1 TK , 7f(^r^ l'Hb021.M42S7 1856 Spirits of the past; an historical poem i 3 1924 013 525 336 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013525336 .4' ^nV vN .S»^^ BY THE SAME AUTHOE, Fourth Edition, Enlarged, (pp. 440,) Cloth, Price 4s. 6d. EUINS OF MANY LANDS. A POEM. /. With copious Descriptiye and Historical Notes. Contents. — Babylon — Nineveh — Petra — Nubia — Egypt — Ruined Cities of America — Rock-Temples of India — Athens — Corinth — ^Rome — Pompeii — Temples of Peestum — Roman Amphitheatres — Roman Ruins in the South of Prance — Ephesus — Tyre — Baalbeck — Palmyra — Susa — Persepolis — Jerusalem, &c. " Most heartily do we rejoice to see a new and an enlarged edition of Mr. MicheU's remarkable work." — New Monthly Magazine. " Ruins of Many Lands' is evidently the highest poetical eifort published in this country, in its style, for some years." — Tait's Edinburgh Magazine. " A genial spirit pervades every page of this beautiful work. Mr. Michell brings to his task great antiquarian and histo- rical knowledge, refined taste, and a thorough appreciation of the sublime and beautiful in Nature and Art. In pointing out the wonders of past ages, he opens to us new and delight- ful fields for contemplation and study." — Sunday Times. Just published ; fcp. 8vo.. Cloth, Price 3s. THE POETET OF CKEATION. " The Poetry of Creation treats of Angelic Intelligences, of the Mechanism of the Heavens, of the EvU Spirit, of the Solar System, of our Earth, of man, of woman, of human body, ana soul — such are the subjects sung in harmonious numbers — such Mr. MicheU's powers of celebrating, in poetry of great beauty, the wonders, the glory, the loveliness of Creation.'"— S«»!. " There is poetry of extraordinary merit in this volume. Mr. Michell has magnificent ideas of Creation ; he sends his fancy out into the vast abyss of space, and from the infinite multitude of worlds, collects bright images and glorious pictures." — Sunday Times. " To all thoughtful and cultivated minds, this poem wili prove indeed a rich treat." — Morning Advertiser. " It will, as it deserves, fiind as many admirers as readers." — Observer. SPIRITS OF THE PAST. %u historical om. IN THREE BOOKS. BY NICHOLAS MICHEL L, AUTHOR OF 'RUINS OF MANY LANDS," "THE POETRY OF CREATION," &c. SECOND EDITION. LONDON : WILLIAM TEGG AND CO., 83, QUEEN STREET, CHEAPSIDE. 1856. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD TRURO, AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF ADMIRATION OF HIS LORDSHIP'S FORENSIC GENIUS, AND IN RESPECTFUL CONGRATULATION ON HIS BEARING THE FIRST NOBLE TITLE CONNECTED WITH THE TOWN IN WHICH THE AUTHOR WAS BORN, IS INSCRIBED, BV HIS LORDSHIP'S OBEDIENT HUMBLE SERVANT, NICHOLAS MICHELL. Maida Hill, Londox. PREFACE. The following work, from its nature, may require a few prefatory remarks. The Author, in his former publication — " Ruins of Many Lands" — attempted to give poetical descriptions of some of the principal ruins in the Old and New World : in "Spirits of the Past," he would transfer his thoughts from inanimate objects to character, taking from the wide field of humanity certain prominent individuals as impersonations or exam- ples of moral worth, of ambition, military prowess, genius, virtue, and crime. He approaches his present subject with much hesitation, and with a feeling amounting to distrust, being well aware that it is surrounded with many difiiculties. Of course, he does not propose to PREFACE. examine a tithe of the specimens — iron or gold — that he in the deep mines of the past; his view is limited: in other words, his aim has been to seize the more striking incidents in the lives of those persons under consideration ; to portray their moral characteristics, good or evil, and to describe more especially those events of historic importance which have been brought about by individual agency. Thus Cain is viewed in his gloom and crime — Solomon in his magnificence — and Daniel in his mysterious character of prophet and sage. The hero of Thermopylae, a self-devoted military martyr, and Washington, the liberator of his country, are represented as holding in the temple of fame niches very different from those occupied by an Alexander the Great, and a Napoleon, the last having drawn their swords less with a view to defend right, or render benefit to their species, than to effect their own aggrandisement, and indulge a devouring passion for glory. Woman, among the Greeks and Romans, held a very unworthy position, her mental faculties, for PREFACE. V the most part, being undeveloped, learning denied to her, and the higher virtues little regarded or practised. Brilliant exceptions, however, exist; female genius in Greece shone forth in a Sappho and a Corinna, while the mother of the Gracchi, Lucan's Polla, and Agrippina the Elder, for lofti- ness of sentiment, deep devotion to the departed, and endurance of sufferings heaped by tyranny on innocence, have scarcely counterparts in modern days. The luxurious age of Greece had its heroine in Aspasia, and a description has been attempted of her gay life in Athens, and the influence which, through Pericles, she exercised on her times. The romantic passion of Petrarch for Laura, and of Tasso for Leonora d'Este, though condemned by the sage, will ever charm the fancy of the sensitive and warm-hearted ; while the misfortunes and heroism of Lady Jane Grey, as described to us in EngUsh annals, will touch a chord in every bosom not ren- dered utterly callous by the "usages of the world." The writer, by the arrangement of his matter, has endeavoured to produce a connected whole. VI PREFACE. time, in some portions, forming the link, and in others the Unk being supplied by desultory reflec- tions suggested by the topic immediately treated of. But " Spirits of the Past" does not lay claim to the honours of an Epic composition, for the Epic demands one continuous narrative, closing with a catastrophe. From its scope and design, it may rather be termed an Historical Poem. The Author, in conclusion, has to remark that the subject is one to which the most confident might scarcely hope to do justice; nor is he pre- sumptuous enough to imagine for a moment that he has been successful in an attempt which might have tasked far higher powers than his own. Having alluded to his former poem, he cannot but in this place return liis best thanks to his pubhshers, since to their kind exertions he must mainly attribute the circumstance of its having obtained a circulation far exceeding what he had any reason to expect. CONTENTS. BOOK I. SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS. PAKTS 1. II. Faos Cain 12 Moses 19 Jephthah's Daughter ... ... . . 26 Saul 32 Witch of Enbok . . 36 David 44 Solomon 52 Queen of Sheba 61 Daniel 67 Esther 77 BOOK n. MILITARY HEROES. pakts i. ii. iii. Xerxes . 89 Leonidas 93 Miltiades 100 Alexander the Great 109 Hannibal 140 SciPio Africanus ■ . . 146 Marius 150 Stlla 151 Julius Caesar 152 Titus 175 VIU CONTENTS. Page AlARIC 177 TiMUR 177 Omae 178 Richard Cceue de Lion 179 Mohammed II 182 Charles V ... 183 Charles XII. of Sweden 184 Washington .... 185 Wolfe 185 Napoleon Bonaparte 187 BOOK m. CELEBRATED WOMEN. pakts 1. ii. iii. Helen 202 Sappho 209 CORINNA . . 216 ASPASIA 219 The Sabine Women 233 EOERIA 234 Tullia 235 luchetia 244 Virginia 249 The Mother of the Gracchi 260 Portia and Folvia 251 Agrippina the Elder 252 Lucan's Polla 265 Seneca's Paulina 268 Dante's Beatrice 279 Laura 287 Tasso's Leonora 303 Lady Jane Grey 314 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. INTEODUCTOEY STANZAS. All hail, illustrious dead ! whose memories still Like stars shiae down, and light our pensive dreams ; Time's clouds and storms our wide horizon fiU, Yet, bright beyond, each quenchless planet beams. Empires and races sink before the shock Of wave-like sweeping years, but nothing seems To move your glory's adamantine rock ; E'en, harmless 'round. Destruction's lightning gleams : Ye wise and brave ! still throned, whate'er prevail. High o'er the world, immortal spirits ! hail ! And hail to ye, the beautifid and good. That smiled through life, or shed misfortune's tear ! Whose virtues bless'd earth's moral solitude, As grateful- wells the thirsty desert cheer : HaU, too, ye men of crime ! whose black renown Shadowed the past with suffering, woe, and fear, Blighting Joy's flowers. Love's altars casting down, Making a hell where Eden might appear : Famed of old days ! across weird fancy's glass. In light or shade, we bid your spirits pass ! 10 INTRODUCTORY STANZAS. Yet no stern chronicle of deeds is ours, No studied record of man's pomp and pride ; We catch but glimpses, and we cull but flowers, Paint but a scene through which th' Illustrious glide, Uaze in deep trance on Wisdom's heaven-lit face, Denounce gay Guilt that misery scattered wide. Kneel to some ancient Beauty's matchless grace, And show how patriots triumphed, tyrants died : Vice, virtue, on our page mixed tints must fling. As passing clouds and sunshine chequer Spring. There is a charm to send th' unfettered soul Down the long track of dim, departed years. And all forget the present's harsh control ; Tongues in the past the musing spirit hears. T will make us wiser grow to scan mankind. To read old passions, mark where good appears ; Led by those beacons of the world of mind. Shall not that skis' be safe Experience steers ? Oh ! guide us, Truth ! bright Fancy ! weave thy spell, And Nature ! warm a heart that loves thee well. SPIRITS OF THE PAST. BOOK I. SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS. Part I. The cherub waved aloft his flaming- sword, Barring approach to Eden's jasper gate ; No longer fawning meek, the lion roared; Watching the world, some evil Genius sate : Ambrosial airs rare now diffused their balm, Shadowing sweet Love, rose sullen-scowling Hate ; The frequent tempest tore the feathery palm. And lightnings spoke of earth's last fiery fate ; A change throughout the universe began, But darkest fell that change on trembling man. O Crime ! Sorrow ! now your withering breath Must blight the flowers Hope's fairy hand would bring ; That viewless form of fear, relentless Death, Must shade all creatures with his vampire- wing ; Decay's wan, silent finger, sure though slow, Shall wear to dust each fair created thing ; And why this curse ? Ah ! seek not, man, to know. From seeming evil germs of good may spring ; To thy dim vision darkness may be light ; Wouldst thou teach Heaven, or school the Infinite ? 12 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. Earth lay asleep ; half veiled in clouds her head, The vestal moon seemed praying in the sky ; Down those soft beams no more the angel sp^d, With plume of gold, and star-outshining eye : Nature was left alone ; the Knk was broken Between her and the radiant forms on high ; The shooting stars but gave a feeble token Of seraphs, at a distance, winging by ; Yet the great Being, who all space doth fill, Upheld the world, and smiled in pity still. With drooping trees, and sleep-wrapped, jicnsile flowers. Earth's first small family was slum'bring too. Save one who, issuing from the greenwood bowers. Paced with a thoughtful step the midnight dew ; Noble that form beneath the vest's rough fold, Bronzed feature, firm-lcnit limb no blemish knew, Yet they who gazed a something might behold. That strange forbidding darkness 'round him threw : It was not sorrow, but a changeless gloom, Which turns from life, yet does not ask the tomb. Black passions stamped their seal u]5on his brow — Sullen moroseness, and corroding hate. And pride that to high heaven refused to bow. And discontent that ever raOs at fate. The stern, fixed eye the inner world betravod. That eye which seemed the spirit's open gate, Whence issued aspu'ations, thoughts that made The bosom bold, yet sad and desolate ; He burned for po^-ier and knowledge, casting scorn E'en on himself, and all of woman born. PART I.J CAIN. 13 The seeds of evil thus, in Eden sown, Sprang up, and bore their earliest fruit in Cain ; In all the universe he felt alone, Hating, while dragging. Being's slavish chain ; The first black Cynic, he regarded life As nothing worth — a scene of toil and pain. Smiles followed still by tears, and peace by strife, !Man's doom an aching breast, a tortured brain : He judged, like after Sophists, proudly-blind, By his own heart, all others of his kind. Cain stood alone upon th' unpeopled waste. Gazing upon the planet-peopled sky ; The selfsame orbs he viewed, in ether placed, Sparkle this moment on the sage's eye : He was not humbled, yet confessed the awe Which grandeur, mystery wake ; he heaved a sigh Of sullen agony at all he saw. Chained to a clod, and doomed in dust to Ue ; Then more aspiring, daring thoughts had birth ; All Satan felt in heaven, he felt on earth. " Ye stars !" he cried, " unnumbered and unknown ! MTiere go ye on your pilgrimage through space ? What are ye ? — orbs of fire at random thrown ? Or each an angel's dazzling dwelling place ? You gleamed on Eden, ere despair and woe Made dim our world, but in your lights we trace No change, no coming shadow ; why below Bests darkness only on our wretched race ? So fair, so calm you look, from trouble free, Beneath God's curse your glories cannot be. 14 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. " What ! if each spark — too humbling, awful thought — Were e'en a mighty world, or burning sun, With beings teeming, and with beauty fraught, On its vast path eternal years to run 1 — Milhons on millions, mocking mortal view. And where we think they cease, but there begun. Poised in that calm, interminable blue, And not like earth, cursed, blighted, and undone ! Tlie scene o'erpowers the brain, and shrinking heart — Framer of worlds ! how great, how dread thou art ! " Oh ! give me knowledge ! let these doubtings end ! Come torture, death ! come everlasting doom ! 1 would not happy days in darkness spend, But reach the light, if reached through fire and gloom. An angel to know not — a fiend to know — The last I'd gladly rise beyond the tomb. And welcome an eternity of woe, Nor ask again lost Eden's peace and bloom. Oh ! on me pour the secrets of the sky ! Then, thunders ! ye may strike, and bid me die ! " iSuoh was the quenchless thirst in Cain's dark breast To pierce forbidden mysteries, and unwind (Veation's skein of wonders ; that unrest Was his which tortures a too prying mind ; Then discontent at Being's narrow bound, That man is born so feeble, and so blind, Seeking truth's fruits, while ashes are but found. To pain, and ceaseless toil, and death consigned, >Shadowed his thoughts, till one black hue alone His spirit saw, o'er wide creation thrown. PART I.J CAIN. 15 He measui-ed the poor finite child of earth, By the dread Infinite, all great, all wise, Nor deemed that immortality's high birth May teach us all things, and unseal our eyes. A settled gloom, a weariness of life, A fretful harshness that accused the sides, A soul, with all around, at constant strife, His one dark joy — to hate and to despise — These made a thing of guilt man's eldest born, His mind a night without the hope of morn ! Yet Cain knew others happy ; was he glad That hearts felt bliss himself might never share ? Hia mother's radiant face with smiles was clad, His father meeldy seemed his lot to bear, His spouse oft prayed for him, each morn brought flowers, Looking content and rapture — not despair ; His children, as if stUl in Eden's bowers. Thrilled with their gleesome voices Summer's air ; All li^■ing, spite of partial gloom and pain, Glowed with warm hope and joy, save moody Cain. 'Tis Evil's nature to abhor the good ; Darkness loathes light ; the fiend begirt by fire Looks upwards from his torturing solitude. And burns to crush the seraph at his lyre. Cain saw his brother blest by Heaven's bright smiles — Blest with the love of him, their aged sire ; Ah ! who may tell how envy's serpent-wUes May lure to crime, and prompt to deadliest ire 1 — Horror veiled earth, pale Wrath the weapon hurled. Murder was born, and Death now walked the world ! 