy death.*' 

IDie following mom arose serene as glass, 
And red Bennevis shone like molten brass; 
While sunrise opened flowers with gentle force. 
The guest and Ronald walked in long discourse. 
« Words fEol me," Allan said, " to thank aright 
Your father's kindness shown me yesternight; 
Yet scarce I'd wish my latest days to spend, 
A fireside fixture, with the dearest friend : 
Besides, I've but a fortnight's furlough now, 
To reach MacaUin More,* beyond Lochawe. 
rd fain memorialize the powers that be 
To deign remembrance of my wounds and me ; 
My life-long service never bore the brand 
Of sentence — lash, disgrace, or reprimand. 
And so Tve written, though in meagre style, 
A long petition to his Grace Argyle ; 
I mean, on reaching Lmerara's shore. 
To leave it safe within his castle door." 
"Nay," Ronald said, "the letter that you bear 
Intrust it to no lying varlefs care; 
But say, a soldier of King George demands 
Access, to leave it in the Duke's own hands. 
But show me, first, the epistle to your chief; 
'Tis nought, imless succinctly clear and brief; 
GFreat men have no great patience when they read. 
And long petitions spoil the cause they plead." 

That day saw Ronald from the field full soon 
Return; and when they all had dined at noon, 

• The Duke of Argyle. 



mOS^ CAMPBJCLI.'S POEMS. 

He conned th' old man's memorial — lopped its lengtlit 
And gave it style* simplicity, and strength ; 
Twas finished in an hour — and in the next 
Transcribed by Allan in perspicuous text. 
At erening, he and Ronald shared once more 
A long and pleasant walk by Cona's shore. 
** rd press you," quoth his host — (*« I need not say 
How warmly) ever more with us to stay; 
But Charles intends, 'tis said, in these same parts 
To try the fealty of our Highland hearts. 
'Tls my belief; that he and all his line 
Have — saving to be hanged — no right diyine; 
From whose mad enterprise can only flow 
To thousands slaughter, and to myriads wo. 
Yet have they stirred my father's spirit sore,— 
He flints his pistols, whets his old claymore. 
And longs as ardently to join the fray 
As boy to dance who hears the bagpipe play. 
Though calm one day, the next, disdaining role, 
He'd gore your red coat like an angry bull : 
I told him, and he owned it might be so, 
Your tempers never could in concert flow. 
But * Mark,' he added, * Konald ! from our door 
Let not this guest depart forlorn and poor ; 
Let not your souls the niggardness evince 
Of lowland pedler, or of German prince : 
He gave you life — then feed him as you'd feed 
Your very father were hfe cast in need.' 
He gave — you'll find it by your bed to-night — 
A leathern purse of crowns, all sterling bright : 
You see I do you kindness not by stealth. 
My wife — no advocate of squandering wealth — 
Vows that it would be parricide, or worse. 
Should we neglect you — here's a silken purse. 
Some golden pieces through the network shine, — 
'Tis proffered to you from her heart and mine 
But come ! no foolish delicacy — no ! 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. ^S 

We own, but can not cancel wliat we owe; — 
This sum shall duly reach, you once a year." 
Poor Allan's furrowed £ace, and flowing tear, 
Confessed sensations which he could not speak. 
Old Norman bade him farewell kindly meek. 

▲t mom, the smiling dame rejoiced to pack 
VHiih. Tiands full the old soldier's haversack. 
He feared not himgry grass* with such a load. 
And Bonald saw him miles upon his road. 

A march of three days brought him to Lochfyne: 
Argyle, struck with his manly look benign, 
And feeling interest in the veteran's lot, 
Created him a sergeant on the spot — 
An invalid, to serve not — but with pay 
(A mighty sum to him,) twelve pence a day. 
'<But have you heard not," said Macallin More, 
« Charles Stuart's landed on Eriska's shore. 
And Jacobites are arming ? " — ■ " What ! indeed I 
Arrived ! then I'm no more an invalid ; 
My new-got halbert I must straight employ 
In battle." — "As you please, old gallant boy : 
Your gray hairs well might plead excuse, 'tis true, 
But now's the time we want such men as you." 
In brie^ at Innerara Allan stayed. 
And joined the banners of Argyle's brigade. 

Meanwhile, th' old choleric shepherd of Glencoe 
Spumed all advice, and girt himself to go. 
Wiiat was't to him that foes would poind their fold. 
Their lease, their very beds beneath them sold? 
And firmly to his text lie would have kept, 
Though Ronald argued and his daughter wept. 

* When the hospitable Highlanders load a parung guest with 
icMU, they tell him he will need them, as he hns to {lo over a great 
©f "hungry grass." 

26» 



9M. CAMPBEI.I. S P0EH8. 

But 'midst the impotence of tean and prayer, 

Chance snatched them from proscription and despair. 

Old Norman's blood was headward wont to moniit 

Too rapid from his heart's impetuous foimt; 

And one day, whilst the German rats he cursed. 

An artery in his wise sensorium burst. 

The lancet saved him : but how changed, alas I 

From him who fought at Killiecrankie's pass I 

Tame as a spaniel, timid as a child. 

He muttered incoherent words and smiled; 

He wept at kindness, rolled a vacant eye. 

And laughed fall often when he meant to cry. 

Poor man! whilst in this lamentable state, 

Came Allan back one morning to his gate. 

Hale and unburdened by the woes of eild. 

And fresh with credit from Culloden's field. 

'Twas feared, at first, the sight of him might touch 

The old Macdonald's morbid mind too much; 

But no ! though Norman knew him and disclosed, 

EVn rallying memory, he was still composed; 

Asked all particulars of the fatal fight. 

And only heaved a sigh for Charles's flight; 

Then said, with but one moment's pride of air, 

It might not have been eo had I been there ! 

Few days elapsed till he reposed beneath 

His gray cairn, on the wild and lonely heath : 

Son, friends, and kindred, of his dust took leave. 

And* Allan with the crape bound round his sleeve. 

Old Allan now hung up his sergeant's sword. 
And sat, a guest for life, at Bonald's board. 
He waked no longer at the barrack's drum. 
Yet still you'd see, when peep of day was come» 
Th' erect tall red-coat, walking pastures round. 
Or delving with his spade the garden ground. 
Of cheerful temper, habits strict and sage. 
He reached, enjoyed a patriarchal age — 



Campbell's foemi. fKSfi 

liored to the last by the MiM$dozialds. Near 
Their house, his stone was placed indth many a tear/ 
And Konald's self^ in stoio virtue braye> 
Scorned not to weep at Allan Campbell's ganre« 



THE CHILD AND HIND.* 

Comb, maids and matrons, to careat 
Wiesbaden's gentle hind; 
, And, smiling, deck its glossy neck 
With forest flowers entwined. 

Your forest flowers are £sdr to shoisr* 

And landscapes to enjoy; 
But fiEorer is your Mendly doe 

That watohed the sleeping boy. 

* I wish I had preserved a copy of the Wiesbaden newspaper in 
which this anecdote of the <* Child and Hind'' is recorded: bat I hava 
unfortunately lost it. The story, however, is a matter €i &ct; it took 
place in 1838: every circumstance mentioned in the following ballad 
literally happened. I was in Wiesbaden eight months ago, and waa 
shown the very tree under which the boy was found sleeping, with a 
bunch of flowers in his little hand. A similar occurrence ia told by 
tradition of Queen Genevova's child being preserved by being suckled 
by a female deerj when that Princess— an early Christian — and now a 
Saint in the Romish calender, was chased to the desert by her heathen 
enemies. The spot assigned to the traditionary event, is not a hundred 
miles from Wiesbaden, where a chapel still stands to her memory. 

I could not ascertain whether the Hind that watched my hero '< Wil- 
helm," suckled him or not ; but it was generally believed that she had 
no milk to giye him, and that the boy must have been for two days and 
a half entirely without food, unless it might be grass or leaves. If this 
was the case, the circumstance of the Wiesbaden deer watching the 
ehild, was a still more wonderful token of instinctive fondness than that 
of the deer in the Genevova tradition, who was naturally anzioai to be 
fetfeved of her milk. 



CAtfPBXLL'8 POEMS. 

Twas after chTuch — on Aflcension day— 
"When organs ceased to sonnd, 

"^nesbaden's people crowded gay 
The deer-park's pleasant ground. 

There, where Elyiian meadows smile, 

And noble trees upshoot, 
The wild thyme and the chamomile 

Smell sweetly at their root; 

The aspen quiyers neryoualy, 

The oak stands stilly bold — 
And climbing bindweed hangs on high 

His bells of beaten gold.* 

Nor stops the eye till mountains shine 

That bound a spadons yiew, 
Beyond the lordly, lovely Rhine, 

In yisionary blue. 

There, monuments of ages dark 

Awaken thoughts sublime; 
nil, swifter than the steaming bark. 

We mount the stream of time. 

Tlie iyy there old castles shades 

That speak traditions high 
Of minstrels, tournaments, crusades. 

And mail-clad chivalry. 

Here came a twelve years' married pair — 
And with them wandered free 

Seven sons and daughters, blooming fidr, 
A gladsome sight to see. 



Taere U only one kind of bindweed that i» yellow, and that l 
here mentioned, the Panicolatus Convolvolns. 



caupbell's poems. 1|B7 

Xheiz WUhelm, UtUe iimoceiit» 

The youngest of the seyen. 
Was beautiful as painteis paint 

The cherubim of Heaven. 

By tonis he gave his hand, so dear» 

To parent, sister, brother; 
And each, that he was safe and near, 

Confided in the other. 

But Wilhehn loved the field-flowem bright^ 

With love beyond all measure; 
And culled them with as keen delight 

As miseEB gather treasure. 

Unnoticed, he contrived to glide 

Adown a greenwood alley. 
By lilies lured, that grew beside 

A streamlet in the yaUey; 

And there, where under beech and biroh 

The rivulet meandered, 
He strayed, till neither shout nor search 

Could track where he had wandered. 

StQl louder, with increasing dread. 

They called his darling name; 
But 'twas like speaking to the dead — 

An echo only came. 

Hours passed till evening's beetle roam% 

And blackbird's songs begin; 
Then all' went back to happy homes, 

Save WiXhchn's kith and kin. 

The night came on — all others slept 
Their cares away till mom ; 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

But sleepless, all night watched and irept 
That fiunily fbrlom. 

Betimes the town crier had been sent 

"Wiih loud bell, up and down; 
And told th' afflicting accident 

Ihxoughout Wiesbaden's town: 

The father, too, ere morning smiled. 

Had all his wealth uncoffered; 
And to the wight would bring his child 

A thousand crowns had offered. 

Dear Mentis, who would have blushed to take 

That guerdon &om his hand. 
Soon joined in groups — for pity's sake, 

The child-exploring band. 

The news reached Nassau's Duke : ere earth 

Was gladdened by the lark. 
He sent a hundred soldiers forth 

To ransack all his park^ 

Their side-arms, glittered through the wv>d» 

With bugle-horns to sound ; — 
Would that on errand half so good 

The soldier oft were found ! 

But though they roused up beast and bird 

From many a nest and den. 
No signal of success was heard 

From all the hundred men. 

A second morning's light expands, 

Unfound the ix^font fair; 
And Wilhehn's household wring their handi^ 

Abandoned to despair. 



CAMPBELL'S FOSMI. 



«Q 



Bat» ha^y, a poor artisan 

Searched ceaselesaly, tiU he 
Eoand safe asleep the little one^ 

Beneath a beechen tree. 

His hand still grasped a bunch of flowers ; 

And (true, though wondrous) near. 
To sentry his reposing hours. 

There stood a female deer — 

Who dipped her horns at all that passed* 

The spot where Wilhelm lay; 
Till force was had to hold her fast, 

And bear the boy away. 

Hail! sacred love of Childhood— hail I 

How sweet it is to trace 
Thine instinct in Creation's scale, 

EVn 'neath the human race. 

To this poor wanderer of the wild 
Speech, reason were unknown — 

And yet she watched a sleeping child 
As if it were her own; 

And thou, Wiesbaden's artisan, 

Bestorer of the boy, 
Was ever welcomed mortal man 

With such a burst of joy ? 

The feither's ecstacy — the mother's 

Hysteric bosom's swell; 
The sisters' sobs — the shout of brothers, 

I haye not power to tell. 



* The female deer has no such antlers as the male, and s 
haniM at all; but I have observed many with short ones snekling their 



i 
Hie workixig man; wifk dfovltet bMd, 

Took bUChdy to Ids wife M 

The tlioQM&d ezowns ; a pleasknt Ioi9l« 

That made hkft xidh for Itfe. 

And Nanau't Buke tbe fiiT«rite took 

Into his deer-park'a centre. 
To diare a field with other pets, 

Where deer-aiayer can not enter. 

There, ivhilst thou cropp'st thy ooWery food* 

Each bimd ahall pat tiiee kind ; 
And man ahall never spill thy blood — 

Wiesbaden's gentle hind. 



NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR.* 

I LOTS contemplatiiig — apart 

From aU his homicidal gkny. 
The traits that soften to our heart 

Ni^leon's glory ! 

'Twas when hie bamiers at Boulogne 
Armed in our island every freeman* 

His nayy chanced to capture one 
Poor British seaman. 

* This aneodote has been pahUahed in aeveral pablie joannls, boUl 
French and British. My belief in its anthenticity was confinned by an 
Englishman, long resident at Bonlogne, lately telling me, that ho 
remembered the circumstance to have been generally talked of in th« 



CAMPBXLL*8 POEMS. ^Ml 

They Buffered him — I know not how, 
TJnpxisoned on the shore to roam ; 

And aye was bent his longing brow 
On England's home. 

His eye, methinks, pursued the flight 
Of birds to Britain half-way over; 

With envy theff could reach the white 
Dear cHIEs of Borer. 

A stormy midnight watch, he thonght, 
Than this sojourn would have been dearcr, 

If but the storm his vessel brought 
To England nearer. 

At last, when care had banished sleep, 
He saw, one morning — dreaming, doting-^ 

An empty hogshead from the deep 
Come shoreward floating ; 

He hid it in a cave, and wrought 
The live-long day laborious; lurking 

Until he launched a tiny boat 
By mighty working. 

Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing beyond^ 
Description wretched-; such a wherry 

Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond. 
Or crossed a ferry. 

For ploughing in the salt-sea field. 
It would have made the boldest shudder; 

TJntanred, uncompassed, and unkeeledt 
No sail — no rudder. 

From neighboring woods he interlaced 
His sorry skiff with wattled willows ; 
26 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And thus equipped he wovld have passed 
Hie fiMming billows: 

But Frenchmen caught him on fhe beadit 
IDb little Argus sorely jeering ; 

TQl tidings of him chanced to reach 
Napoleon's hearing. 

With folded arms Napoleon stood* 
Serene alike in peace and danger; 

And, in his wonted attitude, 
Addressed the stranger: — 

"Rash man, that wouldst yon channel pass 
On twigs and stares so rudely fashioned. 

Thy heart with some sweet British lass 
Must be impassioned." 

*'I hare no sweetheart," said the lad; 

"But — absent long firom one another-— 
Great was the longing that I had 

To see my mother." 

"And so thou shalt," Napoleon said, 
"TeVe both my faror fairly won ; 

A noble mother must haye bred 
So brave a son." 

He gave the tar a piece of gold. 
And, with a flag of truce, commanded 

He should be shipped to England Old, 
And safely landed. 

Our sailor oft could scantly shift 
To find a dinner, plain and hearty; 

But nwer changed the coin and gift 
Of Bonapart6. 



gampbxll'i pokmi. 908 

THE JILTED NYMPH. 