16 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. Bereavement's cry, a wailing for the dead, The saddened winds the first time heavenward bore ; Poor child of dust ! heap ashes on thy head ! The new-made soil drinks fast the bubbling gore : There lies th' unconscious victim cold and low. With rayless eye to beam with mind no more ; The dread, mysterious curse begins below — Secret no soul shaU pierce till time be o'er ; Death's portals are unlocked, through which, alas ! Uncounted myriads — peopled worlds must pass ! Strange sight to that pale group lamenting there ! Earth's father wondering stands, but woman sees The dead alone, and, weeping in despair. Shrinks at the great Creator's stern decrees. " Must we too die ?" — -the words ran shivering round ; Each looked on each, and as the passing breeze Seemed to moan "Yes!" their sad eyes sought the ground; Oh ! withering law of mortal destinies ! Yet droop not, man ! hope gilds the clouds of ill, Look up to Heaven, and trust your Maker still ! There bent a form beside a limpid brook ; He strove to cleanse his hand from murder's stain ; Stamped on that glass, his haggard, ghastly look Appalled himself; he dared not there remain. Swift to a forest's sunless heart he flew ; He saw one image there — it filled his brain ; More wide, more deep, the spot of crimson grew. More active worked Reflection's busy train : Shone in the gloom his victim's dying eye — Ely from that shadowy covert, Murderer ! fly! PART I.] CAIN. 17 He roamed in blaze of noon the open hill ; Scenting the breeze, laughed round liim new-born flowers, And song came gushing from the linnet's bill ; Gladness and Innocence kept bridal hours : The scene jarred harshly, deepening in his breast The hell of guilt, while conscience, that devours The heart of peace, for ever banished rest ; And stiE he saw through blood the rosy bowers ; Blood dimmed the sun, and veiled the virgin sky — Fly from that spot of beauty. Murderer ! fly ! He sought still solitude, and deemed the calm Of night's bespangling stars would soothe his soul ; Their glory that once charmed him, shed no balm, But demon eyes seemed glaring from the pole ; Their very beams turned blood, and from the blue Unfathomed depths, where farthest planets roU, A voice heaven's awful concave sounded through, As if a curse from God's dread presence stole, Low, and then loud as thunders bursting nigh — Fly from that heaven of terror, Murderer ! fly ! Thus seeking peace, but finding it no more, Wandered the guilty, self-upbraiding Cain, Chased by the Furies of Eemorse, who bore The scorpion-whips that deal on spirit pain ; Sleepless, unhoping, cursed by man and God, Appalled by visions of a brother slain. Envying his peaceful rest beneath the sod. Conscience, the vulture, gnawing, though in vain — Oh ! that dark spirit's anguish who might tell ? What need of living fires to make it hell ? 18 SPIBITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK I. Go ! roam the world, thou man of black despair, With branded brow, and soul that memory sears ! Art thou alone ? will none thy wanderings share ? Who gazes on thee now through blinding tears ? Yes, woman clings to thee, though heaven forsake ; Woe to her heart the sufferer but endears ; Thy solace is she, bidding hope awake. The one sweet star by which pale Misery steers ; Thou canst not wholly sink, while she above Wafts her pure prayer, and soothes thee with her love. A gulf of ages, but swift thought can pass — As the eye scans the boundless fields of space, Darting from neighbouring worlds to that faint mass Of distant suns, that gem the ether's face ; So Mind can follow time's far-sweeping track. Ploughed through creation ; Mind this hour can trace, Or through the past eternity look back ; It hath no bar — no bourne — no resting-place ; Thought too can forward stretch, and pierce the gloom, Reaching time's verge — ^the final hour of doom ! Thus from the days of Cain we downward glide; Earth had been destined other Cains to bear, Wlien, by an ancient river's reedy side, A woman stood in passionate despair ; Her hands were clasped, her burning eyes were raised. Her pale lip murmui-ed forth a broken prayer, Then on a tiny ark she wildly gazed. As if all hope below — her heaven were there ; And lower yet she bent, and sadly smiled. And kissed once more her fraU, defenceless child. PART I.J MOSES. 19 " My own, my lovelier than the loveliest things Fancy can shape, in glowing earth or sky, AH we paint cherubim except their wings ! And doth dark Mizraim's* tyrant bid thee die ? My peai'l ! my flower ! the life of this fond heart ! Fd shed its blood to save thee — Oh ! that eye, Yet shining, draws me back — ^but now we part, The waves must rock thee, winds around thee sigh, More kind than they who bear th' oppressor's rod ; The Hebrew mother leaves thee to her God.'' Uprose the sun, and flashed his ruddy ray O'er Goshen's plain, where sighed the Hebrew slaves ; On's stately ob'liskf glittered far away, And Nile in amber roUed his jocund waves ; The pyramids stood forth in cheerful light ; (1) The sombre temples, e'en the mummy-caves, Flung ofi" their veil, as angels chased the night, And aU was glad — ^the land forgot her graves ; Flowers breathed their prayers in odours, wing'd along Bright troops of birds, and thrilled the air with song. * So the Hebrews called Egypt ; Mizraim, the second son of Ham, having, as they supposed, first colonised that country. The Pharaoh who " knew not Joseph," and who issued the cruel order for the slaughter of all the male Hebrew children, it is now for the most part agreed, was Amosis, of the famous eighteenth dynasty from Thebes, who ascended the throne B.C. 1580, Moses having been born in the ninth year of his reign. t The renowned obelisk of Heliopolis (the On of Scripture) is still to be seen, and is inscribed with the name of Osirtesen I., who reigned B.C. 1740. (I) References to notes marked thus ( ) imply that they will be found at the end of the volume. 20 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. Who comes soft -tripping to the sun-lit stream, Fresh, roseate, young, as if the lotus-bell, Opening its silky cliambers to the beam. Sent forth its loveliest fay, that by a spell Had sprung to radiant woman ? long black hair Powdered with jewels ; bosom's gentle swell. Like marble rich in sunset ; round arms bare ; Eyes where the softest fires of Athor' dwell ; Her brow all light, her cheek one joyous smile — Such is this matchless lady of the Xile. And maidens, robed in white, her steps attend, Like paler stars that track the moon on high ; The lilied bank her sandalled feet descend, Where tufted flags to truant breezes sigh. But, pausing now, the lovely stranger starts ; Half hid by reeds, some object meets her eye ; Quick from the brink the finny reseller darts, And the roused bittern wakes its plaintive cry. An ark — a babe — no guardian mother near. And yet it lives, in place so lone and drear. One foot advanced, her jewelled finger raised, Her lips apart, thrown back her raven hair, In sweet surprise the royal Maiden gazed,f Silent, unmoved, as grown a statue there : * Athor, the Egyptian "Venus. t The name of Pharaoh's daughter, according to a Jewish tradition, was Therniuthis ; she is said to have called the child Moses, the word signifying in the Egyptian language " taken from the water," yet it has been thought the name bore some reference to that of her father Amosis. TART I.] MOSES. 21 Tears on the infant's eyelids hung like pearls, It faintly moaned and stretched its arms in air ; Time scarce had decked its head with baby-curls ; Young Innocence had smoothed that forehead fair ; The cheek had pilfered all the rose's dye, And heaven's pure light seemed painted in its eye. And thus was found that after-mighty sage, Immortal Moses, he whose holy name Hath filled revering earth from age to age. Whose great renown outshines all others' fame ; TVhose laws this moment million hearts obey. Who traced time's course, and wrote with pen of flame. Told how earth rose, wild chaos passed away, And man, creation's lord, to being came ; Who painted Eden's joys, its bowers and streams — Spot never more to bless us, save in dreams. Oh ! ever must we thrill to read the tale, How his dread wand the potent Hebrew bore, And fire and thunder startled Egypt's vale. And thousands died on Nile's plague-stricken shore ; Handel ! thy strains prolong scourged Egypt's woes,* Awe the rapt heart, or bid it heavenward soar ; Where the Eed Sea, the moon's sweet glass, now flows, Destruction's stormy Angel rode of yore, Horseman and chariot whelmed beneath the tide. Hell mocking boastful man, as Pharaoh died. (2) * See Handel's " Israel in Egypt.' 22 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. How dread the picture, too, on that lone waste, 'Where, king of storms, mysterious Sinai towers ! There on a throne are gloom and grandeur placed, Eocks from earth's centre heaved in primal hours ; Sweet verdure never bless'd that arid height, Up-gazing on the sun, each crag that lowers A spot where shapes from other worlds might light, Lingering, entranced, 'mid Nature's awful bowers ; Sinai, dark mount of fear, it well might be Thy footstool made, descending Deity ! See ! ranged in silence round the mountain's base. The Hebrews stand — to touch it is to die ; What solemn awe doth pale each lifted face ! What speechless terror fills each shrinking eye ! A cloud is seen — a mist of golden fire, \Aliere tlie last peak is mingling with the sky ; It grows — it wraps each cave and rocky spire, And round the mount the Kving lightnings fly, While low at first, then, bursting from the cloud, Earth-shaldng thunders peal, more loud and loud. But high above those sounds of terror now, Sublime, unearthly, filling men with dread, Conies on the qmvering air, from Sinai's brow, The trump's deep voice ; through heav'n the echoes spread ; The hUls retiu-n them to the startled dells; Thou solemn trumpet ! dost thou rouse the dead '.' To deepest caves that piercing music swells — Th' Archangel's voice from which the fiends have fled ! Sinai is holy ; its dark summits nod ; The mountain shakes — beneath the step of God ! P.UIT I.J MOSES. 23 And doth a mortal, that meek Hebrew, dare Ascend the mount, all-awful as it seems ? With anxious, sinking hearts, they watch him there. Now on his form celestial splendour streams ; And now the cloud hath veiled him from their view ; Whate'er he saw, whate'er his hallowed dreams. The fear-struck, wondering Hebrews nothing knew, Though long on Sinai Ungered heavenly beams ; But there was graved on stone th' Almighty's will. Those blest commands earth's nations rev'rence still. Away, across the wild, yet doomed to roam The stony dell, the shrubless, burning plain. The ark their temple, and the tent their home, Long toiled the mm-muring tribes, and toiled in vain ; Strange was their life, yet joys at times were known — Th' inspiring hope the Promised Land to gain, Converse and love, parental bliss their own. The welcome rest when o'er the march of pain, The luxuiy of cool fount, and shady palm. And music's spells to charm, at evening's calm. We view the Seer, his weary wanderings past. Ascend, not Sinai now, lone Nebo's height ; * Age on his lofty brow its shade hath cast. Spared his keen eye, but turned his locks to white : * Mount Nebo, the modem Mount Attarous, is one of a range of hills extending from Gilead southward. Nebo is situated about ten miles north-east of the Dead Sea, and commands a view of the Jordan and the country beyond ; it is very barren, and has a desolate appearance, but its summit at present is singularly croivned by a wild pistachio tree. 24 SPIEITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. The Promised Land is near, but not for him Its glories spread in loveliness and light ; That foot must halt, that vision soon be dim ; The grave is coming with its dreamless night : O happy land he thinks of with a sigh ! He must not enter, but behold, and die. On Nebo's rocky brow the Hebrew knelt ; Basking in evening's sun the landscape lay ; Palm-bordered river, wavy mountain-belt, Brown hanging wood, and valley far away — * All richly slept beneath the beams of gold, And softened still, as fainter grew the ray, While silence seemed the purple air to hold, And all things gently mourned the death of Day : Oh ! God, who lovest beauty, light, and grace, Is not thine image stamped on Nature's face ? He gazed, as those who gaze, when sadly called To bid to all they love a last farewell ; He gazed, like dying saint absorbed, enthralled By scenes whose glories none but he may tell. That land, the hope, the dream of toiling year*, Where Heaven declared the patriarch's seed should dwell — How leaped his heart, and flowed ecstatic tears, Bending above the scene he loved so well ! He stretched his arms, while lower, and more low, His hoary head bowed down, though not in woe. * Gilead was once remarkable foi" its woods., and fertile val- leys : the oak still abounds there. PART I.] JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 25 The sun had sunk o'er Salem's hills afar, And paler grew the gold on Jordan's tide ; Night's gentle herald, sparkled forth a star, And Gilead's vales more faintly were descried ; Then looked the seer to heaven, resigned and meek, His hour was come. Death, smiling, sought his side ; Glory a moment blazed on Nebo's peak. And midst that light the favoured Hebrew died ; None knew his grave, but angels hovering o'er The hallowed spot, would guard it evermore. (3) So died in holy mystery Amram's son, Scribe, legislator, father, prince combined ; More than the conqueror's trophy had he won, At once the greatest — humblest of mankind ! Eose e'er like him a teacher, or a sage ? Solon was wise, Lycurgus strong of mind, Persia's Eeformer wrote his wondrous page,* And Mecca's chief might countless followers find ; Yet ah ! their souls in night and error lay ; Here shone the glow-worm, there the lord of day. But turn we now, a moment to beguile The heart to sadness, and the eye to tears ; Love on the hUls of Gilead sheds his smile. And there to fancy Beauty's form appears : * Zoroaster, to whom is attributed the Zendavesta, which contains the doctrines of the ancient Fireworshippers, was the reformer, not the founder of the national religion, for the worship of fire existed in Persis and Media long before he flourished. 26 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK. I. Thy woes, thy tragic fate, sweet Hebrew maid ! Weave 'round thee bright renown, for envious years, While shrouding kings in dark oblivion's shade, Make green thy name which pity still endears ; Angelically meek, and sweetly mild, Thine image gleams upon us, Jephthah's child ! Oh ! yes, thine image, maiden of the hills — We see thee in thy bright and joyous prime, Gay as the beam on Gilead's dancing riUs, Fresh as the flower dews steep at morning-time ; Chaste as the snow on Lebanon's high peak. Yet warm in feeling as thy sunny clime ; The rose of Sharon blooming on thy cheek, Hair falling from a brow imdimmed by crime ; Eyes in soft lustre rivalling stars above. The palace of the soul, the home of love. Bold Jephthah loved his child, and had he thought That child the victim of his oath would be,* Glad he had perished ere for Israel fought. Nor sighed for fame, nor prayed for victory ; But so it fell ; the conqueror marching home. Crowned with war's wreath, heard coming songs of glee. And light as Nereid trips o'er ocean's foam, A maid came dancing on — 'twas she ! 'twas she ! The father staggered, and his strong frame shook. Like the frail aspen quivering by the brook. * An oath to sacrifice the first person who might advance from his own house to meet him, on his return from battle, if victory should declare for him in his. contest with the Ammonites. PART I.J JEPHTHAH's DAUGHTER. 