▲ BONO, 

IbthsSooteh Tme of •* Wooed and Married tmdtfr 

r M Jilted, fonaken, outwitted ; 

Yet think not TU whimper or brawl — 
The lass is alone to be pitied 

"Who ne'er has been courted at all : 
Nerer by great or small. 
Wooed or jflted at aU ; 

Oh, how nnhappy's the lass 
Who has nerer beeoi oonrted at all ! 

My brother called out the dear fidthiess — 

In fits I was ready to fiill. 
Till I fbimd a policeman who, scatheless, 

Swore them both to the peace at Ghiildhill ; 
Seized them, seconds and all — 
Pistols, powder and ball ; 

I wished him to die my deroted. 
But not in a duel to spniwl. 

What though at my heart he has tilted^ 

What though I hare met with a fidl? 
Better be courted and jUted 

Than never be courted at alL • 
Wooed- and jilted and all, 
Stm I will dance at the ball ; 

And waltz and quadiiUe 

With light heart and heel. 
With proper young men, and talL 



9D4 'cAxrBxi.i.'8 poxms. 

But lately Pve met with a fuiftoi^ 
Whose heart I haye gotten in tfarall» 

And I hope soon to tell yon, in fatuze^ 
That Tm vooed, and TnaTrii^» and all; 

Wooed, and mazzied, and all, — 

What greater bliss can befisll } 
And yon all shall partake of my bridal oak% 
^ When I'm wooed, and, mairied^ and aO. 



BSNLOMOND. 

Hadst thou a gains on thy^ peak. 
What tales, wMfe-headed Ben, 

Conldst thou of ancient ages speakt 
That mock th' historian's pen I 

Thy long duration makes our Urea 

Seem but so many bonis ; 
And likens to the bees' frail hives 

Onr most stupendous towers. 

Temples and towers thou'st seen began« 
New creeds, new conquerors' sway; 

And, like their shadows in the sun. 
Hast seen them sw^t away. 

Thy steadfast summit^ heayen-aUied, 

(TJnUke life's little span,) 
Looks down, a Mentor, on the pride 

Of perishable man. 



gampbkll's posmi. SOS 

THE PAKROT. 

▲ DOMSSnO ANBGDOn. 

Tms fcDowinf inxadent, 00 strongly illuitTatiiig the power of memorj 
and utooiatioii in the lower animale, ie not a fiction* I heud it many 
ycare ago in the Island of Moll, from the fiunfly to whom the bird 
beloaged. 

Thb deep affections of the breast, 
That Hearen to Hying things imparti^ 

Are not exdnsiyely possessed 
By human hearts. # 

A parrot, from the Spanish Main, 
Full young, and early caged, cam« o'er 

With bright wings, to the bleak domala 
Of Miilla's shore. 

To spicy grores where he had won 
His plumage of resplendent hue. 

His native fruits, and skies, and sun. 
He bade adieu. 

For these he changed the smoke of tvatf 
A heathery land and misty sky, 

And turned on rocks and raging surf 
His golden e'*'e. 

But, petted, in our climate cold 
He Ured and chattered many a day; 

Until with age, from green and gold 
HiB wings grew gray. 
26* 



806 CiLMPBSI.I.'8 P0£1I«. 

▲t last, when blind and seeming dumby 
He aoolded, laughed, and tpoke no mora^ 

A Spanish stranger chanced to come 
To MulKs shore i 

He hailed the bird in Spanish speech^ 
The bird in Spanish speech replied* 

Flapped round his cage with joyous screeGh, 
DrooDed down« and died. 



ON GETTING HOME THE PORTBATT OF ▲ 
FEMALE CBJLD, SDC YEABS OLD, 

TADXTSD BT SUOBNIO LA.TXLI^. 

Ttpb of the Gherubim above. 
Come, lire with me, and be my lore! 
Smfle from my wall, dear roguish sprite^ 
By sunshine and by candle-light; 
For both look sweetly on thy traits : 
Or, were the Lady-Moon to gase. 
She'd welcome thee with lustre bland* 
like some yoimg iky from Fairy-Land* 
Cast in simpUcity'a own mould. 
How canst thou be so manifold 
Li sportiyely distracting charms^ 
Thy lips — thine eyes — thy little arms 
That wrap thy shoulders and thy head 
Li homeliest shawl of netted thread. 
Brown woollen net-work ; yet it 
Accordance with thy lovely cheeks. 



CAKPBELL's POXMI. SOP 

And more becomes thy beaaty's Uoom 
Than any shawl firom Cadmieie's loom* 

Thou hast not, to adorn thee, gir^ 

Flower, link of gold, or gem, or pearl — 

I would not let a ruby speck 

The peeping whiteness of thy neok. 

Thou need'st no casket, witdiing elf^ 

Ko gawd — thy tculet is thyself; 

Not ey'n a rose-bud from the bower -<* 

Myself a magnet — gem, and flower. 

My arch and playful little creature, 

Thou hast a mind in erery feature ; 

Thy brow, with its disparted lo<dc% 

Speaks language that translation nioeks : 

Thy lucid eyes so beam with soul, 

They on the canvas seem to roU» 

Instructing both my head and heart 

To idoUze the painter's art. 

He marshals minds to Beauty^s iMSt, 

He is Humanity's high priest, 

Who prores, by hearenly forms on earth, 

How much this world of ours is worth. 

Inspire me, child, with visions £gdr ! 

Por children, in CreatioiD, are 

The only things that could be iphren 

Back, — and alive, unchanged, — to Heav«Q ! 



908 CAMPBXLL'8 FOXMft 



8(>KG OF THE COLONISTS DEPAHTING FOR 
NSW ZEALAND. 

Stebb, hehnflman, tUl yoa steer our irmy, 

By 0taz8 beyond the line ; 
We go to Ibund a realm, one day, 

Like England's self to shine. 



Cheer up I cheer up I our course we'll keep. 
With dauntless heart and hand; 

And when we're ploughed Ibe stormy deep, 
We'll plough a smiling land — 

A land, where beauties importune 

The Briton to its bowers, 
To sow but plenteous seeds, and prune 

Luxuriant fruits and flowers. 

Chorus, — Cheer up ! cheer up f fto. 

There, tracts undieered by human wordi^ 

Seclusion's wildest holds, 
ShaU hear the lowing of our herds. 

And tinkling of our folds. 

Ghoru8, — Cbeer up ! cheer up 1 to 

Like rubies set in gold, shall blush 

Our yineyards girt with com; 
And wiae, and oil, and gladness gush 

From Amalthea's horn. 

Chorus, — Cheer up I cheer up I &o. 

Britannia's pride is in our hearts, 
Her blood is in our veina — 



,lfj .1 ■ ■■ ^ .. 



CAICPBSLL'S POEMS« 

We'll gu^» eaith witli Britiflh arti^ 
like AQAfi^ miwip ^iMifiia- 

Cheer up ! eheer up ! our ooozse we'U keif^ 
With dauntlefis heart and hand; 

And -when we'ye ploughed the stormy deep. 
We'll plough a amiling land* 



MOONUaHT. 



Teb kisfl that vomld make a mttid'e oheek ! 

Wroth, as if kissing were » sin 

Amidst the Argus eyes and din 

And tell-tale glare of noon. 

Brings but a murmur and a blush, 

Benealh the modest moon. 

Te days, goae — nerer to oome back, 
When love returned entranced me so^ 
That stiE its pictures more and glow 
In the dark chamber of my faeavt; 
Leave not my memory's future track — 
I will not let you part. 

Twas moonlight, when my earliest love 
First on my bosom di^^ed her head; 
A moment then concentrated 
The bliss of years, as if the spheres 
Their course had fiEurter driven, 
And carried Enoch-like above, 
A living man to Heaven. 



8M gampbkiil's pokm 

Tif by the loUing moon we meunxe, 
The date between our nnptial night 
And that blest hour which brings to lig^t 
The fruit of bliss — the pledge of ftith ; 
When we impress upon th« treasure 
A fiithei^s earliest kiss. 

Hie Moon's the Earth's enamored bride; 
True to him in her very changes. 
To other stars she never ranges : 
Though, crossed by him, sometimes she dips 
Her light, in short offended pride, 
And fiunts to an eclipse. 

Ae fiiiries revel by her sheen; 
'Tis only when the Moon's above 
The fire-fly kindles into love. 
And flashes light to show it: 
The nightingale salutes her Queen 
Of Heaven, her heavenly poet 

Then ye that love — by moonlight gloom 
^ Meet at my grave, and plight regard. 
Oh ! cooid I be the Orphean bard 

Of whom it is reported, 
That nightingales sung o'er his tomb# 

Whilst lovers came and courted* 



Campbell's pobms. SII- 



GOKA LINN» OR THE FALLS OF THE 
CLYDE. 

WBITTBN ON REYISmiVa IT DT 1887. 

Thb time I saw thee, Cora, last, 
'Twas with congenial friends ; 
And calmer hours of pleasure past — 
My memory seldom sends. 

It was as sweet an Autumn day 
As ever shone on Clyde, 
And Lanark's orchards all the way, 
Put forth their golden pride ; 

Ey'n hedges, buak'd in brafery. 
Looked rich that sunny mom; 
The scarlet hip and blackberry 
So pranked September's thorn. 

In Cora's glen the calm how deep I 
The trees on loftiest hill 
like statues stood, or things asleep, 
All motionless and still. 

The torrent spoke, as if his noise 
Bade earth be quiet round. 
And give his loud and lonely voice 
A more commanding sound. 

His fbam, beneath the yellow light 
Of noon, came down like one 
Continuous sheet of jaspers bright, 
Broad rolling by the sun. 



9]i> ca-mpbel^l's poeii«. 

Dear Lmn ! let loftier {jBUing floods 
Have prouder names than thine; 
And king of all, enthroned in woods, 
Let Niagara ahine. 

Barbarian, let him ahake his coasts 
Wl^ neking thnndexs fax, 
Extended like the array of hosts 
In broad, embatded irar ! 

His Toiee appaUs the wildemass: 
Approaching thine, we fbel 
A solemn, deep melodiousness. 
That needs no louder peal* 

liore fiiry would but disenchant 
Thy dream-inspiring din; 
Be thou the Scottish Muse's haunt, 
Bomantic Cora linn. 



UNBS SXraGESTED BY THE STATUE OF 
ABJiOLD VON WINKELRIED,* 

STAKZ-X7Xa>B]lWALDIN. 

IiTBPiBnro and romantic Switzers' land. 
Though marked with nugesty by Nature's hand. 
What charm ennobles most thy landscape's fooe?— 
The heroic memory of thy natire race - 

• For an aooonnt of this patriotio Swiai, and his heroic dealh at dw 
hatde of Sompach, tea Dr. Boaltie's «8witaerlaiid inastnted,*' toL iL, 
W. lU-lli. 



Who forced tyrannic hosts to bleed or flee; 
And made their rocks the ramparts of the firee ; 
Their fiEustnesses rolled back the inyading tide 
Of conquest, and their mmintaina tanght them piide : 
Hence they haye patriot names — in fancy's eye, 
Bright as their glaciers glittering in the sky ; 
Patriots who made the pageantries of kings 
like shadows seem and imsubstantial thingSi 
Their guiltless glory mocks oblivion's rust. 
Imperishable, for their cause was just. 

Heroes of old ! to whom the Nine have strong 
Their lyres, and spirit-stirring anthema sung; 
Heroes of chiralry ! whose banners grace 
The aisles of many a consecrated place* 
Confess how few of you can match in fane 
The martyr Winkehied's immortal name I * 

* The advocates of classical learning tell as that, without dassie 
historians, we should never become acquainted with the most qilendid 
indts of human character ; but one of those traiu, patriotic selMevotJon, 
may surely be heard of elsewhere, without learning Greek and Lathn. 
There are few, who have read modem history, unacquainted with tho 
noble voluntary death of the Switzer \)rinkelried. Whether he was a 
peasant or man of superior birth, is a point not quite settled in hirtory, 
though I am inclined to suspect that he was simply a peasant. Bat this 
is certain, that in the battle of Sempech, perceiving that there was no 
other means of breaking the heavy-armed lines of the Anstrians than 
by gathering as many of their spears as he could grasp together, he 
he opened a passage for his fellow combatants, who, with hammers and 
hatchets, hewed down the mailed men<at-arms, and won the vietorv 
27 



SM Campbell's poiict. 

SONG OF OUR QUERN. 
;bst to kubio bt ohables nbaxb, xsq. 

Viotobia's sceptre o'er the deep 
Has toQched, and broken aUyery's dhain; 

Yet, strange magician I she enalaTes 
Our hearts -within her own domain. 

Her spirit is derout, and boms 
With thooghts arerse to bigotry; 

Yet she, herself the idol, tains 
Our thoughts into idolatry. 



% 
LINES ON MY NEW CHILD-SWEETHBABT. 

I HOLD it a religions duty 
To lore and worship children's beauty; 
They'Ye least the taint of earthly dod, 
They're freshest from the hand of God ; 
With heavenly looks they make us sure 
The heayen that made them mitst be puze; 
We loye them not in earthly figushion. 
But -with a beatl6.c passion. 
I chanced to, yesterday, behold 
A maiden child of beauty's mould; 
'Twas near, more sacred was the soene^ 
The palace of our patriot Queen. 



Campbell's pokms. 81JS 

Hie UtOe dharmer, to my riew 
Was sculpture brought to Hfb vmw; 
Her eyes had a poetic glow, 
Her pouting mouth was Cupid's bow: 
And through her frock I could descry 
Her neck and shoulders' symmetry. 
'Twas obvious from her walk and gait 
Her limbs were beautifully straight; 
I stopi)ed the enchantress, and was told. 
Though tall, she was but four years old. 
Her guide so graye an aspect wore 
I could not ask a question more; 
But foUdwed her. The little one 
Threw backward ever and anon 
Her loTcly neck, as if to say, 
"I know you love me, Mister Grey;" 
For by its iostinct childhood's eye 
Is shrewd in physiognomy; 
They well distinguish fawning art 
From sterling fondness of the heart 

And so she flirted, like a true. 
Good woman, till we bade adieu. 
Twas then I with regret grew wild. 
Oh, beauteous, interesting child ! 
Why asked I not thy home and name } 
My courage failed me — more's the shame. 
But where abides tins jiewel rare i 
Oh, ye that own her, tell me where ! 
For sad it makes my heart and sore 
To think I ne^er may meet her moie. 



- x. 



CAMYBBLIi'l POBMt. 



TO THE XTNITED STATES OF NOBTH 
AMERICA. 

TJiiTTED Statsb, your banner wean 
Two emblems — <me of fiune ; 

Alaa, the other that it bean 
Reminds ns of your shame. 

Your standard's oonsteUation types 

White freedom by its stan ; 
But wbaf s the meaning of the stiqwa } 

They mean your negroes' scars. 



THE LAUNCH OF A FIRST-RAT& 

WSITTEN ON WTTNESSINa THB SPBOTAOLB. 

Englakd hails thee with emotion. 

Mightiest child of naval art, 
Heaven resounds thy welcome ! Ocean 

Takes thee smiling to his heart 

Giant oaks of bold expansion 

O'er seven hundred acres fell. 
All to build thy noble mansion, 

Where our hearts of oak shall dwelL 

Ifidst those trees the wild deer boundadt 
Ages long ere we were bom. 



Campbell's poxMt. ^7 

And our gteat-grand&thien soimded 
Many a jovial hunting-honx. 

Oaka that Hiing did inlieTit 

Ghnndenr horn our earth and aky, 
StQl robust, the natiro spirit* 

In your tunbera shall not die. 

Ship to shine in martial story, 

Thon Shalt deaye the ocean's path. 
Freighted with Britannia's glory 

And the thunders of her wrath. 

Foes shaU crowd their sails and fly tfaes^ 

Threatening hayoc to their deck, 
When afar they first descry thee^ 

Like the coming whirlwind's apeck. 