27 Oh ! the wild agony, the deep despair, Mirrored upon that face ! the loving su-e Gazing one moment at his victim there. Then turning with pale cheek, and eye of fire ; Th' unconscious child, who, wondering, stiU caressed. Her garlands strewn, and cast on earth her lyre, Kjssing his brow, and weeping on his breast. And asking oft what meant his grief or ire — That scene had touched a heart which ne'er had known Pity till then — a heart self cased in stone. 'Twas past — the oath was sacred — nothing now Could save the maiden from her dreaded doom ; She walked the vale, and climbed the mountain's brow, Mourning, with those she loved, her virgin bloom, Looked on the skies, the vine-impurpled hiUs, Drank from the thjrmy uplands rich perfume, And heard the music of her mountain-riUs — All things were gay, her breast alone was gloom ; She asked, amid those scenes of childhood's bliss, Would the far land of souls be bright as this ? The day drew near ; the vow, with misery fraught, Must Jephthah now perform — dark, fatal hour ! To take a last farewell his child he sought ; Oh ! where had fled the proud soul's boasted power '.' She sat alone, beneath her arbour's shade. Where willows drooped, herself a drooping flower, In mourning white her slender form arrayed, Kesigned each gay adornment, Beauty's dower ; Her lovely arms no longer glowed with pearls. And, gemless now, loose streamed her raven curls. 2S SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. The father gazed in silence on liis child, All motionless that tall and stalwart frame ; He shed no tear, but anguish, deep and wild, Harrowed a heart which only love could tame : Pale, fixed he stood, like sorrow carved in stone. Save when a passing shudder on him came, And a slight heaving of his breast was shown, Curbing within the struggling passion's flame : His grief, for her dear sake, unseen he'd bear ; The strong volcano slept, but still was there. " Canst thou forgive me?" Jephthah cried at last ; Broken and hoarse the trembling tones were heard ; His daughter's soft dark eyes, upon him cast. Seemed to say "Yes !" though lips might breathe no word. Ilcr hands of snow were folded on her breast. Sang at Heaven's rosy gate morn's happy bird ; The maid looked up — the skies, in radiance drest, Awakened thoughts that deep her bosom stirred ; A little while her spirit, too, would be In yon far blue, and, like that songster, free. A sudden light illumed the maiden's face ; "Mourn not,'' she cried, "my father, breathe no sigh; I'll banish dread, be worthy of thy race, A soldier's daughter must not fear to die. Rc])ent not of thy vow, for victory's wreath Now twines thy sword, and Israel's foemen fly ; M}- life is worthless ; glad I yield my breath, And, cold in dust, shall soon forgotten lie. Earth's cares and fleeting joys for ever o'er. My heart at rest, and thou e'en loved no more. PART I.] JEPHTIIAII'S DAUGHTER. 29 " No more ? oh ! false ; for love shall not expire With this poor frame, descending to the tomb ; Love, as the spirit mounts on wings of fire, Shall share its immortality of bloom : Then, father, I will love thee, though I feel I'm wed to death, and thou dost speak my doom ; Yes, I will love thee, though thy ruthless steel Send me this hour to Hades' deepest gloom, And thou wilt love me too, my memory keep, Muse in thy lonely home, and sometimes weep. " Yet think not, think not thou hast lost thy cliild ! Thou mayst not see me in the silent air. But, from beyond those clouds in glory piled O'er Salem's hills — for surely heaven is there — I'll come to thee at morn or pensive eve, Soften thy sigh, and lighten grief and care. Visions of paradise around thee weave, Prompt happy thoughts, make all things bright and fair; Thy loving, guardian-angel I will be ; Then think not, that in death thou losest me." There was a look, in those large melting eyes, Of trust, hope, fondness, which no words may tell ; It reached the father's heart and woke his sighs, And stamped on memory's page would ever dwell. Jephthah, forgetting pride, and aU unmanned, Eesigned his iron soul to sorrow's spell ; He bowed his pale, cold forehead on his hand. Sobs rent his bosom, burning tear-drops fell ; Then slowly rising, tow'rd the maid he drew, And speaking now, his arms around her threw. .'iO SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. '■ Thou shalt not die — no, no, thy gentle soul Shall yet remain to bless and love me here ; Were mine crowns, empires, earth — I'd give the whole To keep thee still, my lonely heart to cheer. I'll forfeit honour, break that fatal vow. Though man condemn, and fire this brain should sear ; What are truth, pride, the laws of Israel now ? Without my child, gained Eden's bowers were drear : Oh ! live and bless me then — we will not part. Thy refuge and thy home, my doting heart." The words were scarcely breathed, when tow'rd that bower Moved a tall form in priestly garb arrayed ; His look and solemn voice betokened power. His stern commands seemed law that all obeyed ; Yes, in those days the priest was more than king — "Thy oath!" he cried; "not heaven, thyself upbraid; House thee — come forth ! — thy youthful offering bring For victory gained — submit thee, duteous Maid ! The act is cruel, but the oath is fate ; Nay, speak not, chief, thy pleading comes too late." Fierce was the conflict in the soldier's breast ; Duty, so deemed, opposed paternal love ; His vow, imagined right, the priest's behest — These were the chains in which he writhed and strove : One moment firm, the next weak, wavering grown, He raised his arms to shield his trembling dove, Kissing her cheek — his beautiful, his own. Too soon to join the angel-choirs above ; Then pride and honour rose with stern control, And to thedreadful deed impelled his soul. PART I.] JEPHTHAIl's DAUGHTER. 31 And Jephthah yielded — calm his features seemed, For all the soldier's hardness nerved him now ; There stood the priest whose gorgeous breast-plate gleamed, A haughty sorrow on his lofty brow ; And there the altar — ah ! who pressed its side, Drooping like some sweet plant which tempests bow, Round her closed eyes a snowy napkin tied ? — Offering of blood ! the victim of a vow ! And must she fall in innocence and bloom ? Doth still that cruel oath demand her doom? No word, no sigh, no struggle — meekly there Bent Jephthah's child — -above her shone the steel ; Her father hid his face in still despair. For oh ! he felt too much to seem to feel. Thou sun in darkness veil thy gladsome ray. Nor the sad-closing scene of blood reveal ! 'Tis past — she sinks ; as twilight creeps on day, Death's shadows o'er her beauty slowly steal ; In eyes, where soul late beamed, expires the light, And charm by charm departs — now all is night. (4) Sleep, maid of GUead ! where the mountain-rose Breathes its sweet breath, with infant flowers of Spring ; Thy memory is as sweet ; at twilight's close. There shall her mellowest song the wild bird sing ; Thy heart was pure as pearls in ocean shrined. Ere to the day their beauty divers bring ; A star without a cloud thy gentle mind ; Ages a halo round thy sorrows fling ; While love has sighs, and pity tears to give, Poor martyred Hebrew Maid ! thy name shall live. 32 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK What though no longer warlike spirit glows In Hebrew breasts — unhappy, fallen race ! Seeking but gain, or pondering on their woes, Heroes in fame's high niche have won a place : But none more bold than he, we now would view, E'er wielded sword or gazed in battle's face ; Yet every wile and dark intrigue he knew, And bitterest feelings in his soul we trace ; The slave of passion, tyrant of an hour, He worshipped Grod, and yet defied his power. As moves against the wind a thunder-cloud, Sullen and silent on its lowering way. Darkly majestic, mournful as a shroud. Casting a gloom where all before was gay ; The flowers beneath it seem to shrink and quail. The birds, close-clustering, cease their happy lay. And melancholy whispers on the gale. And something trembles — ^what, we may not say ; Till breaks the thunder, and darts forth the fire — The cloud's wild mood — its fearful, withering ire. So rose among his people gloomy Saul, The stern of spirit, and the proud of mien, Loved in his land by few, yet feared by all ; Shadowing his path, were crime and evil seen ; His days one struggle with surrounding foes. But ah ! the strife of mind more fierce and keen ; Yet feel we for that fallen spirit's throes. We blame his life, we mourn his closing Scene ; Too great to be despised, though power had flown. Gloom and misfortune claimed him for their own. PART I.] SAUL. 33 Oflfended Heaven had veiled its favoring smUe, And Eamah's prophet* left him to his fate, ^Vhen Saul, war's schemes renouncing for awhile, Beneath his tent in bitter sadness sate ; His helm was off, his sword flung reckless by, Thought marked with lines a brow no more elate ; The noble form was bent, the cold, still eye Spoke of a soul condemned, and desolate ; Ah ! trace we not that bosom's hushed despair. The inner world, for blackest night was there. Envy's slow-gnawing Milture on him preyed. For others won more plaudits, love than he ; His throne was tottering, and a boding shade Wrapped present hours, and hours, alas ! to be : Ambition's dream was withered — friends no more Stood by his side, for men, who bowed the knee. Were traitors plotting 'gainst the crown he wore — Oh ! from reflection whither should he flee ? Thoughts rose like flends the warrior to appal. The Evil spirit swayed the heart of Saul. But who stands yonder in the light of youth, Joyous as summer, fresh as opening spring. With form of grace, and full eye beaming truth. And black hair glossy as the raven's wing ? 'Tis Jesse's son who sweeps the Hebrew lyre, ^oUan whispers dying on the string ; Now louder pour the notes of stirring fire. And warlike deeds to glowing memory bring ; * Samuel, who was bora and buried at Ramah. 34 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. Then sweet and rich the numbers swell on high, E'en seraphs might hang listening in the sky. What are ye, sounds 1 mysterious your control. Ye thrill upon the ear — the spirit's door, Then, like bright angels, glide within the soul, Waking sweet raptures till the heart flows o'er ; Through heaven's bless'd regions music ever peals. And white-winged hosts fall prostrate and adore ; 'Bound the last circle of the stars it steals. That roll to harmony for evermore : The spell through matter, spirit, flows along, The universe one wide eternal song ! Oh ! yes, when man lost Eden, with the light His soul once knew, poor child of woe and ill ! And sky-born joys winged back to heaven their flight, Music to charm and soothe him lingered stiU. The Hebrew's lyre, as swelled the glorious strain, And died like echoes on the evening hill, Chased stern Reflection's sadly-brooding train, And bade the heart of iron softly thrill. Cleared the black brow, and woke the tender sigh. And called up light in Saul's desponding eye. He smiled upon the youth, and all forgot His jealousy and hatred ; happy dreams Game rushing on him; slowly from that spot Warm fancy bore him to the hills and streams ; There roved he as he roved, a truant boy, Ere crowns were thought of — ^brooks, and flowers, and beams, PART I.] SAUL. 35 And song of birds, a source of sinless joy, Life fresh and gay, the fair world what it seems. The heart no pang of anguish doomed to know, And hope's bright iris spanning all below. Yet soon, too soon must music" s influence die ; The wild harp ceased, dark thoughts again oppressed The Hebrew king, who vainly strove to fly The haunting fears that caused his soul's unrest : His hate revived, but bitterest rancour burned For that young rival,* now his honoured guest, Now sworn to death ; his throne to be o'erturned, His line cut off — forebodings wrung his breast ; His prophet-guidef was slumbering in the grave, And Heaven to anxious prayers no answer gave. Wliat fate awaits him ? — shall mischance prevail ? Mortals have longed, in every age and clime. To lift futurity's dim-shrouding veil ; For this they've practised arts, nor shrunk from crime. The learn'd Chaldrean scanned the starry sphere, And read man's doom upon that page sublime ; The Grreek at Delphi heard, with awe and fear. The burning Pythia rave of coming time ; The wand-armed sorcerer spoke his speU of might, His circle drew, and called on fiends of night. (5) Wliat fate awaits him ? — asks the Monarch still ; Shall he his kingdom lose 1 or crush his foe ? Are keener shafts preparing, heavier ill 1 Or must death shortly come, to end his woe ? * David. t Samuel. 36 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK I. His heart would brave the storm, was firm as bold, Yet oh ! the future days he long'd to know; The stars no truth to dreaming mortals told, But wizards, he believed, swayed powers below, That spirits answered them from realms of gloom. And would, if sought, reveal man's coming doom. Near where green Tabor wooed the wreathing cloud. And Endor darkened by the southern glen,* An ancient woman dwelt, austere and proud, Who rarely commune held with living men : Her cheerless home a cavern in the rock, (6) Strange things ye saw within that stony den ; White grinning skulls the gazer seemed to mock. Croaked by her side the bull-frog of the fen ; Quick at her call the fox and owlet came, And the green snake stood up with eyes of flame. And Endor's sorceress, hating all her kind. Made these her friends ; though age had brought its blight, Xot, as we paint those beldames, shrunk and blind. Her form was stately, and her glance was bright ; Long streamed her locks, command upon her brow, Her look was calm, but dark and sad as night, And breathed a fear wWcli made the stranger bow, Attracting as by charms the shrinking sight ; • Endor was situated south of Mount Tabor, and a few miles north of the mountains of Gilboa, the celebrated plain of Esdraelon sweeping in the immediate vicinity. Burckhardt first pointed attention to the ruins of the old town of Endor but they are in the present day very inconsiderable. PART I.J THE WITCH OF ENDOU. 37 That proud cold, look, the gloom her features wore, He who once saw might well forget no more. Ah ! say not man ne'er held, in days gone by, Communion with the shades ; the demon-powers Might then walk earth more frequent, draw more nigh ; Yes, heU its compacts made in early hours. Endor's famed sorceress scorned the good and fair, Resigned her soul, her hope of heavenly bowers. Among curs'd spirits might and rule to bear ; Nobler she deemed the intellect which towers. Than virtue, whose sweet voice she strove to quell — So Satan thought on high, rebelled and fell. She sat within her cave ; before her spread Chaldajan scroUs with mystic figures traced ; The pale Enchantress muttered as she read ; Beneath her cheek her withered hand was placed ; And now she paused ; her thoughts, that wandered far, Flowed on and on, as waves by waves are chased ; The past, the mist-wrapped future, sun and star. The deep-spread sky's unpierced and silent waste, God, and the souls in Hades — such the themes That shook her heart, and filled her gloomy dreams. The muser started, yet no step was heard, A falling shadow marked the floor of stone ; A screech broke forth from midnight's boding bird. The snake leaped up, the red wolf made a moan : A figure at the arching entrance stood, His face half hid, a mantle round him thrown ; His arms were crossed in stern and thoughtful mood, His pensive eye with saddest lustre shone ; 38 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. His lielm-worn brow was ploughed with many a scar, And mail-clothed limbs bespoke the man of war.