'SkJlant bark ! thy pomp and beauty 

Stozm or battle ne'er shall blast, 
Whilst our tars in pride and duty 

NaU thy colon to the mast 



EPISTIJS FROM ALGIERS. 

TO HO&AOB SMITH. 

DxAB Hoillcb! be melted to tears, 
For Tm melting with heat as I riiyme ; 

Though the name of this place is All-jeeis^ 
'Tis no joke to fall in with its clime. - 
27* 



CAMPBELL'S POSXS. 

YHJOi a ahsm* frosL "FnacB who caais </cr» 

To an Afriwrn inn I Mcend ; 
I iin cast on a barbeioiis shore, 

Where a barber ahme is my friend. 

Do you ask me the sights and the news 

Of this wondeifhl city to sing? 
Alas I my hotel has its mews, 

But no muse of the Helicon's spring. 

My windows afford me the sight 

Of a people all diyerse in hoe ; 
They are black, yellow, oli>«« and white, 

Whilst I in my sonow look bine. 

Here are gnmps for the painter to take, 
Whose figures jocosely combine, — 

The Arab disguised in his haik,t 
And the Frenchman disguised in his wine. 

In his breeches of petticoat sise 
Tou may say as the Mussulman goes, 

That his garb is a feur compromise 
'Twixt a kilt and a pair of small clothes. 

The Mooresses, shrouded in white^ 

Save two holes for their eyes to give room, 
Seem like cozpses in sport or in spite 
" That haye slyly whipped out of thdr tomb. 



* On board the veMel from Marseilles to Algiers I met with a fidtowx 
passenger, whom I sappond .to be a physieian, from his dress and man* 
ners, and the attentions which he paid me to alleviate the sofferinga of 
my searsicknefls. He tnmed oat to be a perraqoier and barber in 
Algeria ~ but his vocatioo did not lower him in my estimation— fcr he 
continued his attentions till he passed my baggage through the cnstomi^ 
and helped me, when half dead with exhaustation, to the best hoieL 

t A mantle worn by the nativet. 



Campbell's poevs. 910 

The old Je^nrish dames make me sick : 

If I were the devil, I declaze 
Such hags should not mount a broom-stick 

In my service to ride through the air 

But hipped and undined as I am. 
My hippogriff 's course I must rein, — 

For. the pain of my thirst is no sham. 
Though Pm bawling aloud lor champagne. 

Dinner's brought; but the wines have no pith; 

They are flat as the statutes at law; 
And for all that they bring me, dear Smith! 

Would a glass of brown stout they could draw I 

O'er each French trashy dish as I bend, 

My heart feels a patriot's grief! 
And the round tears, O England! descend 

When I think on a round of thy beef. 

Yes, my soul sentimentally craves 
British beer ! Hail, Britannia, hail ! 

To thy flag on the foam of the waves, 
And the foam on thy flagons of ale. 

Yet I own, in this hour of my drought, 
A dessert has most welcomely come; 

Here are peaches that melt in the mouth. 
And grapes blue and big as a plum. 

There are melons, too, luscious and great. 

But the slices I eat shall be few, 
For from melons incautiously eat 

Melancholic effects may ensue. 

Horrid pun ! you'll exclaim ; but be calm. 
Though my letter bears date, as you view, 

From the land of the date-beaiing palm 
I will palm no more puns upon you. 



eAMPBXLL't POKM8. 



TO A YOUNG LADT, 

WHO ABKXD KB TO WBITB 801ISTHIKO OBKUNAIi VQB HI 
▲LBVK. 

Am oiiginal someihiiig, feur maid, you would win me 

To write — but how shall I begin? 
For I fear I hare nothing original in me — 

Exciting Original Sin. 



FRAGMENT OF AN ORATOBIO, 

FROM THB BOOK OF JOB. 

HATina met my illustrious friend the Composer Neukomm, at Algien, 
seTeral years ago, I commenced tins intended Oratorio at bis desire, but 
he left the place before I proceeded &rther in the poem ; and it hat beeti 
thus left unfinished. 

Cbushbd by miflfortane's yoke, 

Job lamentably spoke : — 

«My bonndless curse be on 

The day that I was bom; 

Quenched be the star that shone 

Upon m^ natal mom. 

In the grare I long 

To shroud my breast ; 

Where the wicked cease to wrong, 

And the weary are at rest" 



CAM'PBELL'I POEMS. 

Then Eliphaz rebuked his irild despair : — 
** What Heayen ordaiiui» 'tia meet that maa 

should bear. 
Lately, at midnight drear, 
A Yiaion shook my bones with fear ; 
A spizit passed before my lace, 
And yet its form I coi^Id not trace ; 
It stopped, it stood, it chilled my blood* 
The hair upon my flesh uprose 
Withlfreezing dr^id! 
Deep silence reigned, and at its dose 
I heard a yoice that said — 
* Shall mortal man be more pure and just 
Than God, who made him from the dust } 
Hast thou not learned of old, how fleet 
Is the triumph of the hypocrite? — 
How soon the wreath of joy grows wan 
On the brow of the ungodly man^ 
By the fire of his conscience he perisheth 
In an unblown flame: 
The Earth demands his death. 
And the Heayens reyeal his shame.'" 



Is this your consolation? 

Is it thus that ye condole 

With tbs depth of my desdiBtkm, 

And the anguish of my sotd ! 

But I win not cease to waU 

The bitterness of my bale. 

Man that is bom of woman. 

Short and evil is his hour; ^ 

He fleeth like a shadow, 

He fiEuieth like a flower. 

My days are past; my hope and 

Is but to moulder in the dust. 



I CAMPBSLL'8 P0BM8. 

Bow, mortal, bow, befixre thy Qod, 

Nor mnnniir st his chastening rod ; 

Fragile being of earthly day, 

Think on God's eternal sway I 

HariL ! from the whirlwind forth 

Thy Maker speaks -^ *• Thou child of earth, 

Where wert thou when I laid 

Creatjon's corner-stone ? 

"When the sons of God rejoicing made, 

And the morning stars together sang and shone) 

Hadst thou power to bid above 

Hearen's oonsteUations glow; 

Or shape the finms that lire and mofe 

On Nature's fiioe below? 

Hast tiiou given the hone his strengUi and pride) 

He paws the valley with nostzil wide, 

He smells &r off the battle; 

He neighs at the trampetTs sound — 

And his speed devours the ground. 

As he sweeps to where the quivers ratHs^ 

And the spear and shidld shine bright^ 

Ifidst the shouting of the captains 

And the thunder of the fight. 



a 



50TI8. 



NOTES^ 



p. 38, 1. 13. 

And woh thy atren^th-inspiring aid thai bor$ 
The hardy Byron to his native shore — 

. The following picture of his own distress, given by 
Bybon in his simple and interesting narratiye, justifiet 
the description in page 5. 

After relating the barbarity of the Indian cacique to his 
child, he proceeds thus : — «« A day or two after we put to 
sea again, and crossed the great bay I mentioned we had 
been at the bottom of when we first hauled away to the 
westward. The land here was yery low and sandy, and 
something like' the mouth of a river which discharged it- 
self into the sea, and which had been taken no notice of 
by us before, as it was so shallow that the Indians were 
obliged to take every thing out of their canoes, and carry 
them over land. We rowed up the river four or five 
leagues, and then took into a branch of it that ran first to 
the eastward, and then to the northward : here it became 
much narrower, and the stream excessively rapid, so that 
we gained but little way, though we wrought very hard. 
At night we landed upon its banks, and had a moat vn- 
eomfiartable lodging, it being a perfect swamp, and ire hid 
28 



*SM MOTES. 

nothing to cover us, though it rained excessively. Tha 
Indians were little better off than we, as there was no 
wood here to make their wigwams ; so that all they could 
do was to prop up the bark, which they carry in the bot- 
tom of their canoes, and shelter themselves as well as they 
could to the leeward of it. ICnowing the difficulties they 
had to encounter here, they had provided themselves with 
some seal ; but we had not a morsel to eat, after the heavy 
fatigues of the day, excepting . a sort of root we saw the 
Indians make use of, which w^s very disagreeable to the 
taste. We labored all next day against the stream, and 
fared as we had done the day before. The next day 
brought us to the carrying place. Here was plenty of 
wood, but nothing to be got for sustenance. We passed 
this night, as we had frequently done, under a tree ; but 
what we sxiffered at this time is not easy to be expressed. 
I had been three days at the oar -wdthout any kind of nour- 
ishment except the wretched root above mentioned. I had 
no shirt, for it had rotted off by bits. All my clothes con- 
sisted of a short grieko, (something like a bear-skin,) ft 
piece of red doth which had once been a waistcoat, and ft 
ragged pair of trousers, without shoes or stockings." 

P. 38, 1. 32. 

a Britoti and a friend ! 

Don Patricio Gedd, a Scotch physician in one of the 
Spanish settlements, hospitably relieved Byron and hia 
wretched associates, of which the Commodore speaks in 
the warmest terms of gratitude. 



NOTES. 3S7 

p. 39, L 12. 

Or yield the lyre of Heaven another string. 

The seven strings of Apollo's liazp were the symboiieal 
representation of the seven planets. Herschel, by discor- 
ering an eighth, might be said to add another string tc the 
instnunent. 

P. 39, L 18. 

The Sioedish saye. 

p. 40, L 1. 

Deep from hie vaults the Loxian mvrmurs flow, 

Lozias U the name frequently given to Apollo by Greek 
-writers. It is met with more than once in the Choephorss 
ai iBschyKs. 

P. 41, L 1. 

Unlocks a generous store at thy command^ 
Like Horeb's rocks beneath the propJiefs hand. 

See Exodns, chap. xvii. 3, 5, 6. 

P. 45, 1. 16. 
Wild Obi flies — 

Among the negroes of the West Indies, Obi, or Orbiah, 
is the name of a magical power, which is believed by them 
to affect the object of its malignity with dismal calamities. 
Such a belief must undoubtedly have been deduced from 
th-^ superstitious mythology of their kinsmen on the coast 
of Africa. I have, therefore, personified Obi as the evil 



38^ KOTEB. 

spirit of the Afiican, although the hiBtory of the Afiican 
tribes mentions the evil spirit of their religioxis creed by & 
different appellationi 

P. 46, L 20. 
Sibir^s dreary mines. 

Mr. Bell, of Antennony, in his Travels through Siberia, 
informs us that the name of the country is universallv 
pronounced Sibir by the Kussians. 

P. 46, L 34. 
Presaging wraih to Poland — and to man! 

The history of the partition of Poland, of the massacre 
in the suburbs of Warsaw, and on the bridge of Prague, 
the triumphant entry of Suwarrow into the Polish capital, 
and the insult offered to human nature, by the blasphe- 
mous thanks offered up to Heaven, for victories obtained 
over men fighting in the sacred cause of liberty, by mur- 
derers and oppressors, are events generally kno-wn. 

P. 60, L 31. 
The shriU horn blew. 

The negroes in the West Indies are summoned to theix 
morning work by a shell or horn. 

P. 61, 1. 16. 
How long was Tinumr's iron sceptre stoayed. 
To elucidate this passage, I shall subjoin a quotation 



NOTES. Sg9 

from the preface to Letters from a Hindoo Rajah, a work 
of elegance and celebrity. 

** The impostor of Mecca had established, as one of the 
principles of his doctrine, the merit of extending it, either 
by persuasion, or the sword, to all parts of the earth. 
How steadily this injimetion was adhered to by his fol- 
lowers, and with what success it was pursued, is well 
known to all who are in the least conversant in history. 

" The same overwhelming torrent which had inundated 
the greater part of Africa, burst its way into the very heart 
of Europe, and covering many kingdoms of Asia with un- 
bounded desolation, directed its baneful course to the 
flourishing provinces of Hindostan. Here these fierce 
and hardy adventurers, whose only improvement had 
been in the science of destruction, who added the fury 
of fSematicism to the ravages of war, found the great end 
of their conquest opposed by objects which neither the 
ardor of their persevering zeal, nor savage barbarity, could 
surmount. Multitudes were sacrificed by the cruel hand 
of religious persecution, and whole countries were deluged 
in blood, in the vain hope, that by the destruction of a 
part the remainder might be persuaded, or terrified, into 
the profession of Mahomedism. But all these sanguinary 
efforts were inefiectual; and at length, being folly con- 
vinced, that though they might extirpate, they could never 
hope to convert, any number of the Hindoos, they relin- 
quished the impracticable idea with which they had 
entered upon their career of conquest, and contented 
themselves with the acquirement of the civil dominion 
and almost imiversal empire of Hindostan/ — Letters 
from a Hindoo Rqfah, by Eliza Hamilton. 
28* 



880 HOTE8. 

P. 51, 1. 80. 

And hraved the stormy Spirit of the Cape. 

See the description of the Cape of Good Hope, tranB- 
lated &om Camoens, by Micxlb. 

P. 62, 1. 10. 
While famished natione died dUmg the ehore. 

The following aceoimt of British conduct, and its conBe- 
quences, in Bengal, will afford a sufficient idea of the fact 
alluded to in this passage. 

After describing the monopoly of salt, betel-nut, and 
tobacco, the historian proceeds thus : — " Money 'in this 
cuxient came but by drops ; it could not quench the thirst 
of those who waited in India to recdve it. An expedient, 
such as it was, remained to quicken its pace. The natiTea 
could live with little salt, but could not want food. Some 
of the agents saw themselves well situated for collecting 
the rice into stores : they did so. They knew the Gentoos 
would rather die than violate the principles of their reli- 
gion by eating flesh. The alternative would therefore be 
between giving what they had, or dying. The inhsfeitanta 
sunk : they that cultivated the land, and saw the harvest 
at the disposal of others, planted in doubt: — scarcity 
ensued. Then the monopoly was easier managed.: — 
sickness ensued. In some districts, the languid living 
left the bodies of their numerous dead unburied." — 
Short History of the English Transactions in the East /»• 
dies^ p. 145. 



ItOTEB. 831 

p. 52, L 25. 

NiM HtnB8 haw Bratna't wheeU of Ughining hurUd . 
HU awful preMnce o*er the alarmed world. 

Among the Bublime fictioiis of the Hindoo mythology, 
It is one article of belief that the Deity Brama has de- 
scended nine times upon the world in varions forms, and 
that he is yet to appear a tenth time, in the figure of a 
wanior upon a white horse, to cut off all incorrigible of- 
fenders. Avatar is the word used to express his descent. 

P. 63, L 10. 

Shall SerUwattee wave her hallowed wand! 
And Camdeo bright, and Ganeaa sublime, 

Camdeo is the God of Love in the mythology of tha 
Hindoos. Ganesa and 'Seriswattee correspond to the pagan 
j^ties^ Janus and Minerva. 

P. 68, L 32. 
The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade! — 
Sacred to Yenus is the myrtle shade. — Dryden, 

P. 61, L 19. 
Thy woes, Arion! 

Paleoner, in his poem, *<The Shipwreck," speaks of 
himself by the name of Arion. — See Falconer's *' Ship« 
wreck," canto iii. 

P. 61, 1. 32. 
The robber Moor! 
See Schiller's tragedy of <* The Robbers," soene y 



332 NOTES. 

p. 62, L 16. 

What miUiona died — that Caaar might be great 1 

_ The carnage occasioned by the wars of Julius Csesar has 
been tunially estimated at two millions of men. 

P. 62, L 17. 

Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore. 
Marched by their Charles to Dnieper's swampy shore. 

*<In this extremity," (says the biographer of Charles 
Xn. of Sweden, speaking of his military exploits before 
the battle of Pultowa,) " the memorable winter of 1709, 
which was still more remarkable in that part of Enrope 
than in France, destroyed nimibers of his^ troops; for 
Charles resolved to brave the seasons, as he had done his 
enemies, and ventured to make long matches during this 
mortal cold. It was in one of these marches that two 
thousand men fell down dead with cold before his eyes." 