* " Who art thou ? friend or foe ? " the sorceress said ; The stranger waved his hand, and nearer drew ; A moment's paleness o'er his visage spread, The fearful hag, and that strange scene to view. " Woman of wisdom ! we confess thy might ; And. though thou mayst not man's dim fate foreshew. Thine art, I well believe, from realms of night. Can raise departed souls that once we knew : Low in the dust though slumber Eamah's seer, Call him from Hades — bid him now appear ! " The Enchantress on him turned her quick black eye, Mistrusting hia intent ; " Thou knowest well The Hebrew king declares our race shall die ; And com'st thou here to prove me leagued with heU ? "t The soldier reared his arm ; then full the rays From blue upcurling flames upon him fell ; His silver greaves, steel corslet, seemed to blaze With light unearthly in that hideous cell : He swore by Him whose everlasting will All earth obeys, no power should work her ill. • The army of Saul occupied the northern skirts of Mount Gilboa ; hence the village of Endor was but a few miles from bis camp, and he is described as proceeding thither in disguise by night. t Saul had issued an order for all diviners, and those suspected of possessing familiar spirits, to be driven from the land, or, as It appears, put to death, and yet In his extremity we find him having recourse to one of the proscribed community. PART I.] THE WITCH OP ENDOR. 39 She feared no longer ; that sad look and tone, Betraying woe unutterably deep, Drew to her heart the stranger ; she had known Misery like him, though feeUng now might sleep. " Pause, mortal! — raise the dead? — and dost thou think Thine eye would not be blasted — thou couldst keep Thy brain from madness, when, from Hades' brink, Causing the blood to chUl, the flesh to creep, The soul in shadowy terror might arise ? Ask not — depart — ere morning hght yon skies.'' In vain ; that man, undaunted, would behold What mortal should not see ; to know his doom All he would dare, if demons did enfold His frame that hour, and bear him to the tomb. Then did her mystic arts the Sorceress ply, Ketiring through the cell to deeper gloom ; See her stretched arm ! and hark ! her hollow cry ! Burst from her cauldron clouds of rich perfume : Her air is frenzied, fire her eye doth fill. Yet stately in her horror looks she still. "Away disguise ! I know thee now, king ! Yes, thou art Saul — brave Monarch ! woe to thee ! He, whom from Hades thou dost bid me bring. Is rising now, though faint his form I see !" — Then fearful silence through the cavern reigned. Expectant Terror waiting what might be ; Moveless and scarcely breathing Saul remained ; Grave ! from thy tenants how we shrink and flee ! Nought daunts us living like that thing of dread, The unbodied soul — the spirit of the dead ! •40 SPIEITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. Hush ! was that sound the murmur of the breeze ? The flowers without, unsth'rod, their petals rear ; Was that quick ray from lightning ? — o'er the trees There hangs no cloud, and heaven is blue and clear : Slow from the earth, amidst a silvery haze. Half seen, half hid, a shape is rising near, And still it grows upon the spell-bound gaze. Till life-like form and lineaments appear, And yet so vapoury, that you see the beam Of yonder moon, faint-quivering, through it stream. Its look was tranquil, but austere and old, Like a thin cloud, a mantle 'round it spread ; The eyes were glassy, passionless, and cold, Yet piercing were the steadfast beams they shed : 'Twould freeze the blood to meet them, for those Qxub Inspired a nameless awe, a shivering dread ; Light from the palUd brow appeared to rise, As stars send up, half sunk in ocean's bed ; Seen through the shroud the face was softly fair, And the thin limbs seemed melting into air. The ^Monarch saw — he knew the prophet now : Bold was his heart, and iron-nerved his frame, Undaunted had the warrior reared his brow Midst the wild fight, and mocked at danger's name ; But here his spirit shrank, his heart gave way, A creeping, mortal terror on hun came ; Backward he staggered, on his forehead lay Cold drops of fear, although his brain seemed flame : Low and more low he bent ; he could not fly That awful form — that calm unchanging eye. PART I.] THE WITCH OF ENDOR. 41 The spirit's voice was like a far bell's toll Dying upon the air, or wind's faint moan ; And yet it pierced the ear, and shook the soul. More than if thunder swelled in every tone. — " 'Why didst thou bring me up ? " — Alas ! for Saul ! Begirt by foes, half crushed his sinking throne. Forsaken by his God, condemned by all. He burned to know the worst — ^however known : " Shade of the mighty Seer ! I bow to thee — Tell me, oh ! tell me, what my doom shall be !" " King of a chosen people ! hear thy fate ; Heaven's law thou hast not kept — thy heart I know. Thy pride, thy envy, and remorseless hate ; For tliis thy crown is lost, thy race laid low. Behold yon moon now shining! — past this night. Her placid beams for thee no more shall glow. Ere she ascends again the heavenly height. Thy soul shall walk with mine in shades below ; What further waits thee there, I may not say. That rests with heaven, when comes the judgment day. ' The voice became an echo, and then died, Saul's straining eyes still fixed upon that shade ; Once more its arm was raised, once more it sighed. And then the form seemed momently to fade; Lower it sank — the shroud more vapoury grew, The brow with light no longer was arrayed, The shapeless mist the stars were twinkling through, Now nothing in the cell the eye surveyed. Save Endor's sorceress in her mystic ring. And that dark hopeless man, the Hebrew King. (7) D 42 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I Hark ! on Gilboa's hills the cry of war ! See the bright flash of falchions in the sun ! Philistia's lords like whirlwinds charge afar. And mighty deeds by Israel's cliiefs are done. The mountain daisy drips with life's warm tide. And Jezreel's crystal founts polluted run ;* And this was glory — death to scatter wide, To slay and ravage — these were laurels won. Ages have passed, man's heart like passions fill. To shed his fellow's blood is glory still ! More brave than Saul no warrior stemmed the fight. Hero at heart, though battling in despair ; But vain his valour, Hebrews took to flight. And left their Monarch wounded, sinking there. He leant upon his sword ; his sons were slain ; The foe rushed on — ^their insults must lie bear ? Ah ! better die than drag a captive's chain ; Slight now the task his soul from earth to tear ; For love's last ties were gone, hope's star was dim, And pomp and power were notliing more to liim. They came ! — he bade the youth, who bore his shield. Do that his own brave spirit felt was crime ; Tears, not obedience, could the stripling yield ; His lord might fly — but Saul had done with time : * The fountain of Jezveel, in the vicinity of which the battle was fought, appears to have been situated at the foot of the Gilboa mouu tains on the north-west side, and[there a current of water is yet to be seen, in all probability the famous fountain of old. PART I.] SAUL. 43 He gazed around ; his stern heroic heart Was bent on death ; the land, the happy clime, Youth's long-loved haunts — and must he now depart ? Those vales and streams, the mountain-tops sublime. The sun and spreading skies — Oh ! who may tell What wrung his soul, to bid them all farewell ? There is a time when long eventful years Seem crowded in an instant, when the past Comes back like lightning, and each scene appears In radiant hues — 'tis when we're near our last. So burst on Saul the light of vanished days, As on his sword his own doomed breast was cast ; He smiled a moment, and his softened gaze Was turned to heaven, as life departed fast ; 'Twas o'er — ^let pity view his history's close, And God, not mortals, judge that man of woes. (8) EKD OF PART I. SPIRITS OF THE PAST. BOOK I. SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS. Part II. Neab Ephrath* "wound a green and mossy vale, Though now few shrubs the stony mountains bear, And sings no more the flute-voiced nightingale, But in old days an Eden flourished there : The sweet acacia spread its fragrant arms. The tufted palm, shm poplar, towered in air. The damask-rose half veiled, half showed her charms, The gentle lily bent, as if in prayer ; To many a tree the wlute-belled jasmine clung, From many a rock the vine's rich clusters hung. And all between the hills a clear stream purled, Now glittering like a thin and silver thread, Now broken by some rock across it hurled, Then babbling music as more swift it sped ; Birds know earth's lovehest nooks, and sought this seat. Flowers where to spring, and filled each sunny bed, Bold breezes where to steal the scents most sweet, And panting came, with sky-wove pinions spread j E'en seraphs, winging from their starry sphere, Saw something Uke their heaven, and hngered here. * Ephrath, or Betlilehem. PART II.] DAVID. 45 What rapture in such beauteous scene to pass, Far from a jarring world, the dreamy hours! Listless to lean along the fragrant grass. And hear the wild bee's trumpet 'mid the flowers ; To watch the clouds that skim heaven's liquid blue, Casting their changeful shades on slopes and bowers ; The maze of bloomy shrubs to wander through, While at each step descend the rose-leaf showers ; Or sit where fountain-waves go hymning by. Calm thought our prayer, our shrine th' eternal sky. In Ephrath's vale 'twas sultry summer-tide, A youth leant there, beneath a mossy rock. His crook and harp were idly thrown aside, And, screened by boughs, reclined his panting flock ; A comely form did those light robes enfold, Grace shaped each limb, and curled each ebon lock ; Yet were his features cast in manUest mould. Such start to life from some great sculptor's block. Chiselled in pure perfection, but the beams. Shot from those eyes, made dim all sculptor-dreams. Thrice happy days of reckless, buoyant youth ! When falls Ufe's dew in freshness on the heart. And fancy cheats, but charms ; for iron truth, Who, with those gay and golden dreams, would part? Oh ! ne'er in after life, when all we know Is shadowed by dull care, or chilled by art, Do fi-ill delight, unsated rapture glow. As in those times when hope's pure fountains start ; Too blissful hours ! why, why so brief your stay ? Why shine like meteor-stars, then melt away ? 46 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. The youth was gazing on that summer scene, With lightsome heart and joy-illumined eye ; He drank the breeze which stirred the woods of green, And viewed with soul enlarged the arching sky. Yet thought was busy in that world, his breast ; His simple life, the days that glided by. With nought to mark them save light toil and rest, The beauteous earth, and all that shines on high — On these he mused, till feeling softened grew. And living brightness o'er his features threw. And such was he, the shepherd of the vale, The future warrior, and the mighty king ! Before whose prowess Judah's foes should quail, Whose fame hath traversed time on eagle-wing : Yes, this was he, the music of whose lyre Echoes through ages, while the numbers ring Through countless lands, and touch each heart with fire; Those strains in heaven angelic hosts might sing ; The minstrel's starry wreath hath David won, And glory crowns for ever Jesse's son ! The love that knits the soul of man to man. Lofty, unselfish, pure — alas ! how rare ! But such was thine, devoted Jonathan ! Such friendship for thy David didst thou bear : When other hearts had scorn and rancour shown. Thine only loved and watched with ceaseless care ; Disgraced and branded, hope and honours flown. Still was the wanderer cheered amidst despair ; Thy words to man, thy prayers to One above. Were breathed for him — thine "passed a woman's love.' PABT II.] DAVID. 47 The outcast hid him 'mid the rocks and caves, Where lies the sad Dead Sea in black repose, Silence for ever on its breezelcss waves, Cursed for all time, the type of human woes : A faithful few to David's fortunes clung. Dreamt of bright hours, and braved his heartless foes ; Now where o'erhanging rocks their shadows flung. The toil-worn men reclined at daylight's close : The frugal meal was o'er, and friendly sleep Sent some to smile in dreams, and some to weep. Uprose the moon ; the white rays glistening fell Along the desert's melancholy bound. Silvered the hill, illumed the savage dell. And kissed the heath where scanty flowers were found. The wolf was hastening from the Dead Sea shore, The large-eyed owl sat glaring on the mound. In Maon's wild was heard the tiger's roar ; All things that love the night were gathering round ; The waste was theirs on which the cold beams streamed. And man a stranger in their empire seemed. The Hebrew left awhile his slumbering band, And slowly walked the desert, wrapp'd in thought ; His dark calm eyes were fixed upon the sand, But soon heaven's starred magnificence they sought. No feeling as in Cain, long years ago, His soul to daring, or to anguish wrought ; He viewed the orbs, that light our world below. Arrayed with beams from God's own glory caught, Asking our rev'rence, awing as they shine. Unquenchable, mysterious, and divine. 48 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK I. Yet deemed he not — for science had not told — Those beads of light, like dews at morning spun, Were mighty worlds that through yon azure rolled, Wliere life her course in countless forms might run ; He only knew they wafted thought on high. Speaking of Him whose being ne'er begun. That Heaven's great lord was palaced in the sky. Earth's crowns but dust, to crowns hereafter won ; And fancy heard from that bright throng the hymn Of lauding saints, and burning seraphim. A wooded glen the muser entered now ; Swept at his feet a moss-fringed, bubbling riU ; He leant a moment there, with throbbing brow. While sadder thoughts his bosom seemed to fiU. But see ! he starts ; advancing steps are heard ; He grasps his sword, suspecting wrong or ill ; And nearer yet the tangled boughs are stirred — Who issues forth in moonlight on the hUl ? The rays gleam bright on David's Hfted brand — • "What wouldst thou, stranger? — friend or foeman! stand !" "I am no foe !" like balm upon his ear, Those accents fell ; his look of fierceness fled ; He di'opped his threatening sword — "And art thou here? My friend, my brother!" David softly said. And Jonathan now glided to his side. And on that manly shoulder laid his head ; A fragile form, an eye where love, not pride, Softened the rays its orb of hazel shed ; PART II.] DAVID. 49 Brown locks, fair brow, and features sweetly small — Such was the gentle son of gloomy Saul.* " I come to thee ; " he cried, " I cannot rest, ^Vhile thou dost suffer hardship, pain and care ; And dangers threat, and sorrows wring thy breast ; Would that thy lonely wanderings I might share ! — And is thy home this desert? dost thou lay Thy weary head in caves, the wild wolf's lair ? Hunted from spot to spot, like beast of prey ? Yet oh ! thy wrongs a little longer bear — The rudest storms leave heaven most pure and clear, When night is darkest, then the morn is near.'' And David swore again that peace and love Should Hnk their lines, all bitter feelings flee ; And Jonathan in silence gazed above. And slow, as David spoke, he bent the knee ; Strange place that desert for fond friendship's vow, Nature sole witness, but high Heaven could see ; The moon looked on, and smoothed her silvery brow. Casting a holier light on stream and tree ; The breeze bore off the oath, yet seemed to sigh — " Ye never more shaU meet, for one must die !"f * The last meeting recorded between Jonathan and David, took place in a wood in the wilderness of Ziph, and here they renewed their vow of perpetual friendship. t Not long after this interview, Jonathan was slain ; he fell in that battle on the hills of Gilboa, in which his father and two brothers perished. 