P. 63, 1. 7. 

As Iona*s saint* 

The natives of the island of lona have an opinion, that 
on certain evenings every year, the tutelary saint Columba 
is seen on the top of the church spires counting the sur- 
rounding islands, to see that they have not been sunk by 
the power of witchcraft. 

P. 63, 1. 26. 
And party Uke Ajut — never to return ! 

See the history of Ajut and Anningait, in <* The Bam« 
bier;" 



p. 76, L 6. 

From merry mock-bireTs aong. 

The mocking-bird is of the form of; but larger than, the 
tiirush ; and the colors are a mixture of black, white^ and 
gray. What is said of the nightingale by its greatest 
admirers is what may with more propriety apply to this 
bird, who, in a natural state, sings with very superior 
taste. Towards evening I have heard one begin softly, 
reserving its breath to swell certain notes, which, by this 
means, had a most astonishing effect. A gentleman in 
London had one of these birds for six years. During the 
space of a minute he was heard to imitate the woodLark, 
chaffinch, blackbird, thrush, and sparrow. In this country 
(America) I have frequently known the mocking-birds so 
engaged in this mimicry, that it was with much difficulty 
I could ever obtain an opportunity of hearing their own 
natural note. Some go so feu: as to say, that they have 
neither peculiar notes, nor ^favorite imitations. This may 
be denied. Their few natural notes resemble those of the 
(European) nightingale. Their song, however, has a 
greater compass and volume than the nightingale's, and 
they have the &culty of varying all intermediate ndtes 
in a manner which is truly delightfiiL — Aihe'a Travels in 
America, vol. iL p. 73. 

P. 76, L 27. 

And distant isles that hear the lotid Corbreehtan roar! 

The Corybrechtan, or Corbreehtan, is a whirlpool on 
the western coast of Scotland, near the island of Jura, 
which is heard at a prodigious distance. Its name signifies 



334 NOTES. 

the whirlpool of the Prince of Denmark ; and there is a 
tradition that a Danish prince once undertook, for a 
wager, to cast anchor in it. He is said to have used 
woollen instead of hempen ropes, for greater strength, but 
perished in the attempt. On the shores of Argyleshire, I 
have often listened with great delight to the sound of this 
vortex, at the distance of many leagues. When the 
weather is calm, and the adjacent sea scarcely heard on 
these picturesque shores, its sound, which is like the 
soimd of innumerable chariots, creates a magnificent and 
fine effect. 

P. 79, 1. 8. 

Of butkined Umbf and swarthy Uneament, 

In the Indian tribes there is a great similarity in their 
color, stature, &c. They are aU, except the Snake 
Indians, tall in stature, straight, and robust. It is very 
seldom they are deformed, which has given rise to the 
supposition that they put to death their deformed chil- 
dxen. 'Dieir skin is of a copper color ; their eyes large, 
bright, black, and sparkling, indicative of a subtle and 
discerning mind: their hair is of the same color, and 
prone to be long, seldom or never curled. Their teeth 
are large and white ; I never observed any decayed 
among them, which makes their breath as sweet as the 
air they inhale. — Travels through America by Captains 
Lswis and Clarke in 1804-5-6. 

P. 79, 1. 19. 
** Peace be to thee! my words this beU approve* 
The Indians \i North America accompany every formal 



NOTES. 335 

address to strangers, with wliom they form or recognize a 
treaty of amity, with a present of a string, or belt, of 
irampnm Wampum (says Cadwallader Golden) is made 
of the large whelk shell, hucdnum^ and shaped like long 
beads : it is the cnrrent money of the Indians. — History 
of the Five Indian Nations, p. 34, New York edition, 

P. 79, L 20. 

The paths of peace my steps have hither led. 

In relating an interview of Mohawk Indians with the 
Governor of New York, Golden quotes the following 
passage as a specimen of their metaphorical manner: 
** Where shall I seek the chair of peace? Where shall 
I find it but upon our path? and whither doth our path 
lead us but imto this house ? " 

P. 79, L 24. 

Our toampum league thy brethren did embrace* 

When they solicit the alliance, offensive or defensive, 
of a whole nation, they send an embassy with a large 
belt of wampum and a bloody hatchet, iaviting them to 
come and drink the blood of their enemies. The wam- 
pum made use of on these and other occasions, before 
tfaeir acquaintance with the Europeans, was nothing but 
amall shells which they picked up by the sea coasts, and 
on the banks of the lakes ; and now it is nothing but a 
kind of cylindrical beads, made of shells, white and black, 
which are esteemed among them as sUver and gold are 
among us. The black they call the most valuable, and 
both together are their greatest riches and ornaments;^ 



Si6 iroTBS. 

th«w mwmg ttan aiuireciiig all the end that money doif 
•aiongst 118. They have the «zt of stringu^ tvniiaiig* 
and^interweaTing tiiem into their belts, coUais, hlenlHili^ 
and moocasins, &c., in tan thousand difEerent sizes, ioma^ 
and figures, so «s to be ornaments for every part of dieasp 
and expreflsiTe to them of all their important transaotians. 
They dye the wampum of yarious colors and shades, and 
mix and dispose them with great ingenuity and order, and 
so as to be significant among themselyes of almost every 
thing they please ; so that by these their words are kept, 
and their thoughts communicated to one another, as ours 
are by writing. The belts that pass &om one . nation to 
another in all treaties, declaratLons, and important trans- 
actions, are very carefuUy preserved in the cabins of their 
chie&,'and serve not only as a kind of record or history, 
but as a public treasure. — Mc^ Rogers's Account of North 
America, 

P. 80, 1. 14. 

As token the evil Manitou 

It is certain the Indians acknowledge one Supreme 
Being, or Giver of Life, who presides over all things; 
that is, the Great Spirit ; and they look up to him as the 
source of good, firom whence no evil can proceed. They 
also believe in a bad Spirit, to whom they ascribed greolt 
power ; and suppose that through his power all the efik 
which befall mankind are afflicted. To him* thfeiefiDie^ 
they pray in their distresses, begging that he wooUL 
either avert thjeir troubles, or moderate them when thegr 
are.no longer avoidable. 

They hold also that there are |pK>d Spirito of a 1oim€ 



irOTKB. 397 

degree who have their particular departments, in which 
they are constantly contribnting to the happiness of 
moxtals. These they suppose to preside oyer all* the 
extraordinary productions of Nature, such as these lakes, 
xi^ees, and mountains that are of an uncommon magni- 
tude; and likewise the beasts, birds, fishes, and even 
TegetaUes or stones, that exceed the rest of their spedes 
in aize or singularity. — Clarke* b Traveb among the Indiana, 
The Supreme Spirit of Good is called by the Indians 
Eitdii Manitou ; and the Spirit of Evil, Matchi Manitou. 

P. 81, L 2. 

Of fever-hdlm and stoeet aagamite : 

The feyer-balm is a medicine used by these tribes ; it 
is a decoction of a bush called the Fever Tree. Sagamite 
is a kind of soup administered to their sick. 

P. 81, 1. 10. 

And J, ths eagle of my tribe, have rmhed 
With this lorn dove. 

The testimony of all travellers among the American 

T«fliim« who mention their hieroglyphics, authorizes me 

in putting this figurative language in the mouth of Outal- 

liasL The dove is among them, as elsewhere, an emblem 

of miwknww ; and the eagle that of a bold, noble, and 

libeniL ttiind. When the Indians speak of a warrior who 

sows above the multitude in person and endowments, they 

sajr, << he is like the eagle, who destroys his enemies, and 

gires protection and abundanoe to t^ie weak of his ow» 

tribe." 

29 



338 NOTES. 

p. 82, L 11. 
Far differently t the mute Oneida took, Sgc. 

They are extremely circumspect and deliberate in every 
word and action ; nothing hurries them into any intem- 
perate wrath, but that inveteracy to their enemies which 
is rooted in every Indian's breast. In all other instances 
they are cool and deliberate, taking care to suppress the 
emotions of the heart. If an Indian has discovered that a 
Mend of his is in danger of being cut off by a lurking 
enemy, he does not tell him of his danger in direct terms, 
as though he were in fear, but he first coolly asks him 
which way he is gouig that day, and having his answer, 
with the same indifference, tells him that he has been 
inlbrmed that a noxious beast lies on the route he is going. 
This hint proves sufficient, and his &iend avoids the 
danger with as much caution as though every design and 
motion of his enemy had been pointed out to him. 

If an Indian has been engaged for several days in the 
chase, and by accident continued Ibng without food, 
when he arrives at the hut of a Mend, where he knows 
that his wants will be iinmediately supplied, he takes 
care not to show the least symptoms of impatience, or 
betray the extreme hunger that he is tortured with ; but 
on being invited in, sits contentedly down, and smokes 
his pipe with as much composure as if . his appetite was 
doyed, and he was perfectly at ease. He does the same 
if among strangers. This custom is strictly adhered to by 
every tribe, as they esteem it a proof of fortitude, and 
think the reverse would entitle them to the appeUation 
of old womem. 



J 



NOTES. 9XJ 

If you tell an Indian tliat his children have greatly 
signalized themselTes against an enemy, haying takeL 
many scalps, and brought home many prisoners, he does 
not appear to feel any strong emotions of pleasure on die 
occasion; his answer generally is, — *<They have done 
well," and he makes but very little inquiry about the 
matter; on the contrary, if you inform him that his 
cMldien are slain or taken prisoners, he makes no com- 
plaints : he only replies, " It is unfortunate : " — and for 
some time aaks no questions about how it happened. — 
Lewis and Clarke's Jhwelt, 

P. 82, L 12. 

Hie calumet of peace^ ^. 

Nor is the calumet of less importance or less revered 
than the wampum in many transactions relatlTe both to 
peace and war. The bowl of this pipe is made of a kind 
of soft red stone, which is easily wrought and hollowed 
out ; the stem is of cane, alder, or some kind of light 
wood, painted with different colors, and decorated with 
the heads, tails, and feathers of the most beautiful birds. 
The use of the calumet is to smoke either tobacco, or 
some bark, lea^ or herb, which they often use instead of 
it^ when they enter into an alliance on any serious occasion 
oir solemn engagements ; this being among them the most 
sacred oath that can be taken, the violation of which is 
esteemed most infamous, and deserving of severe punish- 
ment from Heaven. When they treat of war, the whole 
|iipe and all its ornaments are red : sometimes it is red 
only on one side, and by the disposition of the feathers, ftc. 



810 N0TK8. 

ADA Acquainted with their customs wiU know. lit fboA 
rifht whi^ the natioa who pxesenls it intend or ^Hfiiiw 
ftnoking the eolumet is also a religious ceremony on iome 
occasions, and in ail treaties is considered as a wxtaciiis 
between tiie parties, or rather as an instmmmt l^ whj^ 
they inyolLe the sun and moon to witness their sineep^ty, 
9nd to be as it wete a guarantee of the treaty he^tnmi 
them. This custom of the Lidians, though to Appearfmee 
9omewhat ridiculous, is not without its reasons; Ibpr m 
they find that smK^dng tends to dispeise the raytm oC to 
brain, to raise the spirits, and to qualii^ them for ^hjalting 
and judging properly, they introduced it into thdr 
councils, where, after their lesolyes, the pipe was con- 
sidered as a seal of their decrees, and as a pledge of their 
performance thereof it was sent to those they were con- 
fulting, in alliance or tveaty with; — so that ftmoWng 
imumg them ftt the sune pipe, is eqmyalent to our dnnlc- 
ing together, and out of the same cup. — Menfor Jifi$9rf% 
Aoooimt of North America, 1766. 

Hie lighted cfJumet is also used among them for a pii& 
pose still more interesting than the expression of sooisl 
£eienddiip. The austere manners of the Indians fi)iW 
any appearance of gallantry betwe^i Ihe sexes in ibe da J- 
time ; but at night the young loyer goes a calumetting, as 
his courtship is called. As these people live in a s^ate of 
equality, and without fear of internal yiolence or theft in 
their own tribes, they leaye their doors open by night as 
well as by day. The loyer takes advantage of this liberty, 
lights lus calumet, enters the cabin of his mistress, and 
gently presets it to her. If she extinguish it, she admils 
his addresses ; but if she sufier it to bum unnotioed, ha 



N0TK8. 841 

retires with a disappointed and throbbing heart. — AmM* 
TraveU. 

P. 82, 1. 15. 

Trained firom his tree-rocked cradle to hie bier. 

An Indian child, as soon as he is bom, is swathed with 
dothes, or skins ; and being laid on his back, is bound 
down on a piece of thick board, spread oyer with soft 
moss. The board is somewhat larger and broader than 
the child, and bent pieces of wood, like pieces of hoops, 
are placed oyer its face to protect it, so that if the machine 
were suffered to fall the child probably would not be in- 
jured. When the women have any business to transact 
at home, they hang the boards on a tree, if there be one 
at hand, and set them a swinging from side to side, like a 
pendulum, in order to exercise the children. — Weld, toI. 
ii p. 246. 

P. 82, L 16. 

The fierce extreme of good and ill to brook 
Impassive 

Of the active as well as passiye fortitude of the Indian 
character, the following is an instance related by Adair in 
his Travels : — 

A party of the Senekah Indians came to war against the 
Katahba, — bitter enemies to each other. In the woods 
the former discovered a sprightly warrior belonging to the 
latter, hunting in their usual light dress. On his perceiv- 
ing them, he sprang off for a hollow rock four or five 
miles distant, as they intercepted him from running home- 
ward. He was so extremely swift and skilful wilh the 
29* 



849 noTEii. 

gaOf m to kill aeren of them in the ruimiag fight, befon 
they were able to surround and take him. They earned 
him to their cotmtry in sad triumph : but though he had 
filled them with uncommon grief and shame for the loss 
of so many of their kindred, yet the lore of martial yirtue 
induced them to treat him, during their long journey, 
with a great deal more ciyility than if he had acted th^ 
part of a cpward. The women and children, when they 
met him ^t their several towns, beat him and wh^ped 
him in as severe a manner as the occasion required, accozdr 
ing to their law of justice ; and at- last he was lormaUy 
condemned to die by the fiery torture. — It might reason- 
ably be imagined, that what he had for some time gon^ 
through, by being fed with a scanty hand, a tedious march^ 
lying at night on the bare ground, exposed to the changet 
of ••the weather, with his arms and legs extended in a pair 
of rough stocks, and suffering such punishment on his en- 
tering into their hostile towns, as a prelude to those sharp 
torments for which he was destined,^ would have so im- 
paired, his health, and affected his imagination, as.to have 
sent him to his long sleep, out of the way of any more 
suifezings. Probably this would have been the case inth 
the major part of white people under similar circumstances; 
but I never knew this with any of the Indians ; and this 
cool-headed, brave warrior did not deviate from their 
•rough lessons of martial virtue, but acted his' part so 
well as to surprise and sorely vex his numerous enemies ; 
for when they were taking him, uni»nione<I| in their wild 
parade, to the place of torture, which lay near to a river, 
he suddenly dashed down those who stood in his wfiy» 
ipzang QjGE^ and plunged into the water, swimming under* 



^ 



iroTES. 348 

neilth WfB an otter, only rising to take breatii, till he had 
reached the opposite shore. He now ascended the steep 
bank, but though he had good reason to be in a hurry, as 
many of the enemy were in the water, and others running, 
very like bloodhounds, in pursuit of him, and the bullets 
flying around him from the time he took to the liyer, yet 
his heart did not allow him to leayc them abruptly, with- 
out taking leaye in a formal manner, in return for the 
eztraosdinary fayors they had done, and intended to do 
him. After slapping a part of his body in defiance to 
them, (continues the author,) he put up the shiiU war- 
whoop, as his last salute, till some more conyenient oppor- 
tunity offered, and darted off in the manner of a beast 
broke loose from its torturing enemies. He continued his 
speed, so as to run' by about midnight of the same day as 
far as his eager pursuers were two days in reaching. There 
he rested till he happily discoyered fiye of those Indians 
who had pursued him : he lay hid a little way off theii 
camp, till they were sound asleep. Eyery circumstance of 
his situation occurred to him, and inspired him with hero- 
ism. He was naked, torn, and himgry, and his enraged 
enemies were come up with him ; — but there was now 
eyery thing to relieye his wants, and a fair opportunity to 
saye his life, and get great honor and sweet reyenge by 
cutting them off. Hesolution, a conyenient spot, and sud- 
den surprise, would effect the main object of aU his wishes 
find hopes. He accordingly crept, took one of their toma- 
hawks, and killed them all on the spot, -r- clothed himself 
took a choice gun, and as much ammunition and proyis- 
ions as he could well carry in a running march. He set off 
afresh, with a light heart, and did not sleep for seyeral 



344 NOTES. 

BuocesfliTe nights, only when he reclined, as usual, a little 
before day, with his back to a tree. As it were by instinct, 
when he found he was free from the pursuing enemy, 
he made directly to the very place where he had killed 
seven of his enemies, and was taken by them for the fiery 
torture. He digged them up, burnt their bodies to ashes, 
and went home in safety with singular triumph. Other 
pursuing enemies came, on the evening of the second day, 
to the camp of their dead people, when the sight gave 
them a greater shock than they had ever known before. 
In their chilled war-council they eoncluded, that as he 
had done such surprising things in his defence before he 
was captivated, and since that in his naked condition, and 
now was well armed, if they continued the pursuit he 
would spoil them all, for he surely was an enemy-wizard ; 
and therefore they returned home. — Adair* a General Oh* 
BervcUions on the American Indians, p. 394. 