50 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. But Jonathan still clung to David's side ; He might not stay, yet oh ! how hard to part ! What now was weakness, what was manhood's pride ? He bowed his head, and sobbed on David's heart. Farewells in this our world must wring the soul, Bright suns must set, each lovely thing depart. Change rules our lots, no power may fate control. The bleeding breast must bear its bitter smart ; Sky-glimpses of sweet hope, dark storms of strife. Anguish and transient pleasure — such is life ! The son of Saul now tore himself away ; He ne'er on earth would meet that friend again ; And David watched him, by the moon's pale ray. Crossing with mournful step the lonely plain : He grew a speck; his form no more was seen ; The trees drooped calm, the night-bird poured its strain. Dews wet the flowers, all Nature was serene, But not the breast affection warmed in vain ; Long on the waste his eyes the mourner kept. And then he hid his face — the outcast wept. Misfortune's night hath passed for Jesse's son. Power, glory, beam around him, now a king ; From Jebus' lords, is tower-crowned Salem won. And his new city shines, a radiant thing. Unlike some monarchs raised from low estate. Who struggling soar on frail Icarian wing, Or, drunk with fortune, and with power elate, Grow tyrant monsters, and dire evUs bring, — He took an eagle's flight through paths his own, And Truth, and strong-armed Justice, watched his throne. PART II.] DAVID. 51 His soul was poetry, his gentle heart Dissolved with feeling fresh as Hermon's dew ; His thoughts, that flowed in song, have formed a part Of earth's wide faith — its hope and solace too : The priest stands forth, those songs upon his lips, The good man in his chamber cons them through ; And oh ! when darkly comes death's sad eclipse. The saint stUl feels their beauties rich as true. Catches their fervour, rapture in his eyes. Looks up to heaven, and chants them as he dies. He was not spotless — cruelty at times Urged him to deeds that mercy fain would hide ; And love, enthralling reason, lured to crimes ; The soul, her brightness dimming, turned aside. Ah ! born of Eve and frailty, who can say — ' Crime I renounce, and passions are defied ?' Weak man ! thine acts confute thee every day ; Perfection on this earth shall ne'er abide ; 'Mid fairest flowers the serpent will creep in ; The sun hath spots — no soul is free from sin. Minstrel of Salem ! pacing Zion's mount. Where Islam triumphs now, we think of thee ; Thy image shadows cool Siloam's fount. Haunts the hoar cave, and glides by rock and tree ; In Kedron's dell, where towers a stately tomb. We hear thy wail, thy woe-rent garments see, For there thine anguished spirit mourns the doom Of one beloved — more dear than crowns might be :* * The finest and most imposing in appearance of the four celebrated tombs in the valley of Kedron, or Jehoshaphat, is that of the ill-fated and rebellious son of David, Absalom. 52 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. Oh ! yes, thy memory hallows vale and hill. And makes their desolation lovely still. Time drives his ages, blotting out the names Of those who, living, deemed them graved on brass ; Heroes and Kings that set the world on flames, G-reat in their day, from human records pass ; Poets, once famous, present men forget ; Those still we worship, soon oblivion's grass May clothe their mem'ries, soon their sun may set. And o'er their urns the stranger sigh — alas ! But, Hebrew bard ! thy fame no change shall know, While Truth, Hope, Yirtue, bless the world below. It is the reign of glory ; every land Eeaches its destined height of pride or power, Beneath some master-spirit's guidmg hand, And then declines, and lives its dimmer hour : Like laws prevail through Nature's varied world ; The ocean hath its tide, the plant its flower ; Meteors burn bright and brighter, then are hurled To primal darkness from their heavenly tower ; E'en man's own form gains greatest strength and bloom, And then shrinks back to weakness and the tomb. It is the reign of glory ; Hebrew sway, In Solomon, hath reached its utmost bound ; Foes prostrate fall, far kings a tribute pay. E'en Ishmael's free-born sons have masters found ; Edom, through all her cities carved from rock, Trembles to hear the Jewish trumpet sound ; On Syrian hiUs that brave the tempest's shock. Bold Judah stands — the lord of all around ; PART II.] SOLOMON. 53 In wildest deserts new-built cities gleam, And Tadmor rises, gorgeous as a dream. (9) Hark ! in bright Salem to the stir of life ! Traffic hums loud in many a busy street ; Peace, Plenty rule the land, not iron strife ; Here glides the chariot, bounds the courser fleet. Eobes of Sidonian purple, gems and pearls, Decking gay forms, at every step you meet. And powdered gold lies thick on beauty's curls. And silver sandals grace her dainty feet. Hearts dance with joy, their hopes and wishes won. And bless thy reign, unrivalled Solomon ! The gates of brass are opened ; slowly files Prom Salem's walls a long, and brilliant train ; Morn on that joyous host propitious smiles — Bright h^uman waves careering o'er the plain. A thousand horsemen bear their shields of gold, Gay charioteers give loose the milk-wliite rein, Silk litters, camel-borne, young maidens hold, Por whose sweet smiles few lovers sigh in vain : Timbrel, and pipe, and trump, are sounding out. Then swells to heaven one wild, applauding shout. Girt by his band whose swords are silver-sheathed, BGgh in his ivory chariot sits the king ; He bears not now a crown, his head is wreathed — A happy bridegroom — with the flowers of spring. Thick-clustering raven locks, an eagle-eye. Pride-speaking brow where years no shadow fling, A form to wake the coldest Beauty's sigh, A voice as sweet as harper's dulcet string — 54 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK. I. Such is he now, in life's impassioned prime, Sorrow unknown, with scarce a care or crime. And forth he leads his gay resplendent train, To meet in Araby his destined bride, (10) Daughter of Egypt's Pharaoh, proud to gain A spouse from those whose sires in bondage died. Oh ! to the young how bright is Hymen's dream ! How sweetly-painful do those moments glide. While Hope points lingering to the torch, whose beam Blazes afar, Joy's coming steps to guide ! The heart sees nought but sunshine in the sky. Lives in a smile, and feeds upon a sigh. They shape their course tow'rd Egypt's friendly land ; The sun goes down, but calm, deUcious night Brings pleasure to their tents ; the bridal band Feasts with the monarch, lapped in soft delight : With morn again they urge their joyous way; Towns hail them as they pass ; on many a height Arabs, from caves emerging to the day. Shout the king's name, and toss their spears of light ; Wliile music sounds from some romantic dell. Where, rocks their home, red Esau's children dwell.* And where the bride ? not yet her train appears ; Across the desert points each eager glance ; Southward his top cloud-piercing Horeb rears. And north in light the JMid-sea waters dance : * The Edomites, or Idumeans, whose capital city was the famous Petra: they were subdued hy Saul, and remained tribu- tary to the Hebrews until the reign of Joram. PART II.] SOLOMON. 55 A shadowy line, far looming, is descried ; Is it the simoom in its dread advance? Or wood of pahns 1 — it deepens — spreads more wide ; Horsemen now wheel through dust, now gleams a lance; TiU a vast crowd comes flashing on its way ; The bride is there — 'tis Egypt's grand array ! They come — not as of old their fathers came, Burning in wrath to crush the Hebrew host, But peace and friendship wake their generous flame ; Two kings will meet — bright Afric's, Asia's boast. They come, like stars in number, or the leaves Bustling to winds on some wide-wooded coast. And each, around his brow, a chaplet weaves Of those sweet flowers young Love doth prize the most ; The thirsty desert-gales, in passing there, TVonder upon their wings what scents they bear. The hosts approach more near, and trumpets send Their silvery greeting ; falchions wave and shine ; They halt — tow'rds earth their friendly spears they bend, And heralds swift advance from either line. Ham's haughty children on the Hebrews smUe, The dusky Libyans savage pride resign, E'en Ethiop slaves their woes forget awhile ; All meet in love to honour Hymen's shrine ; The linking two young lots will ever be. While hope glads earth, a task of joy and glee. King Solomon descended from his car. And Pharaoh, in his robes of dazzling sheen. With jewelled crown, and on his brow a star, Eeceived the youth — oh ! beautiful the scene ! 56 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK I. The Hebrew bent not humbly, but with grace, Th' Egyptian, with a bland and courteous mien, As was the orient custom, kissed his face ; Their hearts beat high, though both appeared serene, And Nile's old king, forgetting wonted gloom. Half radiant seemed as he in youth's fair bloom. And Pharaoh through his host the bridegroom led, And still, where'er they turned, rich music rung, And thousands in obeisance bowed the head, E'en princes to the dust in rev'rence clung. But now through opening ranks, a gorgeous sight Bursts on the view — of such rapt bards have sung, Wlien, dazzling mortals, from the waves of light, Love's goddess, glowing as an iris, sprung. The sea-nymphs wondering, crowding to adore. Such witcliing charms on earth ne'er seen before. Eich wheels of gold a sapphire car sustain, The pole is ivory, and the yoke is pearl ; Those steeds the Grecian Phoebus proud might rein, Worthy his chariot down heaven's vault to whirl : High on the sapphire bed, a giant flower Its leaves of snowy satin doth unfurl, The worshipp'd lotus — such in heaven's own bower Blooms for the blest ; green myrtles 'round it curl ; Its glossy surface sheds a chastened ray. Melting in light, like softly-opening day. Within tills lily cup, this silver dome. Like the flower's guardian spirit, sits a maid, A being lovely as her ratliant home. And, like the lotus, in pure white arrayed ; PART II.] SOLOMON. 57 Her sunny brow, red lip, and dimpled cheek. Gemmed hair, a kingdom's value in each braid. Her eyes now darting iire, now drooping meek — The witchery of that sight the heart obeyed. Woman ! whate'er around us fair we see, StUl every form of beauty yields to thee. The youthful king beheld the lotus-queen ; He could nor forward move, nor turn aside ; Spells bound him there ; in vain he strove to screen His heart's emotion, stronger far than pride : But now great Pharaoh gently takes his hand. And leads him to the car's resplendent side. Kisses his chUd, then turns, and smiling bland, " King of the East !" he cries, " receive thy bride ! Before two gazing nations be ye wed, Ajid favouring heaven shower blessings on each head ! " And thus his bride did Israel's monarch gain — Child of a long, long line of glorious kings,* Their meeting-place the desert's boundless plain. Where all that's grand and solemn Nature brings : To seal that union shouts the mountains shook. And giadd'ning hearts, flow'd pleasure's purple springs ; Then Solomon his dazzling beauty took. And bore her home on love's exulting wings ; WhUe Pharaoh, with warmed heart and kindly smile, Marched back his countless train to templed Nile. * The name of the daughter of Pharaoh is unknown to us; hilt a portrait on an Egyptian monument, richly ornamented, has been copied by Eosselini, and which he thinks there are some grounds for supposing to be that of this famous princess, whose father was of the twenty-first Dynasty. E 58 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK It is the reign of glory ; Salem calls Genius' bright sons from many a distant land ; Learn'd Chaldee, tuneful Phrygian, crowd her halls. But Tyrians chiefly shine — a matchless band. Men who the palm from Egypt bear away, Plying the arts with tasteful, cunning hand ; Their Monarch, too, doth friendship's voice obey,* And sends the wealth of rich Phcenicia's strand — Cedar, and bronze, gold-cloths, and polished stone. And costliest things to Salem erst unknown. Behold ! it rises, solemn, grand, and slow— The Temple to the Grod who made the sky — And silently, as walls were formed of snow ; Xo blocks are hewn, no axe the workmen ply :f The jewelled gate, the painted floors appear. The cherubs stretch their wings as if to fly, Their flower-wrought heads the brazen pillars rear,| The cedar roof, gold-flaming, spreads on high ; Till the whole temple blazes on the sight. Rich as morn's cloud — like one vast clirysolite. (11) * Hiram, king of Tyre, who formed a league with Solomon, and continued in friendly intercourse with hiui during the chief portion of his long and brilliant reign. t The stones were shaped and polished previously to their being brought to Jerusalem, and consequently the work pro- gressed iu comparative silence. J The famous pillars of brass, called Jachin and Boaz, were manufactured by a Tyrian in the true Egyptian style, the capi- tals being bowl-sliaped, and enriched with lotus-flowers and pomegranates. They appear to have adorned the pronaos or porch of the Temple, much in the same way as obelisks beauti- fied the fronts of some of the shrines in Egypt. PART II.] SOLOMON. 59 Oh ! Thou, whose hand upreared the mighty hills, Immensity thy viewless dwelling-place ! Whose glory yon blue depths of ether fills, WUl thy dread presence man's poor fabric grace 1 Thou great, mysterious, uncreated One ! Whose voice is heard in storms, whose awful face We may not see and live — what man hath done Oh ! sanction Thou, and bless his lowly race ! — Thus spoke the builder o'er the finished pile, And Heaven looked down in love, and deigned to smile. It is the reign of luxury ; wealth pours in ; O'er Syria's plains, from Elam's bowers of bloom,* Winds the long caravan, and men begin To quaff rich orient wine, and breathe perfume. White fleets of Greber skim the Eed Sea wave,| Bearing sweet woods, the pearl and peacock's plume. Spice from warm shores that Indian billows lave. And gems and gold from Ophir's mines of gloom ; The land, past days forgetting, well might seem Lost in her pomp, and lapped in one bright dream. (12) Lord of the thousand songs ! far-seeing sage ! Deep drank the Hebrew prince of wisdom's spring ; He scann'd with curious eye wide Nature's page, Casting truth's light on many a hidden thing ; * Elam — Persia. t Ezion-Geber, near the head of the Eed Sea, was, during the reigns of Solomon and Jehoshaphat, the great port whence their navies sailed on their various expeditions. 60 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. Trees on the mountain, flowrets in the vale, Each form that walks the earth or spreads the wing. Summer's soft breath, and winter's stormy gale, The changeful moon, the planets' mazy ring, The laws that ocean's wandering billows bind — All oifered themes wliich tasked his musing mind. He read man's heart, himself so rarely reads. And found, 'mid vaunted strength, but weakness there, That young-eyed Pleasure on sweet poison feeds. And power and glory charm us to ensnare : Why does the statesman plan ? the warrior fight ? His hours in thought and toil the student wear ? The fame they covet is a meteor-light, Rising in folly, bursting in despair ! The sun, through all his course, doth only show A scene of vanity, a waste of woe. Thus moralised the sage, and won renown ; From distant lands to hear him pilgrims came ; But who is she that wears a royal crown. Charmed by his wisdom, smitten by his fame ? He, on his lion-decked and ivory throne, (13) Sits in the porch where brazen pillars flame ; Cool waters gush from quaint-carved founts of stone, And flowers bloom round of many a hue and name : The roof is set with stars, which cast below, On rich-veined porphyry floors, a golden glow. She bends in listening attitude, her eyes. Melting, long-lashed, and full of southern fire. Fixed on the royal scholar, and her sighs Are softly breathed, as wondering thoughts aspire : PART II.] THE QUEEN OF SHEBA. 