It is surprising (says the same author) to see the long- 
continued speed of the Indians. Though some of us have 
often run the swiftest of them out of sight for about the 
distance of twelve nules, yet afterwards, without any 
seeming toil, they would stretch on, leave us out of 
sight, and outwind any horse. — Ibid, p. 318. 

If an Indian were driven out into the extensive woods, 
with only a knife and a tomahawk, or a small hatchet, it 
is not to be doubted but he would fatten even where a 
wolf would starve. He would soon collect fire by rubbing 
two dry pieces of wood together, make a bark hut, earthen 
vessels, and a bow and arrows : then kill wild game, fish, 
fresh- water tortoises, gather a plentiful -variety of vegeta- 
bles, and live in affluence. — Ibid, p. 410. 



HOTBB. M» 

P. 82, L 26. 
Moocasms are a sort of Indian buakina. 

P. 82, L 28. 

Sktp, iVMtmtd one I and in 4he dreaming land 
Shcnddft (hou to-morroto ^nth thy mother meei. 

There is nothing (says Charleyoix) in which these bar- 
fcarians carry their superstitions &rther than in what re- 
gards dreams ; bnt th^ vary greatly in their manner of 
explaining themselyes on this point. SometLmes it is the 
«eascHaable soul whioh ranges abroad, while the sensitiye 
ecmtiniies to animate the body. Sometimes it Is tiie fEOBil* 
lar genius who gives salutary counsel with respect to what 
is going to happoi. Sometimes it is a visit made by the 
fioiil ei the objeet of which he dreams. But in whatever 
manner €he dream is conceived, it is always looked upon 
as « 4hing sacred, and as the most ordinary way in whioh 
Hb/e gods make known their will to men. PUled with this 
idea, they can not conceive how we shotdd pay no regard 
to fiiem. For the most part, they look upon them cither 
as a desire c^ the soul, inspired by some genius, or an 
order from him, and in consequence of this principle they 
hold it a religious duty to obey them. An Indian having 
dreamed of having a finger cut off, had it really cut oft as 
soon as he awoke, having first prepared himself for this 
important action by a feast. Another having dreamed oi 
being a prisoner, and in the hands of his enemies, was 
much at a loss what to do. He consulted the jugglers, 
«nd by ^their advice caused himself to be tied to a post^ 



946 NOTES. 

■ad bamt in seyeral parts of the boay. — Charhvoixt Jtmr^ 
mUof a Voyage to North America, 

P. 83 ' 7. 

From a flower shaped like a horn, which Chateaubrumd 
presumes to be of the lotus kind, the Indians in theur trar* 
els through the desert often find a draught of dew purer 
than any other water. 

P. 83, L 12. 
The crocodile, the condor of the rock. 

The alligator, or American crocodile, when full-grown, 
(says Bertram,) is a very large and terrible creature, and 
of prodigious strength, actiyity, and swiftness in the water. 
I haye seen them twenty feet in length, and some are sup^ 
posed to be twenty-two or twenty-three feet in lengtlu 
Their body is as large as that of a horse, their shape usa* 
ally resembles that of a lizard, which is flat, or cnnesfonit 
being compressed on each side, and gradually dimfniBhing 
from the abdomen to the extremity, which, with the whole 
body, is covered with homy plates, or squamae, impenetn^ 
ble, when on the body of the live animal, even to a rifle* 
ball, except about t^eir head, and just behind their fbre- 
legs or arms, where, it is said, they are only vulnerable. 
The head of a full-grown one is about three feet, and the 
mouth opens nearly the same length. Their eyes are small 
in proportion, and seem sunk in the head, by means of the 
prominency of the brows ; the nostrils are large, inflated, 
and prominent on the top, so that the head on the water 
resembles, at a distance, a great chunk of wood floating 



NOTES. 347 

•bout Only the upper jaw moyes, which they raise 
ahnost perpendicular, so as to form a right-angle with the 
lower one. In the fore-part of the upper jaw, on each 
side, just under the nostrils, are two very large, thick, 
strong teeth, or tusks, not very sharp, but rather the shape 
of a cone : these are as white as the finest polished iyory, 
and are not covered by any skin or lips, but always in 
sight, which gives the creature a frightful appearance ; in 
the lower jaw are holes opposite to these teeth to receivB 
them : when they clap their jaws together, it causes a 
surprising noise, like that which is made by forcing a 
heavy plank with violence upon the ground, and may be 
heard at a great distance. But what is yet more surpris- 
ing to a stranger, is the incredibly loud and terrifying roar 
which they are capable of making, especially in breeding 
time. It most resembles very heavy distant thunder, not 
only shaking the air and waters, but causing the earth to 
tremble ; and when himdreds are roaring at the same time, 
you can scarcely be persuaded but that the whole globe 
IB violently and dangerously agitated. An old champion, 
who is, perhaps, absolute sovereign of a little lake or 
lagoon, (when fifty less than himself are obliged to content 
themselves with swelling and roaring in little coves round 
about,) darts forth from the reedy coverts, all at once, on 
the surfSace of the waters, in a right line, at first seemingly 
as rapid as lightning, but gradually more slowly, until he 
azzives at the centre of the lake, where he stops. He now 
swells himself by drawing in wind and water through his 
mouth, which causes a loud sonorous rattling in the throat 
for near a minute ; but it is immediately forced out again 
flmraglh his mouth and nostrils with a loud noise, braa« 



84B NOTX8. 

cUibiiig h]» tail in tho air^ and the rapor runmjig frook Jhis 
HMkrils like smoke. At other times, when swollen to a» 
extent ready to bnzst, his head and tail lifted up, he s^sdb 
or twirls round on the suifsce of the water. He ads his 
part like an Indian chief, when rehearsing the feats of 
war. — Bertram's Travela in North America, 

P. 83, L 20. 

Then forth uprose that lone toay-faring man. 

They discover an amazing sagaaty, and acquirer 'witii 
the greatest readiness, any thing tliat depends upon the 
attention of the mind. By experience, and an acute obser- 
vation, they attain many perfections to which the Ameri- 
cans are strangers. For instance, they will cross a forest 
or a plain, which is two hundred miles in breadth, so as to 
reach with great exactness the point at which they intend 
to arriye, keeping, during the whole of that space, in s 
direct Une, without any material deviations ; and this they 
will do with the same ease, let the weather be fair or 
cloudy. With equal acutcness they will point to that part 
of the heayens the sun is in, though It be intercepted by 
clouds or fogs. Besides this, they are able to pursue, with 
incredible facility, the traces of man or beast, either otf 
leayes or grass ; and on this account it is with great difi** 
culty they escape discovery. They are indebted for these 
talents, not only to nature, but to an extraordinary com- 
mand of the intellectttal qualities, which can only be ae» 
quired by an unremitted attention, and by long experi- 
ence* They are, in general, yery hi^y in a retentiw 
memoiy. They can recapitulate eyery partioular that hat 



N0TS8. 949 

been treated of in council, and remember the exact time 
when they were held. Their belts of wampum preserve 
the substance of the treaties they- have concluded with the 
neighboiing tribes for ag^es back, to which they will appeal 
and refer with as much perspicuity and readiness as Euro- 
peans can to their written records. 

The Indians are totally unskilled in geography, as weU 
as all the other sciences, and yet they draw on their birch- 
bark very exact charts or maps of the countries they are 
acquamted with. The latitude and longitude only are 
wanting to make them tolerably complete. 

Their sole knowledge in astronomy consists in being able 
to point out the polar star, by which they regulate their 
course when they travel in the night. 

They reckon the distance of places not by miles or 
leagues, but by a day's journey, which, according to the 
best calculation I could make, appears to be about twenty 
Bnglish miles. These they also divide into halves and 
quarters, and will demonstrate them in their maps with 
great exactness by the hieroglyphics just mentioned, when 
they reg^ulate in council their war-parties, or their most 
distant himting excursions. — LewU and Clarke* a Travels, 

Some of the French missionaries have supposed that 
tlie Tndians are guided by instinct, and have pretended 
that Indian children can find their way through a forest 
as easily aa a person of maturer years ; but this is a most 
abaurd notion. It is unquestionably by a close attention 
to the growth of the trees, and position of the sun, that 
t3iey find their way. On the northern side of a tree there 
is generally 1^ most moss ; and the bark on that side, in 
general, differs from that on the oj^^te one. The 
30 



350 NOTES. 

bnncliefl toward the south are, for tiie most part, more 
lozuriant than those on the other sides of trees, and 
■ereral other distinctions also subsist between the northern 
and southern sides, conspicuous to Indians, being taught 
from their infancy to attend to them, which a common 
observer would, perhaps, never notice. Being accustomed 
from their infieaicy likewise to pay great attention to the 
position of the sun, they learn to make the most accurate 
allowance for its apparent motion from one part of the 
heavens to another ; and in every part of the day they 
will point to the part of the heavend where it is, although 
the sky be obscured by clouds or mists. 

An instance of their dexterity in finding their way 
through an unknown country came under my observation 
when I was at Staunton, situated behind the Blue Moun- 
tains, Virginia. A number of the ^Creek nation had 
arrived at that town on their way to Philadelphia, whither 
they were going upon some affairs of importance^ and had 
stopped there for the night. In the moming, some 
circumstance or other, which could not be learned, in- 
duced one half of the Indians to set off without their 
companions, who did not follow imtil some hours after- 
wards. When these last were ready to pursue their 
journey, several of the towns-people mounted their horse* 
to escort them part of the way. They proceeded along 
the high road for some mUes, but, all, at once, hastily 
taming aside into the woods, though there was no path, 
the Indians advanced confidently forward. The people 
who accompanied them, surprised at this movement,' 
informed them that they were quitting the road to PhU- 
adelpfaia, and expressed their fear lest they should mist 



NOTES. 351 

their companions who had gone on hefore. They anawearecl 
that they knew better, that the way through the woods 
was the shortest to Phihidelphia, and that they knew 
very well that their companions had entered the wood at 
the very place where they did. Curiosity led some of the 
horsemen to go on ; and to their astonishment, for there 
was apparently no track, they overtook the other Indians 
in the thickest part of the wood. But what appeared 
most singular was, that the route which they took was 
found, on examining a map, to be as direct for Philadel- 
phia as if they had ..taken the bearings by a madner^s 
compass. From others of their nation, who had been at 
Philadelphia at a former period, they had probably learned 
the exact direction of that city from their villages, and 
had never lost sight of it, although they had already 
travelled three hundred miles through the woods, and had 
upwards of four hundred miles more to go before they 
could reach the place of their destination. Of the exact- 
ness with which they can find out a strange place to 
which they have been once directed by their own people, 
a striking example is furnished, I think, by Mr. J^erson, 
in his account of the Indian graves in Virguiia. These 
graves are nothing more than large mounds of earth in 
the woods, which, on being opened, are found to contain 
slfceletons in an erect posture : the Indian mode of sepul- 
ture has been too often described to remain omknown to 
you. But to come to my story : A party of Indians that 
were passing on to some of the seaports on the Atlantic, 
just as the Creeks above mentioned were going to Phila- 
delphia, were observed, all on a sadden, to quit the 
straight road by which they were proceeding, and without 



Ml NOTES. 

asking any questions, td strike through the woods, in • 
direct line, to one of these graves, which l&j at tiis 
distance of some miles from the road. Now yery near a 
century must haye passed over since the part of Virginia 
in which this grave was situated had been inhabited by 
Indians, and these Indian travellers, who were to visit it 
by thonselves, had unquestionably never been in that 
part of the cotmtry before : they must have found their 
way to it simply from the description of its situation 
that had been handed down to them by tradition. — WakPi 
Thfwfr in North America, vol. n. 

P. 87, L 30. 

Tfieir faihera* dust, 

It is a custom of the Indian tribes to visit the tombs 
of their ancestors in the cultivated parts of America, who 
have been buried for upwards of a century. 

P. 90, 1. 8. 

Or wild'cane arch Mgh flung c^er gn^ profound* 

The bridges over narrow streams, in many parts of Span- 
ish America, are said to be built of cane, which, however 
strong to support the passenger, are yet waved in the 
agitation of the storm, and frequently add to the effect 
of a mountainous and picturesque scenery. 

P. 99, 1. 8. 
T?ie Mammoth comes. 
That I am justified in making the Indian chief alluidfl 



NOTES. 353 

to the mammoth as an emblem of terror and destruction, 
will be seen by the authority quoted below. Speaking 
of the mammoth or big buffalo, Mr. Jefferson states, that 
a tradition is preserved among the Indians of that animal 
ftiU existing in the northern parts of America. 

'* A delegation of warriors firom the Delaware tribe 
having visited the governor of Virginia during the revolu- 
tion, on matters of business, the governor asked them 
some questions relative to their coimtry, and, among 
others, what they knew or had heard of the animal 
whose bones were found at the Salt-licks, on the Ohio. 
Their chief sp' aker immediately put himself into an 
attitude of oratory, and with a pomp suited to what he 
conceived the elevation of his subject, informed him that 
it was a tradition handed down from their fathers, that 
in ancient times a herd of these tremendous ftnimnla 
came to the Bick-bone-'lic]L9, and began an imiversal 
destruction of the bear, deer, elk, buffalo, and other ani- 
mals which had been created for the use of the Indians. 
That the Great Man above looking down and seeing this, 
was so enraged, that he seized his lightning, descended 
on the earth, seated himself on a neighboring mountain on 
a rock, on which his seat and the prints of his feet are 
still to be seen, and hurled his bolts among them, till the 
whde were slaughtered, except the big buU, who, pre- 
senting his forehead to the shafts, shook them off as they 
ieH, but missing one, at length, it wounded him in the 
side^ whereon, springing round, he bounded over the 
Ohio, over the Wabash, the Illinois, and finally over the 
great lakes, where he is living at this day." — Jeffenon's 
Notes on Virginia, 

30» 



854 iroTSs. 