61 His lips seem dropping wisdom's choicest pearls, His lofty eloquence can never tire ; And there, her jewelled hand amidst her curls, She leans in silence, happy to admire ; And as her heart swells high at all she hears, Drop gem-Uke, one by one, ecstatic tears. And Sheba's queen was beautiful as young, BrilKant as rays her suns in summer dart, Yet the bright jewels, round her neck which hung. Were scarce more pure than that warm guileless heart : Fired with fond zeal, she crossed the wilds afar, To strive with genius, act the Judge's part. But heard of wondrous things — earth, sun, and star. And truths that made her curious nature start: What rapture to the knowledge-searching mind. To lift dark error's veil, and glance behind ! We know no more of Sheba's dark-eyed queen — * She came, admired, and sought again her home ; Her memory only lives in one fair scene. Sparkling a bubble on time's ocean-foam. Who was her lord, or whether lord she wed. How long she reigned, declares no ancient tome. Or where the grave that holds the honoured dead — A mountain-rock, or royal painted dome : Her shade but moves beside the Hebrew king. Charming our eyes, a beauteous dream-like thing. (14) * The history of this queen is involved in great obscurity; the Arabians, however, have a legend in whicli they call her Balkis, and Pocock has placed her as the twenty-second in his list of the sovereigns of Yemen. 62 SPIEITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK I. Thus knowledge, wealth, and honour, smiled on thee. Philosopher and Prince ! thy people's pride ! Whose piercing eye through Nature's depths could see, A child of genius nursed by wisdom's side ; Would that thy sun had set in earlier hour ; Would in thine undimmed glory thou hadst died ! For clouds upon the scene began to lower. Thy soul, which guided others, lacked a guide ; So pilgrims, journeying long in joy and light. Grope their dim way at last, 'mid shades of night. The builder of God's glittering shrine was man. And stands a beacon for all after days ; Virtue illumed the early course he ran. But time brought too much pomp, and power, and praise ; Then sank the mind o'ercome, its vigour lost. His intellect half blinded by the blaze ; The late strong bark a weed, a feather tost On passion's sea — we tremble as we gaze — Dark Shipwreck comes, the tempest sweeps the shore. And the sage sinks engulfed for evermore. Yet pause, stern Moralist ! and fix thine eye On Solomon in honour, not disgrace, And say no nobler king, in days gone by, Eaised a land's power, or stood in " pride of place;" From commerce, not the sword, his riches came, Wise words wc hear, and splendid acts wo trace ; And still the Hebrews pride them in his name. And laud his times so glorious to their race ; The learn'd his proverbs quote through Eastern land. His memory linked with aU that's fair and grand. PART II.] BABTLOX. 63 Ay, in the East bright j'et that memory sliines ; From ruined Tyre to far Caucasian steeps, From hoar Damascus to Egyptian shrines. And where by Yemen's wells the balsam weeps, His name is whispered — lord of light and power, Who wisdom's talisman for ever keeps. Who sways the genii in their cavern'd bower. And guards the pearly treasure of the deeps ; E'en stars, they deem, his searching influence own, And thus, though dead, he sits upon a throne ! A change hath come : what means that mournful wail From Zion's hill and Salem's broken wall ? The ghost of woe doth sigh on every gale ; 'Tis for a people lost — a kingdom's fall. Where is your splendour, gem-decked Temple ! now ? Tour cups of gold and glittering pUlar'd hall ? Where is thy throne, king ? — ^bow, earthward bow ! Wliile Euin's foot of iron crushes all. Poor captives dragged to far Chaldtea's plains, Sigh your farewell, and weep upon your chains! (15) Man in his envious nature likens Death ; There never lived a being bright and fair. But the gaunt grim one longed to take its breath. And, hating young-eyed Joy, would bring despair : So never Nation raised its prosperous head, And glory won, and blessings seemed to share, But some dark tyrant, ere long ages fled, Kesolved to quench the light that sparkled there ; Burned to lay low what charmed all other eyes, And make a waste where smiled a paradise. 64 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK. I. From Eastern plains the nation-trampler came, He whom ill-judging man with bays would crown ; Bright shone his city dimming Salem's fame, Its towers on hoar Euphrates gazing down ; Till, in its turn, to one more bold and strong. That too should yield, and lose its old renown ; Till, in its turn, its splendour, blazing long. Should wane — go out, beneath Destruction's frown, And Euin rear his mound, and Silence brood. And rank grass wave, where Nimrod's city stood. But glorious then great Babylon arose. Vast as the mart which sprang in after years, 'Wliere guardian waves far Britain's rocks enclose, And, grown colossal. Power his sceptre rears ; Xight spreads his ebon wing ; the whirl, the roar. Of Ufe has ceased, and hopes and torturing fears. Within a million bosoms, swell no more, Sleei> soothes Want's pang, and dries pale Sorrow's tears. Bears the sad exile to his native streams, And cheers the captive's heaa-t with happy dreams. The broad Euphrates woos the moonbeam-showers. Gliding through Babylon, one silver sheet, Reflecting palms, and palaces, and towers. Now by the Hangmg-Gardens hurrying fleet;* * The Hanging-Gardens, adjoining the palace and close by the Euphi-ates, were commenced by Nebuchadnezzar, and com- pleted by his daughter-in-law, the famous Nitocris. PART II.J BABYLON. 65 The pyramid of tombs,* where monarchs rest, Stands half in shade — pride's last and dark retreat ; On palace-tops the stork hath sought its nest, But rise from squares, palm-bordered, warblings sweet — There the moon-loving nightingale, among The listening roses, trUls her mellow song.f Southward, beyond the wilderness of domes, Leaning like some huge hill against the sky, Tower after tower, like air-gods' lofty homes, Belus' vast temple lifts its head on high. The pale white rays in sUver kiss the pile. Around its brow the night-winds softly sigh. As if it lay in heaven's approving smUe, Nor fiends upon it cast their blasting eye : So in this world black error oft looks fair, And loveliest flowers a hidden poison bear. Pacing the topmost tower dark forms are seen. Flowing their robes, their long looks snowy white ; Their brows are thoughtful, features are serene. And passionless their eyes' unchanging light. Oft pausing, on heaven's azure vault they gaze, Watching the starry travellers of the night, Lost in yon worlds' interminable blaze — And then they stoop on ancient slabs to -sTrite : * The lofty mound, now called the Mujelib^, which rises about five miles north of Hillah, is conjectured to have been a grand pyramidal structure where the Babylonian monarchs were interred. t It is stated by Diodorus and Quintus Ourtius, that Baby- lon contained 626 squares, planted with trees and flowers. C6 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. Thus Chaldee sages, from the circling spheres, Have errless reckoning kept, a thousand years. (16) Oh ! yes, they read the immortal, dazzling page, In glory traced by God's eternal hand ; Why, too, doth not that volume more engage Man's thoughts this hour ? was nobler over plann'd ? Wedded to dust, he nightly sees yon host, A myriad worlds, than his more bright, more grand. But thinks not — recks not — -'midst low projects lost, A child amused with castles buUt of sand ; He blows his bubbles, heedless of the sides. Eats, drinlts, his little hour — and smiles and dies. But night's dun robes are raised from Elam's hills, Gay as a bridegroom, flashes forth the sun, Eadianoe each court and porphyry palace fills, Euphrates' waves in mellowing amber run ; Flowers in the Hanging-Gardens ope their ej^es, Eejoiced at last that daylight hath begun ; The huge stone bulls in rosy sunshine rise. E'en circling walls a warm, rich tint have won ; The plates of gold, on Belus' lofty shrine. Flash back the rays in many a dazzling line. And now the hum of crowds, the tramp of feet. The jollity of life, commence once more ; The maid to hail the sun is singing sweet. The painted barge is dashing from the shore ; The laden camels through the gateways steal, To practice arms, forth high-helmed warriors pour ; From wall to wall the answering trumpets peal. And all goes blithe, and hopeful as before : PART II.] DANIEL. 67 Nought for long miles but splendour, pomp ye see — Ah ! can such glorious city cease to be ? But while that world, great Babylon, is gay. The lord of all, the conqueror and the king. Sits mute and sad ; his eye has lost its ray. And bitterest thoughts his moody bosom wring : In vain to cheer his soul, this beauteous morn. From pipe and harp melodious numbers ring. And choicest flowers by favourite maids are borne. And sweetest censers white-robed eunuchs swing ; Lux'ry and love not always charm the heart, Or pluck from anguished mind the venomed dart. A dream could move that fierce and fearless man, Who dragged a nation captive at his car ; His charging troops the trembling west o'erran. He seemed a god, power, victory in his star ; But now he shook, and bowed his stately frame. And summoned to his throne, not chiefs of war. But gray astrologers of Belus came, Wizard and priest, and Magian from afar : Yon sun for them no more would shed its beam, If failed their lore to solve his fearful dream. Then cheeks grew pale, and terror seized each heart ; Nought of the vision could those sages teU ; And must they with their fame, their learning part, In earth's cold breast, or Hades' gloom to dwell ? Like frailer mortals, hard they clung to life. And whether raised to heaven, or doomed to hell. They still preferred this scene of care and strife ; Alas ! poor Nature loves our world so well ! 68 SPIRITS OP TUE PAST. [BOOK I. Thus every sage bowed down, and left tlie Idng, Shrinking in soul, an anguished, hopeless thing. But who drew near the Monarch's dreaded throne. Calm his majestic brow, assured his mien ? His waist displayed no Magian's ciphered zone, But bare his head, and plain his robes were seen ; A youthful Hebrew captive — fairer far Than Media's mountain sons ; the tree was green, Yet noble in its verdure ; like a star New ris'n, he came, and shone upon the scene : E'en in that room of pomp, so rich and bright, His presence seemed to awe, and shed a light.* Yet was not his the winning, joyous grace Of Jesse's son, the gay, and sparkling air Of brUliant Solomon ; his tranquil face Told of no feelings lighter bosoms bear : Across that cheek no smile was wont to play. His youthful forehead showed deep lines of care ; The full dark eyes that shed a solemn ray — Oh ! what a world of searching thought was there ! Thought that pass'd present time for time to be, And, spurning earth, would grasp immensity. A gravity thus early seemed to fall On Israel's prophet, softening half his fire ; And musing sadness, like a shadowy pall. Cast gloom on dreams that heavenward would aspire : * Daniel was included as a hostage in the first band of pri- soners whom the Chaldajans led into captivity, 606 B.C. He was then very young, and not many years are supposed to have elapsed, before the incidents took place in connection with the Babylonian monarch's first dream. PART II.J DANIEL. 6& It was not harshness or repining woe, For wrongs the exUe felt, or evils dire Heaped on loved SaJem by her ruthless foe ; He asked no vengeance, nursed no bitter ire ; His noble soul far other feelings wrung, From other source liis lofty sorrow sprung. Oh ! who could view the destiny of men Before his vision spread — an awful chart ? Could see in spirit all that dazzled then, E'en as a breath — a morning dream, depart ? Nor banish lightsome thought for graver mood ? Nor feel for those who act pride's senseless part ? So Daniel, wrapped in visions, sadness wooed, A mighty future weighing on his heart ; Not Israel's fate alone to grief gave birth, But woes of far, far years — the doom of earth ! He told the dream which none beside could tell. And showed its meaning to the awe-struck king ; ChaldEEan sage, and star-read priest of Bel, Not yet shall cower beneath death's withering wing ; He told the dream — ^poor conqueror of the world. How weak his arm ! how frail the glittering thing He called a crown, soon earthward to be hurled ! But now the priests rich-burning odours bring. And he, the wide East trembling at his nod. Bows low to that young Hebrew, as a god. If flattery's breath, if fame, and grandeur's glare. E'er soothed a soul, or chased the clouds of woe. Then did the lonely exile, called to bear Eule o'er the land, unmingled rapture know : YO SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. Ay, in that pomp the world believed him blest, For common minds see only outward show, . And think the heart, beneath a purple vest. Must needs with joy, and exultation glow ; They dream not there are souls who nothing prize Such gilded chains, but pity and despise. (17) In dust th' oppressor of the Hebrew slept, And other monarchs bade the Chaldee bow. Above whose tombs in turn, hired Sorrow wept ; Last of his line, Belshazzar reigneth now. (18) The Mede is thundering at his gates of brass. But reckless king and slave no fears avow ; Those tower-crowned walls the foe shall never pass ; Feast! is the cry — let gladness light each brow ; Open your palace-doors, the banquet spread, Wear the gay robe, and deck with flowers the head ! No columns grace the vast and marble hall, But countless scvdptures seem instinct with life; On strange fantastic shapes the lamp-beams fall. Here sphinxes crouch, there warriors join in strife; Tall human forms display the eagle's head — Grand hieroglyphs with secret meaning rife ; On high their wings colossal lions spread ; Ivories attest the carver's skilful knife : Stone bulls the entrance guard, like massy towers. But each wild figure now is wreathed with flowers.* * The above description is from a Ninevite hall, sucli as recent excavations have brought to light, and we have taken, perhaps, no unwarrantable liberty, since there is every reason to conclude that the style of architecture, adopted by the Xinevites, characterised the early erections of their neighbotu's, the Baby- lonians. PART II.] DANIEL, 71 The wine is flowing in their cups of gold, Pleasure o'er every banqueter is stealing, Not one sad heart that hall appears to hold ; Hark ! to the sky the sUvor trump is pealing ; Then flute and cittern breathe a softer lay. Stirring the lowest depths of tender feeling ; Gold, gems, and lamps pour lustre like the day ; Around the Monarch rich-robed forms are kneeling ; Some incense burn, some offer dainties rare. The sweets of paradise all centred there. Feast on ! the ills of life, O man ! forget. And bury in those joys the sense of woe, Think not of hours when pleasure's sun must set, Of weary days when tears again must flow : Feast on ! the warm blood bounding through thy vein ; Let eye on sparkling eye in rapture glow, G-reet thy pleased fellow, mock at care and pain. Nor a black threatening future strive to know ; Quaff the red wine, and banish reason's power. Lost in the happy madness of the hour ! So revelled Babylon's voluptuous king, Nor deemed his throne was tottering, death was near ; Why did he start, and, pride forgetting, fling His sceptre to the ground, in palsying fear ? His eye was fixed upon the glittering wall ; There did a hand, half veiled in mist, appear, Writing strange words in fire that startled all — Fire like the comet's on its pale career ; Where mirth and music late the heart enchained. Portentous silence, breathless horror reigned. 72 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK. I. The sage knew nought, the Magian only deemed His god* had come in vengeance from the sky ; But Daniel viewed that glory as it beamed, With thoughtful brow, and calm unaltered eye : hour of doom and fear ! — the Hebrew's air, The awe-struck crowd that shrank, but could not fly, The reading of the marvel blazing there, A Nation's fate pronounced by powers on high — 'Twere vain upon that wondrous scene to dwell. Age trembles o'er, e'en childhood knows so well. More honours wait the exile ; Elam long Hath spread his groat renown, and owned his might ; But round him gathers now a jealous throng, Burning to cast him from that lofty height. Worth, soaring upwards, wakes hate's venom'd sting, Fame green, and pure, the evil love to blight ; So Median nobles sought their aged kiug,| And wove their plot of foul and hellish night ; Each Hebrew, save false souls who prized their breath More than their nation's Grod, was doomed to death. To fear a fellow worm, as m3Tiads do, Beyond that awful One, whose piercing eye Man's heart, earth's deepest caverns glances through, Beads every secret in the world-hung sky. Which might all living things above, below. Wither to ashes, ere an instant fly, Proud, boastful man, before that scorching glow. Melting as dew when flashes day on high — * Onnuzd, the god of light. t Darius, called the Meile, the Cyaxares of Xonophon, asso- ciated with Cyrus in the government of Babylonia and Persia. PART II.] DANIEL. 73 To fear a mortal more than this dread Power, Oh ! folly bom in blindness' darkest hour ! He knelt as wont, nor recked the king's decree, Tow'rd Salem turned, and stretched th' imploring hand; The setting sun went down on tower and tree. Gilding the mountains of his own loved land : The holy light streamed soft on Daniel's face, Gave his shrunk cheek a tint more warm and bland, And touched his aged head with golden grace — The eldest he of Salem's prophet band.* And thus he bowed till twilight heavens grew dim. Invoked great Nature's God, and prayed to Him. Deep was the fearful vault, wild eyes seen through The thick, black gloom, like fire-brands flashing red, And round and round the panting monsters flew, By hunger and impatience fiercely led : The mane upbristling, and the tail in air. Betokened ire; anon with jaws wide spread. They stood erect, looked up with fiery stare, As hoping human prey, alive or dead ; Then burst the savage howl of pain and rage, Koar following roar, till thunder filled the cage. The victim came, the stone was backward rolled, The slaves who bound him shuddered as they saw, And deemed his sands of life already told ; Doth he not quake with fear, or shrink in awe ? * Daniel at this period was about eighty years of age. 74 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. Calm is his front, no quivering- muscle shows Unmanning dread, as near the den they draw ; His blood through quiet veins in quiet flows, He seems to soar o'er nature's general law ; They thrust him down ; one moment are revealed The terrors there, and then the cave is sealed. He stands within that ghastly living tomb. Strewn with the bones of men who perished there ; White skulls are glistening hideous in the glOom, But from those monster-eyes more dread the glare. A threatening circle now the Uons form. Yet hesitate to spring ; their fangs are bare ; So gathering thunders pause in some black storm. More fierce their fiery terrors to prepare. The wild beasts lash their sides : they foam more nigh ; Wliere is thy hope, doomed mortal ? — in the sky. He knelt upon the sand, and looked above. Serene, majestic at that awful hour ; Still to rush on the famished lions strove, And reared and howled, held back by some strange power. Look ! a quick flash of silvery glory beamed— 'Twas from a starry brow ; a deathless flower Of Eden graced it ; pure as ether gleamed Those eyes whose rays fell soft as pearly shower : Across the vault did some bright iris spring ? No, 'twas the guardian angel's waving wing 1 And thus the seraph, gliding swift from heaven. All palpable, and dazzling human sight. PART II.] DANIEL. 75 Had come to save, and, power unearthly given. Soared back the monsters by that brow of light. Less fierce they grew, then tame, amd still more tame> Softened their rage^ and fawned in calm, delight ; It seemed as paradise a moment came. Where love linked all, and weakness feared not might. So Daniel lived — again his star rose high, The foes that plotted, doomed- themselves to difei (19) Vision-beholder ! lapped in awful trance, , Far-piercer of the depths of distant time! Boldly thou didst 'mid fearful shades advance. Pronouncing doom on kings in words sublime ; Yet were those words with solveless mystery fraught. Boding and dark, though gorgeous as thy clime. Like lightnings sheathed in clouds, ere eyes have caught Th' efiulgence of the flash ; we know no crime That cast a shade, great prophet ! on thy days ; We own thy godlike mind, admire, and praise. Didst thou not see, .from that transcendent height. Shapes of the air, and beings not of earth ? And hold conuminion with the Lifinite, While in thy soul stupendous thoughts had birth ? Whether we view thee move in courts of kings. Fearless, august, with eye that knew not mirth. Or sweeping far-off time on spirit- wings. Deeming what others prize, .as nothing worth ; Or listening Heaven's dread angel, as he cried In thunder-tones, by wild Hiddekel's* tide ; *. The Tigris. 76 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK Still, Prophet of dark dreams ! thou stand'st alone, Foreshadowing things no mortal else might see, Honoured by God and man, yet pride unknown ; A mystery and a terror rest on thee ; Are thy announcements working stiU below ? Earth's thrones to fall, thy judgments yet to be ? Is man more wondi-ous secrets doomed to know. Time verging now on dread eternity ? — Ah ! who shall say ? by reason's taper-light. We cannot, awful Prophet ! read thee right. As travellers turn from some heaven-piercing steep. Eternal winter on its shadowy crest, Where thunders, in their cloud-halls, revel keep. And, born of Pear, Sublimity doth rest — - Turn to survey a calm, a lovely scene. Shining with golden fruits, with flowrets dressed, Watered by rills that purl through mosses green. The velvet turf by viewless fairies pressed. Where storms ne'er ravage, but the leaf-shrined dove Coos its soft tale, and steeps the air with love. So turn we from the august, sublime, and dread. The mountain majesty of soaring mind, To view the soul in paths more lowly led. The gentle thoughts in woman's spirit shrined : How fair the altered picture ! how the eye Dwells on each charm, still newer charms to find ! Her virtues, and sweet fancies, flowers that lie Painting the moral ground, her heart so kind, Warmed with pure feelings that gush forth Uke rills. While her bright smile the scene with sunshine fills. PART II.] ESTHER. 77 Ay, in all ages man hath proudly hung O'er that fair form, and breathed delighted sighs ; For her have heroes bled, and poets sung, Deeming her love an all-sufficient prize. Her power is not mere beauty— such we see In countless shapes that people earth and skies^; 'Tis not on passion based, for love can be, When, like the withered rose-leaf, passion dies. Say then, in what sweet attribute may dwell This soul-subduing, and mysterious spell ? 'Tis in the finer chords, the richer hues. The tenderer feelings in her nature blent. As if upon her heart bright Eden's dews Still sparkling lay, and moral freshness lent ; 'Tis in her frailty, secret of her might. For e'en her tears are like strong conquerors sent, Bowing men's wills; extremes in her unite, Softened to one pure lucid element ; The poetry of being, see her shine ! Dimmed by man's fall, alas ! yet half divine. Down by the stream which flowed near Susa's towers,* Bearing an earthern vase, a maid was seen. Her feet unshod, yet white as lotus-flowers ; Humble her garb, retiring was her mien ; No gaudy gems were glittering in. her hair. No bracelets gave her arms their golden sheen, But, placed by love upon her bosom fair,. A single violet oped its eye serene ; * The Ulai, probably the Abi-Shapur of the present day; this river passes near the extensive mounds at Sus, the supposed site of ancient Susa. 78 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. A purple girdle bound her lithe, small waist, Her robes were spotless, as her soul was chaste. Thus simple, and though art had little done, Her beauty like a faultless statue's shone, Such as the skilful Greek had just begun To make immortal, in the Parian stone ; The straight, fine profile, cheek that bore love's seal, The ample brow, the long locks backward thrown, And falling like vine-tendrils to her heel ; The eye that made each deeper feeling known, A radiant outlet of the flashing mind — Here all their dreams embodied, bards might find. And this was Esther, Nature's untaught child. Her fatherland — a land she never knew, And born a captive, yet her young eye smiled ; Her home was where heaven's genial breath she drew. Grief lightly weighs upon the youthful heart, She mourned her parents sleeping 'neath the yew. Yet there was one who bore a father's part,* To him she clung with fondness warm and true : Care, thought, ambition, came not to destroy Her golden fancies, and her dreams of joy. She stood beside the stream, her lily feet Half in the ripple as it kissed the shore She caught the bubbles, onward dancing fleet. And many a flower that passing wavelets bore. * Mordecai. PART II.] ESTHER. 79 Her form was glassed uppn the crystal tide, Her song from bank to bank went thrilling o'er. Glad as the bird's wh«ai morn he hath descriedj Mounting to meet, the sun at heaven's bright door ; Ah ! sure that sun no living thing surveyed. Lighter, yet happier, than that Hebrew maid. And now her pitcher poised- upon her head, She wended home as musky evening fell. And there his hands an old man fondly spread, To bless the orphan child he loved so well : Yet seemed he anxious grown, and sunk in thought ; A tale in Esther's ear he burned to tell, How through each land fair maidens would be sought. The loveliest, as a queen, in pomp to dweU : "And thou, my child, must join this radiant train. And strive, by youth's sweet grace, the palm to gain.'' (20) But Esther never knew; th£|,t keen desire Of rising o'er her fellows, myriads feel ; Her thoughts to all that's beaiiteous could aspire. The glories earth and star-decked heaven reveal: She asked no higher place than still to be, Gay freedom's chUdj at Nsiture's throne to kneel.; Pomp, she had heard, wiU weary, honours flee ; And now she shrank, nor sorrow could conceal; But vain her sweet r,esistance — vain her prayer ; They bore her off — the flower was all too fair. Vast was the room ; not such we now behpld. Where grapdeur brings its motley, glittering throng ; Yet aU that luxury kifew — her gems, her gold, AU that to art and science might belong. 80 SPIBITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK I. Blazed richly there ; bold sculptures decked the wall, Statues from Greece flower-vases gleamed among ; Gushed in the midst an arch-formed waterfall, Cooling the air, which thrilled to lyre and song ; The floor with gorgeous paintings charmed the eye, The roof blushed purple like a sunset-sky. And here were met the maids of many a land. Flowers culled from varied gardens wide apart; To vanquish one, must all their blooms expand. Each striving by her charms to charm one heart ? There leans the black-haired Mede, her piercing glance Bright as the sparkle of young Cupid's dart ; The hills her world, she had not dreamt, perchance, Of worlds beyond, where Nature bows to Art ; Dazzled by all she sees, she gazes round. Wondering if here true happiness is found. The slim young Arab, energy and fire. Moves restless on that couch of Phrygian down ; Her active limbs the desert could not tire ; Where now her goat-hair belt, her mantle brown 1 Where is the camel with its tinkling bell ? Her wild gay tribe that scorned the peopled town ? Where are the shadowy palm, the grateful well ? Hard doth she strive the thoughts of home to drown, Views her bright-flowing garb, the splendours near, Turns round to smile, but, smiling, drops a tear. The fair Ionian, with her stately mien. Vain of her noble land, and polished race. Walks the wide chamber haughty as a queen, Yet in her very pride bewitching grace. PAKT II.J ESTHEB. 81 Daughter of heroes ! well might Art arise, And paint or carve from such vmrivalled face, Poets drink inspiration from those eyes ; Eve's features in the Grecian still we trace; There breathing beauty, majesty, combine. Softness and harmony in every line. The sun-kissed maiden from the Isles of pearls,* The dusky Indian from Hydaspes' stream. Proud of their ivory teeth, and jetty curls. Languid, yet passionate, children of the beam. Bred in soft luxury, nurtured 'mid perfume, Their youth one idle, sunny, orient dream. Pant for the diadem and royal plume ; Honours to them life's only value seem ; In happy fancy, each fond, ardent thing Already sits — a queen beside the king. Apart from all, the orphan Esther see ! Though others strive, by many a secret wile, To aid the force of Nature's witchery. Hoping to gain a king's electing smile. She boasts no costly robe, no gems that gleam. Sighs not to win, or dazzles to beguile. But looks the maid we saw by Susa's stream. Chaste in her beauty, without aim or guile ; The perfect statue asks no glittering dress. But charms the world by simple loveliness. * The islands in that part of the Erythrean sea, now called the Persian Gulf. 82 SPIRITS or THE PAST. [bOOK I. Yet Esther's locks flow glossier, apd'her brow, More delicate hath grown in harem a,ir. ; The veil more closely screens her bosom now, And her small feet bright silver sandals wear. Her eye nor heeds the throng, nor gorgeous room. But rests upon the cascade sparkling there ; She treads in thought her river's banks of bloom. And flowers doth cuU again, her pitcher bear. And deck the home where one old man appears. Smooths her bright curls, and wipes her happy tears. The despot's choice is made from that fair band, And Esther wears the diadem of gold ; Swift fly th' auspicious tidings through the land. And feast and revel joyous thousands hold. The Hebrew's heart exults in Esther's fate. But what her race his lip may ne'er unfold ; He stands a servant in the palace-gate. And prays for one who loves him as of old; Yet stern in spirit was that ancient man. In pride his woes, in pride his power began. Dark son of Agag !* with the brooding brow. Red murder stamped, thou blacker e'en than Cain ! Wouldst thou, because a Hebrew failed to bow The head to thee, see all his kindred slain? * Hainan was of the race of the Amalekites, called also Agagites, from Agag, the common name of their kings. These people were the oldest enemies of the Hebrews, haying opposed them in the desert shortly after their departure from Egjpt. PAET n.] ESTHER. 83 Wouldst thou doom sinless infancy to death, And when the mother asked its life in vain, Plunge to her heart the steel ? — ^hell's poison-breath Blew demons earthward in thy soul to reign : Raised by thy wrath, the scaffold towers on high, And there is Esther's gray-haired sire to die. Hark ! from the peopled city, plain and vale, Ascends to heaven a wild and anguished: prayer ; Woe, clothed in sack-cloth, tells her piteous tale. No hope to bridge the gulf of deep despair : Doomed Israel! look your last, upon the sun ! Far from your homes, your crimson graves prepare ; Death opes his gates ere slaughter hath begun, Waiting the crowds that soon must enter there : Then weep, unhappy victims ! ashes throw On each bare head, and breathe your waU of woe ! * She sat in agony, and slowly bent Her form to earth ; her bosom heaved with sighs ; The storm's first shock was past, but, still unspent. The sweeping waves of anguish seemed to rise. She knew the worst — her father's, kindred's fate — All, all must perish — see ! those upraised eyes Melting with pity, and now flashing hate ; Then, drop by drop, like rain from thunder-skies, Fell the big tears, her jewels sparkling o'fer. And wetting her loose locks that swept the floor. * The number of Jews at this period scattered through the various Persian provinces must hare been very great, since the tribute they paid has been estimated at two millions of our money. 