P. 99, L U. 

Soormnff to wield the hatchet for his bribef 
'Oaifut Brandt himself I went to battle forth. 

I took the character of Brandt in the poem of GertmdQ 
from the common Histoiiea of England, aU of which 
represented him as a bloody and bad man, (eren among 
aaTagea,) and chief agent in the horrible desolation of 
Wyoming. Some years after this poem appeared, the son 
of Brandt, a most interesting and intelligent youth, came 
OTer to England, and I formed an acquaintance with him 
on which I still look back with pleasure, ^e appealed to 
my sense of honor and justice, on his own part, and on 
that of his sister, to retract the unfair aspersions which^ 
unconscious of their unfairness, I had cast on his fetther's 
mftmnry. 

He then referred me to dociiments which completely 
satisfied me that the common accotmts of Brsuadt's 
cmeltLes at Wyoming, which I had found in books of 
Trarels, and in Adolphus's and similar Histcsies of Eng- 
land, were gross errors, and that in point of fact Brandt 
was not even present at that scene of desolation. 

It is, unhappily, to Britons and Anglo- Americans that 
we must refer the chief blame in this horrible business.' I 
published a letter expressing this belief in the Kew 
Monthly Magazine, in the year 1822, to which I must 
refer t3ie reader— if he has any curiosity on the subject — 
for an antidote to my fancifiil description of Brandt. 
Among other expressions to young Brandt, I made use 
of the following words : — '* Had I learned all this of jobx 
fiather when I was writing my poem, he should not hare 



i»roTES. 355 

figured in it as the hero of mischief." It was but bare 
justice to say thus much of a Mohawk Indian, who 8p<^6 
English eloquently, and was thought capable of haying 
written a history of the Six Nations. I ascertained also 
fShat he often strove to mitigate the cruelty of Indian war- 
fore. The name of Brandt, therefore, remains in my poem 
a pure and declared character of fiction. 

P. 99, 1. 21. 

To whom nor relative nor blood remains, 

No! — not a kindred drop that runs in human veins f 

Every one who recollects the specimen of Indian 
eloquence given in the speech of Logan, a Mingo chief, 
to the governor of Virginia, will perceive that I have 
attempted to paraphrase its concluding and most striking 
expression : — " There runs not a drop of my blood in the 
veins of any living creature." The similar salutation of 
the fictitious personage in my story, and the real Indian 
orator, makes it surely allowable to borrow such an ex- 
pression ; and if it appears, as it can not but appear, to 
less advantage than in the original, I beg the reader to 
reflect how di£B>cult it is to transpose such exquisitely sim-^ 
pie words, without sacrificing a portion of l^eir effect. 

In the spring of 1774, a robbery and murder were 
committed on an inhabitant of the frontiers of Virginia, 
by two Indians of the Shawanee tribe. The neighboring 
whites, according to their custom, undertook to punish 
this outrage in a summary manner. Colonel Cresap, a 
man inJEinmous for the many murders he had committed on 
those much injured people, collected a party, and pro- 



356 ivoTEs. 

ceeded down the Kanaway in quest of vengeance : on* 
fortunately, a canoe with women and children, with one- 
man only, was seen coming from the opposite shore 
unarmed, and unsuspecting an attack from the whites. 
Crcsap and his party concealed themselves qp. the bank 
of the river, and the moment the canoe reached the shore^ 
singled out their objects, and at one fire killed every 
person in it. This happened to be the family of Logan, 
who had long been distinguished as a friend to the whites. 
This unworthy return provoked his vengeance; he ac- 
cordingly signalized himself in the war which ensued. In 
the autumn of the same year a decisive battle was fought 
at the mouth of the great Kanaway, in which the collected 
forces of the Shawanees, Mingoes, and Delawares, were 
defeated by a detachment of the Virginia militia. Th.& 
Indians sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be 
seen among the suppliants ; but lest the siacerity of a 
treaty should be disturbed, from which so distinguished a 
chief abstracted himself he sent, by a messenger, the fol- 
lowing speech to be delivered to Lord Dunmore : — 

" I appeal to any white man if ever he entered Logan's 
cabin hungry, and he gave him not to eat ; if ever he 
came cold and hungry, and he clothed him not. Durix^ 
the last long and bloody war Logan remained idle in his 
cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the 
whites, that my countr3rmen pointed as they passed, Bud. 
said, Logan is the friend of the white man. I have even 
thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of ont* 
man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, 
murdered all the relations of Logan, even my women and 
children. 



ivoTES^ 957 

** There runs not a drop of my blood in the yeins of any 
lifing creature. This called on me for revenge. I hare 
fought for it. I have killed many. I have folly glutted 
my vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at the beams 
of peace ; — but do not harbor a thought that mine is the 
Joy of fear. Logan never felt &ar. He will not turn on 
his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for I/O- 
gan ? — not one ! " — Jefferson's Notes on Virginia 

P. 109, 1. 3. 
That gave the glctder tops their richest ghw. 

The sight of the glaciers of Switzerland, I am told, has 
often disappointed travellers who had perused the accounts 
of their splendor and sublimity given by Bourrit and other 
describers of Swiss scenery. Possibly Bourrit, who had 
spent his life in an enamored familiarity with th# beauties 
of nature in Switzerland, may have leaned to the romantic 
side of description. One can pardon a man for a sort of 
idolatry of those imposing objects of nature which heighten 
our ideas of the bounty of nature or Providence, when we 
reflect that the glaciers — those seas of ice — are not only 
sublime, but useful : they are the inexhaustible reservoirs 
which supply the principal rivers of Europe ; and their 
annual melting is in proportion to the summer heat which 
dries up those rivers and makes them need that supply. 

That the picturesque grandeur of the glaciers should 
sometimes disappoint the traveller, will not seem surpris- 
ing to any one who has been much in a mountainous 
country, and recollects that the beauty of nature in such 
countries is not only variable, but capriciously dependent 



358 iroTES. 

on the weather and sunshine. There are about four him- 
died different glaciers,* according to the computation of 
M. Bourrit, between Mont Bla&c and the frontiers of the 
TyroL The full effect of the most lofty and picturesque 
of them can, of course, only be produced by the richest 
•nd warmest light of the atmosphere ; and the very heat 
which illuminates them must have a changing influence 
on many of their appearances. I imagine it is owing to 
this circumstance, namely, the casualty and changeable- 
ness of the appearance of some of the glaciers, that the 
impressions made by them on the minds of other and more 
transient travellers have been less enchanting than those 
described by M. Bourrit. On one occasion M. Bourrit 
seems even to speak of a past phenomenon, and certainly 
one which no other spectator attests in the same terms, 
when he says, that there once existed, between the Kandel 
Steig an^ Lauterbrun, " a passage amidst singular glaciers, 
sometimes resembling magical towns of ice, with pilasters, 
pyramids, columns, and obelisks, reflecting to the sun the 
most brilliant hues of the finest gems." M. Bourrit's 
description of the Glacier of the Rhone is qidte enchant- 
ing : — « To form an idea," he says, «* of this superb spec- 
tacle, figure in your mind a scaffolding of transparent ice, 
filling a space of two miles, rising to the clouds, and dart- 
ing flashes of light like the sun. Nor were the several 
parts less magnificent and surprising. One might see, aa 
it were, the streets and buildings of a city, erected in the 
form of an amphitheatre, and embellished with pieces of 
water, cascades, and torrents. The effects were as prodi- 

* Occupying, if taken together, a surface of 130 square leagues. 



giooB as the immensity and the height ; — the most beau* 
tiful azure — the most splendid white — the regular ap- 
pearance of a thousand pyramids of ice, — are more easy 
to be imagined than described." — Bourrit, iii. 163. 

P. 109, 1. 9. 
From heights browsed by the bounding bouqtieting, 

Laborde, in his «* Tableau de la Suisse," gives a curious 
account of this animal, the wild sharp cry and elastic 
movements of which must heighten the picturesque appear- 
ance of its haunts. «* Nature," says Laborde, "has des- 
tined it to mountains covered with snow : if it is not 
exposed to keen cold, it becomes blind. Its agility in 
leaping much surpasses that of the chamois, and would 
appear incredible to those who have not seen it. There is 
not a mountain so high or steep to which it will not trust 
itself provided it has room to place its feet ; it can scram- 
ble along the highest wall, if its surface be rugged." 

P. 109, 1. 15. 
enameUed moss. 

The moss of Switzerland, as well as that of the Tyrol, 
is remarkable for a bright smoothness, approaching to the 
appearance of enameL 

P. 113, 1. 11. 

How dear seemed ev*n the wute and wild Shreek-hom. 

^ 'Die Shreek-hom means, in German, the Peak of Term, 



aGD JfOTES. 

• p. 113, L 16. 

Blindfold hia native hiBa he could have known, 

I have here ayailed myself of a striking expression o? 
the Emperor Napoleon respecting his recollections of Cor- 
sica, which is recorded in Las Casas's History of the Em- 
peror's Abode at St. Helena. 

P. 133, 1. L 
Inniafail, the ancient name of Ireland. 

P. 134, L 5. 

Kerne, the plnral of Kern, an Irish foot-soldier. In this 
sense the word is used by Shakspeare. Gainsford, in his 
Olories of England, says, " They (the Irish) are desperate 
in revenge, and their kerne think no man dead until hie 
head be of" 

P. 134, L 27. 

Shielinfff a rude cabin or hut. 

P. 134, 1. 33. 
Tn Erin*8 yellow vesture dad. 

Yellow, dyed from sai&on, was the favorite color of the 
ancient Irish. When the Irish chieftains came to make 
terms with Queen Elizabeth's lord-lieutenant, we are told 
by Sir John Davis, that they came to court in sai&on-col- 
ored imiforms. 

P. 135, 1. 12. 

Mdrat, a drink made of the juice of mulberry mixed 
nilli honey* 



iroTxs. tM 

P. 138, L 11. 

Their tribe, they said, their high degree. 
Was sung in Tara*8 peaiUery* 

Ther pride of the Irish in ancestry was so great, that one 
of the O'Neals being told that Barrett of CastLemone had 
been there only four hundred years, he replied, that he 
hated the down as if he had come there but yesterday. 

Tara was the place of assemblage and feasting of the 
petty princes of Ireland. Very splendid and fabulous 
descriptions are given by the Irish historians of the pomp 
and luxury of those meetings. The psaltery of Tara was 
the grand national register of Ireland. The grand epoch 
of political eminence in the early history of the Irish is 
the reign of their great and f&vorite monarch, OUam Fod- 
lah, who reigned, according to Keating, about nine hun- 
dred and fifty years before the Christian era. Under him 
was instituted the great Fes at Tara, which it is pretended 
was a triennial convention of the states, or a parliament ; 
the members of which were the Druids, and other learned 
men, who represented the people in that assembly. Very 
minute accounts are given by Irish annalists of the mag- 
nificence and order of these entertainments ; from which, 
if credible, we might collect the earliest traces of heraldry 
that occur in history. To preserve order and regularity in 
the great number and variety of the members who met on 
such occasions, the Irish historians inform us that when 
the banquet was ready to be served up, the shield-beazers 
of the princes, and other members of the conTention, 
delivered in their shields and targets, which were readily 
distinguished by the coats of aims emblazoned upon thenu 
31 



dSai NOTES. 

These were arranged by the grand marshal aiid principal 
herald, -and hung upon the walls on the right side of the 
table; and ux>on entering the apartments, each member 
took his seat under his respective shield or target, without 
the slightest disturbance. The concluding days of the 
meeting, it is allowed by the Irish antiquaries, were spent 
in very free excess of conviviality ; but the first six, they 
say, were devoted to the examination and settlement of 
the annals of the kingdom. These were publicly rehearsed. 
"When they had passed the approbation of the assembly, 
they were transcribed into the authentic chronicles of the 
nation, which was called the Register, or Psalter of Tara. 

CoL Vallancey gives a translation of an old Irish frag- 
ment, found in Trinity College, Dublin, in which the pal- 
ace of the above assembly is thus described as it existed in 
the reign of Cormac : — 

** In the reign of Cormac, the palace of Tara was nine 
hundred feet square ; the diameter of the surrounding 
rath, seven dice or casts of a dart ; it contained one hun- 
dred and fifty apartments ; one hundred and fifty dormito- 
ries, or sleeping-rooms for g^tards, and sixty men in each : 
the height was twenty-seven cubits ; there were one hun- 
dred and fifty comm<9n drinking-horns, twelve doors, and 
one thousand guests daily, besides princes, orators, and 
men of science, engravers of gold and silver, ct^rvers, mod- 
ellers, and nobles." The Irish description of the banquet- 
ing-hall is thus translated : — " Twelve stalls or divisions 
in each wing ; sixteen attendants on each side, and two to 
each table ; one h\mdred guests in all." 



1T0TE8. 9QS- 

P. 136, 1. 22. 

And stemmed De Bourgo*» ckhaky. 

The hoiiBe of O'Connor had a right to boast of theix 
victories oyer the English. It was a chief of the O'Con- 
nor race who gave a check to the English champion De 
Courcy, so fSemious for his personal strength, and for cleav- 
ing a helmet at one blow of his sword, in the presence of 
the kings of France and England, when the French cham- 
pion declined the combat with him. Though idtimately 
conquered by the English under De Bourgo, the O'Con- 
nors had also humbled the pride of that name on a memo- 
rable occasion, viz. : when Walter de Bourgo, an ancestor 
of that De Bourgo who won the battle of Athunree, had 
become so insolent as to make excessive demands upon the 
territories of Connaught, and to bid defiance to all the 
rights and properties reserved by the Irish chiefe. Eath 
O'Connor, a near descendant of the famous Cathal, sur- 
named of the Bloody Hand, rose against the usurper, and 
defeated the English so severely, that their general died 
of chagrin after the battle. 

P. 136, 1. 25. 

Or beal'fres for your Jubilee. 

The month of May is to this day called Mi Beat Hennie, 
L e., the month of Beal's*|ire, in the original language of 
Ireland, and hence I believe the name of the Beltan fesli- 
yal in the Highlands. These fires were lighted on the 
summits of mountains (the Irish antiquaries say) in honor 
of the sun ; and are supposed, by those conjecturing gen- 
tlemen, to prove the origin of the Irish from some nation 



8H VOTES. 

who wonhipped Baal or Belus. Many hills in Ireland 
atill retain the name of Cnoc G^reine, L e., the Hill of the 
Sun ; and on all are to be seen the ruins of Druidical altaiB. 

P. 137, L 12. 

And play my chrthech by thy side. 

The darshech, or harp, the principal musical instrument 
of the Hibernian bards, does not appear to be of Irish ori- 
gin, nor indigenous to any of the British islands. The 
Britons undoubtedly were not acquainted with it during 
the residence of the Eomans in their country, as in all 
their coins, on which musical instruments are represented, 
we see only the Eoman lyre, and not the British teylin, or 
harp. 

P. 137, L 18. 

And saw at dawn the lofty baum. 

Btnon, from the Teutonic Bawen — to construct and 
secure with branches of trees, was so called because the 
primitive Celtic fortifications were made by digging a 
ditch, throwing up a rampart, and on the latter fixing 
stakes, which were interlaced with boughs of trees. This 
word is used by Spenser ; but it is inaccurately called by 
Mr. Todd, his annotator, an eminence. 

P. Ul, 1. 6. 

To speak the malison of heaven. 

If the wrath which I have ascribed to the heroine of 
this little piece should seem to exhibit her character as toe 
imnaturally stripped of patriotic and domestic afiections^ I 



NOTES. 865 

must beg leare to plead the authority of Comeille in the 
representation of a similar passion : I allude to the denun- 
ciation of Camille, in the tragedy of Horace. When 
Horace, accompanied by a soldier bearing the threes 
swords of the Curiatii, meets his sister, and invites her 
to congratulate him on his victory, she expresses only her 
grie( which he attributes at first only to her feelings for 
the loss of her two brothers ; but when she bursts forth 
into reproaches against him as the murderer of her lover, 
the last of the Curiatii, he exclaims : — 

" O ciel ! qui vit jainaU une pareille rage ! 
Grois-tu done que je sois insensible k Poutroge, 
Que je touflre en mon sang ce mortel d^shoimeur ? 
Aime, aime cette mort qui fait notre bonheur; 
Et pr4f%re du moins au souvenir d'un homme 
Ce que doit ta naissance aux int^rdis de Rome." 

At the mention of Rome, Camille breaks out Into this 
apostrophe : — 

" Rome, i'unique objet de mon ressentiment ! 
Rome, 4 qui vient ton bras d'immoler mon amant ! 
Roihe qui t'a vu naitre et que ton ccbut adore! 
Rome enfiii que je haXs parce qu'elle I'honore I 
Poissent tons ses voisins ensemble conjures 
Saper ses fondements encor mal assur&s ; 
Et si ce n'est assez de toute I'ltalie, 
Que I'Orienl contre elle 4 1'Oocidenl s'allie ; 
Que cent peuples unis ties bouu de I'univen 
Passeut pour la d6truire et lea monls et lea men ; 
Qu'elle-mtaie sur soi renverse ses murailles, 
Et de ses propres mains d^chlre ses entraiUes; 
Que le courroux du ceil allum6 par mes ^ 
Fasse pleuvoir sur elle un deluge de feux' 
31* 



»56 iroTss. 

PiuM4-je de met yenx y voir tomber ce foadre, 
Voir ae« maiiont en cendre, et tea launers^n poodie, 
Voir le dernier Romain 4 son dernier soupir, 
Moi seule en Atre causej et mourir de plaisir! " 

P. 141, L 11. , 
And go to Athunree / (Z criedU) 

In the reign of Edward IT., the Irish presented to Pope 
John XXH. a memorial of thdr sufferings under the Eng- 
lish, of which the language exhibits aU the strength of 
despair. "Ever since the English (say they) first appeared 
upon our coasts, they entered our territories under a cer- 
tain specious pretence of charity, and external hypocritical 
show of religion, endeavoring at the same time, by erery 
artifice malice could suggest, to extirpate us, root and 
branch, and without any other right than that of the 
strongest. , They have so far succeeded, by base firaudu- 
lence and cunning, that they have forced us to quit our 
fair and ample habitations and inheritances, and to talLe 
refuge, like wild beasts, in the mountains, the woods, and 
the morasses of the country: nor even can the caverns 
and dens protect us against their insatiable avarice. They 
pursue us even into these frightful abodes, endeavoring to 
dispossess us of the wild imcultivated rocks, and arrogate 
to themselves the pbopeety op evebt place on which we 
can stamp the figure of our feet." 

The greatest effort ever made by the ancient Irish to 
regain their native independence, was made at the time 
when they called over the brother of Kobert Bruce from 
Scotland. WiUiam De Bourgo, brother to the Earl o£ 
Ulster, and Richard de Bermingham, were sent against 



NOTES. 967 

&e main body of the native insurgents, who were headed 
radier than commanded by Felim O'Connor. The impor- 
tant battle which decided the subjection of Ireland, took 
plaee on the 10th of August, 1315. It was the bloodiest 
that erer was fought between the two nations, and con- 
tinued throughout the whole day, firom the rising to the 
setting sun. The Irish fought with inferior discipline, but 
with great enthusiasm. They lost ten thousand men, 
among whom were twenty-nine chiefii of Ckmnaught. 
Tradition states that, after this terrible day, the O'Connor 
fiamly, like the Fabian, were so nearly exterminated, that 
throughout all Connaught not one of the name remained, 
except Felim's brother, who was capable of bearing arms. 

P. 143. 

Lochiel, the chief of the warlike clan of the Camerons, 
and descended from ancestors distinguished in their narrow 
sphere for great personal prowess, was a man worthy of a 
better cause and &te than that in which he embarked, the 
enterprise of the Stuarts in 1745. His memory is still 
Ibndly cherished among the Highlanders, by the appella- 
tion of the "ffenUe LocMel;'* ior he was fiBmied for his 
social virtues as much as his martial and magnanimous 
(though mistaken) loyalty. His influence was so impor- 
tant among the Highland chiefs, that it depended on his 
joining with his clan whether the standard of Charles 
ikhould be raised or not in 1745. Lochiel was himself too 
Wise a man to be blind to the consequences of so hopeless 
an enterprise; but his sensibility to the point of honor 
orerruled his wisdom. Charles appealed to his loyalty^ 



aw NOTES. 

and he ooald not brook t^e reproaches of his Pzinoe. 
When Charles landed at Bozrodale^ Lochiel went to meet 
him ; but on his way called at his brother's house, (Cam- 
eron of Fassafem,) and told him on what errand he was 
going; adding, however, that he meant to dissnade the 
Prince from his enterprise. Fassafem advised him, in 
that case, to communicate his mind by letter to Charles. 
** No," said Lochiel, ** I think it due to my Prince to give 
him my reasons in person for refusing to join his stand- 
ard." «* Brother," replied Fassafem, ««I know you better 
than you know yourself : if the Prince once sets eyes on 
you, he will make you do what he pleases." The inter- 
view accordingly took place; and Lochiel, with many 
arguments, but in vain, pressed the Pretender to retam 
to France, and reserve himself and his Mends for a more 
favorable occasion, — as he had come, by his own acknowl- 
edgment, vTithout arms, or money, or adherents : or, at all 
events, to rCTiain concealed tiU his Mends should meet 
and deliberate what was best to be done. Charles, whose 
mind was wound up to the utmost impatience, paid no 
regard to this proposal, but answered, *< that he was deter- 
mined to put aU to the hazard." <* Li a few days," said 
he, *<I will erect the royal standard, and proclaim to the 
people of Great Britain, that Charles Stuart is come over 
to claim the crown of his ancestors, and to win it, or per- 
ish in the attempt. Lochiel, who my father has often told 
me was our firmest Mend, may stay at home, and learn 
from the newspapers the fate of his Prince." ** Ko," said 
Loohiel, ** I will share the &te of my Prince, and so shall 
every man over whom nature or fortune hath given m« 
any power." 



NOTES. 809 

The other chieftainB who followed Charles embraced his 
eause with no better hopes. It engages our sympathy most 
strongly in their behalf that no motlTe, but their fear to be 
reproached with cowardice or disloyalty, impelled them to 
the hopeless adventure. Of this we have an example in 
the interview of Pzince Charles with Clanronald, anotlier 
leading chieftain in the rebel army. 

« Charles," says Home, ** almost reduced to despair, in 
his discourse with Boisdale, addressed the two High- 
landers with great emotion ; and, summing up his argu- 
ments for taking aims, conjured them to assist their 
Prince, their countryman, in lus utmost need. Clanronald 
and his fiiend, though weU-inclined to the causey positive- 
ly refused, and told him that to take up arms without 
concert or support was to pull down certain ruin on their 
own heads. Charles persisted, argued, and implored. 
During this conversation (they were on ship-board) the 
parties walked backwards and forwards on the deck : a 
Highlander stood near them, armed at all points, as was 
then the fashion of his country. He was a younger 
brother of Einloch Moid^ and had come off to the ship 
to inquire for news, not knowing who was aboard. When 
he gathered from their discourse that the stranger was the 
Prince of Wales : when he heard his chief and his brother 
refuse to take arms with their Prince ; his color went and 
came, his eyes sparkled, he shifted his place, and grasped 
his sword. Charles observed his demeanor, and turning 
briskly to him, called out, 'Will you assist me?' — *I will, 
I will,' said Ronald : * though no other man in the High* 
lands should draw a sword, I am ready to die for you ! ' 
Charles, with a profusion of thanks to his champion, said, 



^0 NOTES. 

he 'wuhed all the Higlanders were like him. Without 
farther deliberatioii, the two Macdonnlds declared that 
they woidd also join, and use their utmost endeayors to 
engage their countrymen to take arms." — Ho7ne*8 Hist, 
RebeUian, p. 40. 

P. 143, 1. 15. 

Weq>, AUnn! 

The Gaelic appellation of Scotland, more particidarly 
the Highlands. 

P. 145, 1. 3. 

Lo, annoirUed by Heaven with the viab of wrath^ 
Behold, whfire he flies an his deSolaie path/ 

The lines allude to the many hardships of the royal 
sufferer. 

An account of the second sight, in Irish called Taish^ 
is thus given in Martin's Description of the Western Isles 
of Scotland : — • 

"The second sight is a singular faculty of seeing an 
otherwise invisible object, without any previous means 
used by the person who. sees it for that end. The vision 
makes such a lively impression upon the seers, that they 
neither see nor think of any thing else except the vision 
as long as it continues; and then they appear pensive 
or jovial according to the object which was represented to 
them. 

" At the sight of a vision the eyelids of the person are 
erected, and the eyes continue staring imtLL the object 
vanishes. This is obvious to others who are standing by 
when the persons happen to see a vision ; and occurred 



NOTES. 371 

more than once to my own observation, and to o^ers that 
were with me. 

" There is one in Skie, of whom his acquaintance 
obseryed, l^at when he sees a vision the inner part of his 
eyelids turns so far upwards, that, after the object disap- 
pears, he must draw them down with his fingers, and 
■ometimes employ others to draw them down, which he 
finds to be much the eanier wav. 

"This fiu^ulty of the f3econd sight does not lineally 
descend in a family, as some have imagined ; for I know 
several parents who are endowed with it, and their chil- 
dren are not; and vice versd. Neither is it acquired 
by any previous compact. And after strict inquiry, I 
could never learn from any among them, that this faculty 
was communicable to any whatsoever. The seer knows 
neither the object, time, nor place of a vision before it 
appears; and the same object is often seen by different 
persons living at a considerable distance from one another. 
The true way of judging as to the time and circumstances 
is by observation; for seyeral persons of judgment who 
are vdthout this ^ulty are more capable to judge of the 
design of a vision than a novice that is a seer. If an 
object appear in the day or .night, it will come to pass 
sooner or later accordingly. 

'* If an object is seen early in the morning, which is not 
frequent, it will be accomplished in a few hours after- 
wards ; if at noon, it will probably be accomplished that 
yery day ; if in the evening, perhaps that night ; if after 
candles be lighted, it will be accomplished that night : the 
latter always an accomplishment by weeks, months, and 



193 NOTES. 

■ometiiiiAg yeaxSi according to the time of the night the 
vision is seen. 

" YThiBD. a shroud is seen about one, it is a sure prog- 
nostic of death. The time is judged according to the 
height of it about the person ; for if it is not seen above 
Uie middle, death is not to be expected for the space of a 
year, and perhaps some months longer : and as it is fire- 
quently aeeo. to ascend higher towards the head, death is 
concluded to be at hand within a few days, if not hours, 
as daily experience confirms. Examples of this kind 
were shown me, when the person of whom the obsenra- 
tions were then made was in pezfect health. 

** It is ordinary with them to see houses, gardens, and 
trees in places void of all these, and this in process of 
time is wont to be accomplsihed ; as at Mogslot, in the 
Isle of Skie, where there were but a few sorry low houses, 
tliatched wi^ straw ; yet in a few years the vision, which 
appeared often, was accomplished by the building of 
several good houses in the very spot represented to the 
seers, and by the planting of orohards there. 

*< To see a spark of fire is a forerunner of a dead child, 
to be seen m the arms of those persons ; of which there 
are several instances. To oee a seat empty at the time 
of sitting in it, is a presage of that person's death quickly 
after it. 

" When a novice, or one that has lately obtained tiie 
second sight, sees a vision in the night-time, witbmit 
doors, and comes near a &^ he presenting falls into a' 
•woon. 

^ Some find themselves as it were in a crowd of people 
having a corpse, which they carry along with them ; and 



NOTES. 373 

liter such visions the seers come in sweating, and describe 
the vision that appeared. If there be any of their 
aoqnaii^Ance among them, they give an acconnt of their 
names, as also of the bearers; but they know nothing 
concerning the corpse." 

Horses and cows (according to the same credulous 
author) have certainly sometimes the same faculty ; and 
he endeavors to prove it by the signs of fear which the 
animals exhibit, when second-sighted persons see visions 
in the same place. 

"The seers (he continues) are generally illiterate and 
well-meaning people, and altogether void of design : nor 
could I ever learn that any of them ever made the least 
gain by it; neither is it reputable among them to have 
that faculty. Besides, the people of tiie Isles are not so 
credulous as to believe implicitly before the thing pre- 
dicted is accomplished; but when it is actually accom- 
plished afterwards, it is not in their power to deny it 
without offering violence to their own sense and reason. 
Besides, if the seers were deceivers, can it be reasonable 
to imagine that all the islanders who have not the second 
sight should combine together, and offer violenfle to their* 
imderstandings and senses, to enforce themselves to believe 
a lie from age to age ? There are several persons among 
them whose title and education raise them above thm 
maspvaxm of concurring with an impostor, merely to 
gratify an illiterate, contemptible set of persons ; nor can 
zeasonable persons believe that children, horses, and cows, 
should be preengaged in a combination in fiivor of the 
seoond sight" — Martin's Deaeription of the Whttem Idm 
of Scotland, pp. 8, 11. 
32 



874 N 6 T K 8 . 

p. 182, L 4. 

The dark-^atired CtMee. 

The Cnldeee were the pzimitiye clergy of Scotland, and 
apparently her only clergy from the sixth to the eleventh 
fsentury. Theywere of Irish origin, and their monastery 
on the island of lona, or Icohnkill, was the seminary of 
Christianity in North Britain. Presbyterian writers have 
wished to prove them to have been a sort of Presbyters, 
strangers to the Roman Church and Episcopacy. It seems 
to be established that they were not enemies to Episcopa- 
cy ; — but that they were not slavishly subjected to Bome, 
like the clergy of later periods, appears by their resisting 
the Papal ordonnances respecting the celibacy of religious 
men, on which account they were ultimately displaced by 
the Scottish sovereigns to make way for more Popiah 
canons. 

P. 184. 1. 29. 

And the shield of alarm uku dumb. 

Striking the shield was an ancient mode of convocation 
to war among the Gael. 

P. 189. 

The tradition which forms the substance of these stansaa 
is still preserved in Gennany. An ancient tower on a 
height, called the Kolandseck, a lew miles above Bonn on 
the Bhine, is shown as the habitation which Boland buHt in 
■ight of a nunnery, into which his mistress had retired, on 
hearing an unfounded account of his death. Whatever 
may be thought of the credibility of the legend, iti 



f~^ 



NOTES. 375 

■oenery miist be recollected with pleaanre by every one 
who has Tisited the romantic landscape of the Drachenfels, 
the Bolandsecky and the beautiful adjacent islet of the 
Khine, where a nnnnery stUl stands. 

P. 195, L 23. 

That erst the adveniuroiu Norman wore, 

A Norman leader, in the service of the King of Scot- 
land, married the heiress of Lochow in the twelfth century, 
and from him the Campbells are sprung. 

P. 223, L 7. 

Whote lineoffe, in a raptured hour. 

Alluding to the well-known tradition respecting the 
origin of painting, that it arose from a young Corinthian 
female tracing the shadow of her lover's profile on the 
wall, as he lay asleep. 

P. 232, 1. 24. 

WTiere tJie Norman encamped Mm of old. 

What is called the East Hill, at Hastings, is crowned 
with the works of an ancient camp ; and it is more than 
probable it was the spot which William I. occupied 
between his landing and the battle which gave him 
England's crown. It is a strong position; the works 
are easily traced. 

P. 237, 1. 10. 

France turns from her abandoned friends afresh. 

The &ct ought to be universally known, that France 



876 NOTS8. 

is «t thifl moment indebted to Poland for not being in« 
TAded by RuMia, When the Buke Constantino fled 
firom Waxaaw, he left papers behind him proving that 
the Russians, after the Paxisian eyoits in July, meant 
to haye marched towards Paris, if the Polish insurrection 
had not prerented them. 

P. 245, 1. 6. 

Tf^Ct Niemcietoitz, 

This venerable man, the most popular and influential 
of Polish poets, and president of the academy in Warsaw, 
is now in London : he is seventy-four years old ; but his 
noble spirit is rather mellowed than decayed by age. 
He was the friend of Fox, Kosciusko, and Washington. 
Rich in anecdote, like Franklin, he has also a striking 
resemblance to him in countenance. 

P. 246, 1. 3. 

Nor church bell 

In Catholic coimtries you often hear the church-bells 
rung to propitiate Heaven during thunder-storms. 

P. 256, 1. 12. 

Regret the lark that gladdens EnglatuTa mom, 

Mr. P. Cunningham, in his interesting work on New 
South Wales, gives the following account of its song- 
birds : — «* We are not moved here with the deep mellow 
note of the blackbird, poured out jfrom beneath some low 
stunted bush, nor thrilled with the wild warblings of the 



NOTES. 977 

thnuh perched on the top of some tall sapling, nor 
eharmed mth the blithe carol of the lark as we proceed 
early a-fldd; none of our birds rivalling those divine 
songsters in realizing the poetical idea of < the music of the 
ffrove:' while *parrott' c?haUering' must supply the place 
of * nightingales' singing ' in the fiiture amorous lays of 
our sighing Celadons. We have our lark, certainly, but 
both his appearance and note are a most wretched parody 
upon the bird about which our English poets have made 
so many fine simUies. He will mount £rom the ground 
and rise, fluttering upwards in the same manner, and with 
a few of the starting notes of the English lark ; but on 
reaching the height of thirty feet or so, down he drops sud- 
denly and mutely, diving into concealment among the long 
grass, as if ashamed of his pitifiil attempt. For the pert, 
frisky robin, pecking and pattering against the windows in 
the dull 4ay8 of winter, we have the lively * superb war- 
bler,' with his blue, ahioing plumage and his long tapering 
tail, picking up the crumbs at our doors ; while the pretty 
red-biUs, of the size and form of the goldfinch, constitute 
the sparrow of our clime, flying in flocks about our houses, 
and buUding their soft, downy, pigmy nests in the orange, 
peach, and lemon trees surrounding them." — Ounntn^- 
kam*s Two Tears in New South Whales, voL ii. p. 216. 

P. 265,- L 32. 

Oht feeble statesmen — ignominious times. 

There is not upon record a more disgusting scene of 
Russian hypocrisy, and (wo that it must be written I) 
of British humiliation, than that which passed on board 
32* 



878 NOTES. 

tfM TdCTtn, when Brituh. sailoEB accepted monej ficon 
die E mp eror Nioholae, and gave him cheen. It inU 
leqidze the Talareia to fight well with the fiiat Riuuian 
diip that die may hare to encounter, to make ua finget 
that day. 

P. 275, 1. 16. 

A paiky-ttroJcB of Nature shook Oron. 

In the year 1790, Oran, the most western city in the 
Algerine Regency, which had been possessed by Spain 
for more than a hundred years, and fortified at an im- 
mense expense, was destroyed by an earthquake ; aix 
Ibonsand of its inhabitants were bxiried imder the ruins. 

P. 280, 1. 18. 
The vale by eagle-haunted cHffe overhung. 

The yaUey of Glencoe, unparalleled in its scenery for 
gloomy grandeur, is to this day frequented by eagles. 
When I yisited the spot, within a year ago, I saw several 
perch at a distance. Only one of them came so near me 
that I did not wish him any nearer. He £&Tored me with 
a full and continued view of his noble person, and with 
the exception of the African eagle whom I saw wheeling 
and hovering over a corps of the French army that were 
marching from Oran, and who seemed to Hnger over them 
with delight at the sound of their trumpets, as if they 
were about to restore his image to the Gallic standard— 
I never saw a prouder Inrd than this black eagle of 
Glenooe. 

I was unable, firom a hurt in my foot, to leave the 



NOTES. 379 

oaxriage ; but the guide informed me that, if I could go 
nearer the sides of the glen, I should see the traces of 
houses and gardens once belonging to the unfortunate 
inhabitants. As it was, I never saw a spot where I 
could less suppose human beings to have ever dwelt. I 
asked the guide how these eagles subsisted; he replied, 
"on the lambs and the fawns of Lord Breadalbane.*' 
** Lambs and fawns ! '* I said ; " and how do tJuiy sub- 
sist, for I can not see verdure enough to graze a rabbit ? 
I suspect," I added, "that these birds make the cliffs 
only their coimtry-houses, and that they go down to 
the Lowlands to find their provender." "Ay, ay," re- 
plied the Highlander, "it is very possible, for the ei^le 
can gang far for his breakfast." 

P. 285, 1. 31. 
Witch legends Ronald scorned — (/host, kelpie^ wraith. 

The most dangerous and malignant creature of High- 
land superstition was the kelpie, or water-hoise, which 
was supposed to allure women and children to his sub- 
aqueous haunts, and there devour them; sometimes he 
would swell the lake or torrent beyond its usual limits, 
and overwhelm the unguarded traveller in the floods 
The shepherd, as he sat on the brow of a rock, on a sum- 
mer's evening, often fancied he saw this animal dashing 
along the surface of the lake, or browsing on the pasture- 
ground upon its verge. — Broton's History of the Highlana 
Clans, vol. L p. 106. 

Li Scotland, according to Dr. John Brown, it is yet a 
sapesstitious principle that.the wraith, ^e omen or 



380 JIOTES. 

aenger of deatli, appears in the resemblance of one in 
danger, immediately preceding dissolution. This ominona 
form, purely of a spiritual nature, seems to testify that the 
exaction (extinction) of life approaches. It was wont to 
be exhibited, also, as *< a little rough dog" when it could 
be pacified by the death of any other being " if crossed, 
and conjured in time." — Broum's Superstitions of the 
Highlands, p. 182. 

It happened to me, early in hfe, to meet with an 
amusing instance of Highland superstition with regard to 
myself. I lived in a family of the Island of Mull, and a 
mile or two &om their house there was a burial-ground, 
without any church attached to it, on the lonely moor. 
The cemetery was enclosed and guarded' by an iron railing 
so high, that it was thought to be tmscaleable. I was, 
howeyer, commencing the study of botany at the time, 
and thinking there might be some nice flowers and curious 
epitaphs among the grave-stones, I contrived, by help of 
my handkerchief, to scale the railing, and was soon 
scampering over the tombs ; some of the natives chanced 
to perceive me, not in the act of climbing over to, bat 
skipping over, the burial-ground. In a day or two I 
observed the family looking on me with unaccountable, 
though not angry seriousness : at last the good old grand- 
mother told me, with tears in her eyes, ** that I could not 
live long, for that my wraith had been seen." "And, 
pray, where ? " " Leaping over the stones of the burial- 
ground." The old lady was much relieved to hear that it 
was not my wraith, but myself. 

Akin to other Highland superstitions, but difEenng from 
^ OTn in many essential respects, is the belief — for super- 



NOTES. 881 

■txtion it can not well be caUed (quoth the wise author I am 
quoting) — in the second-sight, by which, as X)r. Johnson 
observes, " seems to be meant a mode of seeing superadded 
to that which Nature generally bestows ; and consists of 
•n impression made either by the mind upon the eye — or 
by the eye upon the mind, by which things distant or fu- 
ture are perceived and seen, as if they were pres^it. This 
deceptive faculty is called Traioslie in the Gaelic, which 
signifies a spectre or vision, and is neither voluntary nor 
constant ; but consists in seeing an otherwise invisible ob- 
ject, without any previous means used by the person that 
sees it for that end. The vision makes such a lively im- 
pression upon the seers, that they neither see nor think of 
any thing else except the vision, as long as it continues ; 
and then they appear pensive or jovial, according to the 
object which was represented to th^m." 

There are now few persons, if any, (continues Dr. 
Browne,) who pretend to this faculty, and the belief in it 
is ahnost generally exploded. Yet it can not be denied 
that apparent proofs of its existence have been adduced, 
which have staggered minds not prone to superstition. 
When the connection between cause and effect can be 
recognised, things which would otherwise have appeared 
wonderful, and almost incredible, are viewed as ordinary 
occurrences. The impossibility of accounting for such an 
extraordinary phenomenon as the alleged faculty on philo- 
sophical principles, or from the laws of nature, must ever 
leave the matter suspended between rational doubt and 
confirmed skepticism. "Strong reasons for incredulity," 
says Dr. Johnson, " will readily occur." This faculty of 
ledng things out of sight is local, and commonly useleiSi 



aw NOTES. 

It is a breach of the common order of things, without any 
Tisible reason or perceptible benefit. It is ascribed only to 
a people very little enlightened, and among them, for the 
most part, to the mean and ignorant. 

In the whole history of Highland superstitions, there is 
not a more curious fact than that Dr. James Browne, a 
gentleman of the Edinburgh bar, in the nineteenth cen- 
tury, should show himself a more abject belierer in the 
truth of seoond-sight, than Ihr. Samuel Johnson, of Lon- 
don, in the eighteenth century. 

P. 287, L 4. 
J%e pit or gallows would have cured my grief. 

Until the year 1747, the Highland Lairds had the right 
of punishing ser&, eyen capitally, in so fiEu: that they often ' 
hanged, or imprisoned them, in a pit or dungeon, where 
they were starved to death. But the law of 1746, for dis- 
arming the Highlanders, and restraLoing the use of the 
Highland garb, was followed up the following year by one 
of ^ a more radical and permanent description. This was 
the act for abolishing the heritable jurisdictions, which, 
though necessary in a rude state of society, were whoUy 
incompatible with an advanced stage of civilization. By 
depriving the Highland chiefis of their judicial powers, it 
was thought that the sway which, for centuries, they had 
held over their people, would be gradually impaired ; and 
that by investing certain judges, who were amenable to 
the legislature for the proper discharge of their duties, 
with the civil and ciiminal jurisdiction enjoyed by the 
proprietors of the soil, the cause of good government 



would be promoted, and the fadlities lor repreesmg any 
attempts to disturb the public tranquillity increased. 

By this act, (20 George II. c. 43,) which was ipade to 
the whole of Scotland, all heritable jurisdictions of justi- 
ciary, all regalities and heritable bailieries, and constabu- 
laries, (excepting the office of high constable,) and all 
stewartiies and sheri&hips of smaller districts, which^Were 
only parts of counties, were dissolyed, and the powers for- 
merly vested in them were ordained to be exercised by 
such of the king's courts as these powers would have 
belonged to, if the jurisdictions had never been granted. 
All sheriiFships and stewartiies not dissolved 1t)y the stat- 
ute, namely, those which comprehended whole counties, 
where they had been granted, either heritably or for life, 
were resumed and annexed to the crown. With the 
exception of the hereditary justiciaryship of Scotland, 
which was transferred from the family of Argyle to the 
High Court of Justiciary, the other jurisdictions were 
ordained to be vested in sheriffs-depute or stewarts-depute^ 
to be appointed by the king in every shire or stewartry not 
dissolved by the act. As by the twentlel^ of Union, all 
heritable offices and jurisdictions were reserved to the 
grantees as rights of property ; compensation was ordained 
to be made to the holders, the amount of which was after- 
wards fixed by parliament, in terms of the act of Sederunt 
of the Court of Session, at one hundred and fifty thousand 
pounds. 

P. 287, 1. 6. 

I marehsd — when, feigning JloytiUg's eommandf 
Againtt the cUm fdaedoncM^ Staire'e Lord 
Sent forth exterminating fire and evoord 



384 NOTES. 

I can not ag^ce ^ith Bro-wn, the anthor of an able work« 
<< The History of the Highland Clans," that the affair of 
Qlenooet has stamped indelible infiimy on the goT^niment 
of King William HL, if by this expression it be meant that 
WiUiam's oixm memory is disgraced by that massacre. I 
see no proof that William gave more than general orders 
to subdue the remaining malcontents of the Macdonald 
clan ; and these orders, the nearer we trace them to. the 
government, are the more express in enjoining, that all 
those who would promise to swear allegiance should be 
spared. As these orders came down from the general 
goyemment to individuals, they became more and more 
severe, and at last merciless, so that they ultimately ceased 
to be the real orders of government. Among these false 
agents of government, who appears with most disgrace, is 
the " Master of Stair," who appears in the business more 
like a fiend than man. When issuing his orders for the 
attack on the remainder of the Macdonalds in Glencoe, he 
expressed a hope in his letter " that the soldiers would 
trouble the government with no prisoners." 

It can not be supposed that I would for a moment pal- 
liate this atrocious event by quoting the provocations not 
very long before offered by the Macdonalds in massacres 
of the Campbells. But they may be alluded to as causes, 
though not excuses. It is a part of the melancholy in- 
struction which history affords us, that in the moral as 
well as in the physical world, there is always a reactkm 
equal to the action. The banishment of the Moors fin>m 
Spain to Africa was the chief cause of African piracy and 
Christian slavery among the Moors for centuries; and 



NOTES. OOS 

•ince the reign of William m., the Izish Orangemen haTS 
been the Algerines of Ireland. 

Hie affair of Glencoe was in fact only a lingering trait 
of horribly barbarous tunes, though it was the more shock- 
faig that it came from that side of the political world which 
professed to be the more liberal side, and it occurred at a 
late time of the day, when the minds of both parties had 
become comparatively civilized, the whigs by the triumph 
of ftee principles, and the tories by personal experience of 
tiie evils attending persecution. Yet that barbarism still 
subdsted in too many minds professing to act on liberal 
principles, is but too apparent from this disgusting tragedy. 

I once flattered myself that the Argyle Campbells, from 
whom I am sprung, had no share in this massacre, and 
a direct share they certainly had not. But on inquiry I 
find that they consented to shutting up the passes of 
Glencoe through which the Macdonalds might escape ; and 
perhaps relations of my great-grandfather — lam afraid 
to coimt their distance or proximity — might be indirectly 
concerned in the cruelty. 

But children are not answerable for the crimes of their 
forefathers ; and I hope and trust that the descendants of 
Breadalbane and Qlenlyon are as much and justly at their 
ease on this subject as I am. 

P. 294, 1. 2. 

Chance snatched them from praecripeion and deapair. 

Many Highland fimiilies, at the outbreak of the rebel- 
lion hi 1745, were saved from utter desolation by the con* 
txirances of some of their more sensible members, prlnci* 
88 



88G N O T K ft . 

pally the women, who foresaw the consequenceB of the 
insurrection. When I was a youth in the Highlands, I 
remember an old gentleman being pointed out to me, who, 
finding aU other arguments fail« had, in conjunction with 
his mother and sisters, bound the old Laird hand and foot, 
and locked him up in his own cellar, until the news of the 
battle of Ciilloden arriyed. 

A deyice pleasanter to the reader of the anecdote, though 
not to the suiFerer, was practised by a shrewd Highland 
dame, whose husband was Charles-Stuart-mad, and was 
determined to join the insurgents. He told his wife at 
night that he should start early to-morrow morning on 
horseback. ** Well, but you will allow me to make your 
breakfast before you go ? " " Oh yes." She accordingly 
prepared it, and, bringing in a fuU boiling kettle, poured 
it, by intentional accident, on his legs ! 



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