84 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. How should she plead, and how a Nation aave ? How snatch a father from a doom of shame ? 'Twas death the Persians' ancient law to brave, And seek the king's high throne, ere mandate came ;* No matter — she would go — thou fierce Hamka ! Weak woman was thy match ; her gentle frame Swelled with resolve, whose holy ardour ran Through her soul's inmost cells, like lightning-flame. Hope ! hope ! ye million Hebrew^ ! murderer, fear ! Your fates are hanging on a woman's tear. Cool was the fair pa^'ilion, though the beam Blazed witheringly without on flowers and trees ; Statues of silver shed a softened gleam, Through half-drawn draperies crept the panting breeze : Wines, from the bloomy valleys of the East, Sparkled in crystal cups ; from o'er the seas Fruits of all growth were shining ; Esther's feast, While ravishing the sense, the soul might please : There sat the Monarch, there HamcLn was seen. The only guests of Persia's lovely queen. (21) Hamin's dark eye with exultation shon«. But thoughtful sadness paled young Esther's cheek; The monarch marked that brow whence joy had flown ; Now must she urge her suit, her sorrows speak : * The fact that memhers of the king's household, even his chosen queen, exposed themseJTes to the penalty of deatli, if they dared enter liis presence Avithout heing summoned, strik- ingly proves to what a length domestic despotism was carried by the Persian monarchs. PABT II.] ESTHER. 85 Burning emotion stirred her throbbing breast, Her will was strong, but ah ! her frame was weak , A word might save her people ; on her pressed The fate of myriads ; see ! she strives to break The spell that binds her, and now gains control O'er feelings that, like whirlwinds, swept her soul. Then Esther backward drew with firm, proud air, Stately in loveliness, her eyes so bright Flashing upon her foe who trembled there. Defiance, scorn, yet anguish in their light : One arm was raised ; in massy, glittering length, Fell from her head her tresses black as night; She seemed a Pythia in that passion's strength. Her ardour fanned to agonising height ; And yet so beautiful she looked withal ; Angels might look so, watching Eden's wall. " Monarch ! in justice, mercy, listen now ; I am a Hebrew, and my race is dear ; Faithful to thee the sons of Israel bow. Why launch against them this decree of fear 1 It dooms youth, feeble age, to cruel death ; They die to please one minion smiling here ; Turn thee, O king ! and dread to di-aw thy breath, For foul pollution — ^pestilence is near ! Who bowed thee to his will ? — that crafty man; Who burns to slay my kindred ? — base Hamdn !". Darius walked beyond the silken screen ; Surprise and rage alternate swayed his heart ; Suing for life before th' indignant queen, The once-proud favourite played his coward part. 86 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. But swift the king returned ; like arrows now, Shot by mind's wrath, did those fierce glances dart ; No mercy on that black and gathered brow, His voice, low muttering, bade all hope depart ; He stamped his foot — vain strove Hamin to fly. For guards rushed in — they bore him forth to die. So guilt and treachery spread their own dark snare. And Esther saved her race ; her name for this. More than the charms which, Persian bards declare. Might lure e'en Israfil* from bowers of bhss, Is syllabled through countries far and near ; Her fame hath floated safe on time's abyss - While Hebrews feast them stUl each circling year. When love meets joy, and peace and friendship kiss ;: They bless the noble deed by Esther done, But launch their curse on Agag's murd'rous son. (22). There stands in Hamad&nf a dome-erowned pile, , The stork upon its summit builds her nest, It catches mom's first ray and eve's last smile, And lovingly the star-beams on it rest : It may be fancy, but the winds that creep Bound century-darkened stones with mosses dressed. Seem there to sigh more softly, flowers to weep More dew-drops than elsewhere on earth's cold breast ; Sorrow is breatliing in the very pabn. Its feathery top low-dropping in the calm. * Israfil — one of the Mohammedan angels. See the Koran. t The ancient Ecbatana, the summer-residence of the Persian kings. PAKT n.] ESTHEK. 87 Daughter of Israel ! dost thou slumber here, Thine ashes treasured in tliis ancient cell ? (23) All that was mortal let us now revere, While fancy gives thee back thy beauty's spell. Pilgrims have worn these steps with countless feet, Moistening these stones a miUion tears have fell ; So hallowed is the spot, so calmly sweet. Thy shade might deem it bliss e'en here to dwell ; What hovers o'er yon tomb with softened gleam. Winnowing the air I — away ! we only dream. Oh, no I not walls of adamant can be The prison of the pure, ethereal soul- ; May it not range all space for ever free, Chainless as thought, and owning no control ? — And where, sweet shade of Esther ! where art thou ? By Susa's stream, whose waves stUl softly roE, Wreathing with flowers thy bright immortal brow ? Or may'st thou high o'er earth have found a goal ? Sit'st thou in glory on yon clouds alar, Or is thy bower in Evening's silver star ? A moment fancy speeds her daring flight. Piercing the mysteries of the solemn sky ; A glimpse within the curtained infinite. Through star-lined vistas mocking mortal ey& — Upward and onward, brilliant ether glows, Where being is a rapture ; dazzling nigh. The sun no withering heat, but glory throws; Hark ! music swells, and distant worlds reply ; In endless rows, their wings like ocean's foam. Angels sweep round — and here is Esther's home. END OF BOOK. I. SPIEITS OF THE PAST. BOOK II. MILITAEY HEROES. Pabt I. Wae ! since Nimrod waved his conquering sword, How hast thou maddened this poor world of ours ! Art thou a noble god, or fiend abhorred. Breathing dire flame, and crown'd with blood-stained flowers? We judge thee by thy fruits — they yield us woe ; Thou crushest Toil's fair works, Love's bloomy bowers. Making the tears of widows, orphans, flow. Shortening frail man's already too brief hours : Before thy scowl Joy's smiling forms depart ; Then not a god, a demon sure thou art. And yet such dazzling light, O rampant War ! Glory around thy laurelled head doth fling. Thou lookest in thy dashing iron car, A proudly-grand, a gay attractive thing : Men bow to thee, and follow, then embrace ; Rapture to wild Ambition dost thou bring. And he who longs to sway, oppress his race. Will ever to thy side the closest cling ; Conquest, renown — the very words inspire, Hide all the ills, and set the heart on fire. PART I.J XEKXES. 89 Ah ! such our nature, such our passions here, Strife, mad contentions, still must spread tlieir niglit ; Yet Virtue, Wisdom, cast no glance severe On honest Freedom battling for her right ; Sacred the cause, let honour wreath witli bays The patriot's brow, and trace his deeds in light, For he who dies a sinking land to raise, Protect his race, or break a tyrant's might, Stands foremost 'mid the great, and sends his name, A stirring trumpet, down the paths of fame. The stars, heaven's eyes, their lids began to close, Fainter and fainter every moment gleaming ; The giant sun, refreshed by night's repose, O'er Asian hills with ruddy brow was beaming ; The ray illumed far towns on Thracia's sliore, Across the iEgean billow softly streaming ; The marble isles laughed forth — unseen before — From ocean's bed, as maids wake up from dreaming ; Th' Olympian eagle rose to meet the morn. In Lesbian dells the wild bee blew her horn. The mists rolled oif, like ghosts that shun the day, From Troy's renowned, but long-deserted plain, Famcy no more might battling hosts survey, Or aught that filled blind Homer's teeming brain ; The waves, with rose lips, kissed Sigeum's steep, Achilles' tomb e'en beauty seemed to gain ; Scamander danced, flower-sprinkled, to the deep, Ah ! red no more with hapless thousands slain : Each scene, sublime or fair — the land, the wave. To opening day a jocund welcome gave. 90 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK IT. From rocks, hoar giants, guarding Phrygia's strand, To far Bitliynia's plains of ancient fame, What mean those tents that whiten all the land ? Those spears that flash hke groves of silvery flame ? It seems as if, from cave and shaggy dell, With waking morn, unearthly myriads came. And stones had sprung to life by some strong spell, Sorcery's aU-powerful king alone could name : Oh ! ne'er such countless host may eye survey On earth again, tiU comes the judgment day. The stir, the hum of shifting, marching ranks. The varied garbs th' assembled Nations wear, For men from Euxine's coast, from Indus' banks. And Libya's burning wilds, are gathered there ; The gay-dressed Persian with his slender bow, The Arab's steed that wildly snuffs the air. The Parthian chivalry — a gorgeous show. The dusky Ethiop, Scythia's warrior fair. The long, long camel-train, the bickering car — - Such is the scene — thy boast, too. glorious War ! (2i) High on the living plain they raised a throne. And there sate he, the hero, chief, and king, That fiir-spread, dazzling multitude his own. And he to all a worshipped, dreaded thing. He cast his royal eye exulting round ; The stars that spangle midnight's ebon wing Seemed less than they ; ah ! surely thought profound The solemn sight to Xerxes' soul might bring ; What hopes, what fears, what joys, were moving then Tliat crowd o£ hearts, that breathing mass of men ! PART I.J LEONID jVS. 91 One aim was theirs — life's present to enjoy, No thought of death, or evil's gloomy hour ; A world of schemes did each full breast employ. And all were ardent, bent on spoil or power. Alas ! how brief the space, and not one heart Now bounding there, as ages were its dower. Would throb with hope, but o'er its mortal part The winds would sweep, and wave the funeral flower ! This Xerxes felt, and mournful silence kept, Turned, gazed again, then bent his head and wept. Rise, warriors, rise I the bridge spans HeUe's wave,* Launch your dread lightnings on devoted Greece ! March, myriads, march ! what daring arm shall save The scanty band, whose fame and name shall cease / Thrones shall be trampled, towns in dust shall lie, Hellas grow dim, but Persia's light increase ; Chains for the vanquished — shout ye victory ! On, heroes, on ! nor heed their cry for peace ; Prove Western art and progress nothing worth, And sweep each vaunting freeman from tha earth ! And so his vast array the Persian led To conquest, as he deemed — poor child of pride ! Flattery with garlands wreathed his haughty head. But Truth the gaudy blooms would scatter wide : * Xerxes with his laud force arrived at Sardis in the autumn of 481 B.C., and, having wintered there, advanced to the Helles- pont in the spring of the following year. The famous bridge of boats, the first bridge having been destroyed by a storm, was constructed near Abydos, where the Hellespont is less than a mile in -width ; seven entire days and nights were occupied by the army in crossing to the European shore. 92 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK II. A link was he in tyranny's dark chain, Type of presumption that the world defied, Mistaking strength for genius, boastings vain For Yalonr, which hath prudence for her guide ; But on they poured to ravage and to slay, And who might check their fierce, o'erwhelming way ? Where the lone eagle shrieks on (Eta's brow. While Malia's sullen billow eastward dashes ; Where glooms the pine that tempests love to bow. And, nursed by clouds, the frequent lightning flashes. Yawns a wild pass, a narrow, craggy dell, Formed haply when some earthquake, with its crashes. Severed the mount ; its name proud histories tell ; Empires may change, bright cities show but ashes. Yet still through earth, and bidding man be free, Shall ring that watch^word — red Thermopylse ! (25) Yes, here is glory — not vain conquest's wreath ; The patriot arms to save, and dares to die ; The blood, he yields, more honour doth bequeath Than realms might give, where vanquish'd millions sigh. The halo 'round the martyr-hero's head Shines next to pure religion's ; draw ye nigh, Say, is Leonidas, whose spirit fled That glorious day, in darkness or the sky ? Oh ! could such virtue fire a heathen breast ? A soul so nobly act, and not be blest ? The foe rolled on, like some black thunder cloud Covering the north ; the Greeks withstood the shock; Xerxes poured troop on troop — they fell, they bowed, Like waves cast back from some firm-breasted rock. PAET I.] XERXES. 93 Two suns that mighty mass was kept at bay, Till e'en their dead the valley seemed to blook ; Then treachery came, and showed the mountain-way, Where crowds, up-rushing, freedom's sons might mock; Wliat shall thy doom be, vile, betraying slave ? Eemorse in life, and woe beyond the grave ! (26) 'Twas o'er ; no hope remained for that small band. Myriads above, behind, the strait of gloom ; Their darts alone, though flung by coward hand, Might pile upon the Glreelv a mountain tomb ! The Spartan chief bade faithful friends withdraw, (27) To live for days when hope again might bloom ; For him and his, obeying Sparta's law. They ne'er must turn from foes or shun their doom ; Freedom's bright sword once drawn, no foot must fly. But each must fight, and fighting win or die. He stood amidst his foUowei-s ; no dark shade Of dull despondency obsciu-ed his brow ; Death, others feared, to him no dread conveyed. But his great heart was bounding cheerful now. The bold " three hundred" grouped around their lord. Ready in blood to seal their Spartan vow ; Each proudly leant upon his oft-tried sword, Each swore, to Persia ne'er the knee to bow ; The fire the leader felt electric ran, The lightning of the soul, from man to man ! " Soldiers! friends! comrades! Greece demands our life, Oh ! let us gladly yield it — 'tis her own ; We cannot die more nobly than in strife. Which writes ' the free !' on each sepulchral stone. 94 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. Cheer ye, rejoice ! not ours a bitter fate, But envy for our lot might e'en be shown ; They only are the doomed, the desolate. Who cling to Ufe, their fatherland o'erthrown. We die but live, for Greece, in after years, Shall name our names, and o'er us shed her tears. " Come, then, each face wear smiles—' we sup to-night, In Pluto's halls,'* and walk the shadowy shore. Till, past his realms, we reach a land more bright, Elysian plains that bloom for evermore. They call us to those bowers where heroes smile. Chains are unknown, and sla\ery's woes are o'er ; Then bare your swords, for gods look down the while. An universe will tell the part we bore ; On ! let us die — we give our blood to be Keviving rain, for Freedom's glorious tree !" Thus spoke Leonidas, and silence came A moment on the warriors gathered there ; Then burst from liero-hearts the pent-up flame. And their fierce shout like thunder rent the air ; Tlie rocks prolonged it, and each mountain-peak Echoed it to the skies, that winds might bear This last and stern defiance of the Greek ; The wild Ijeast heard it, trembling in his lair ; The vulture heard it, and resigned his prey, The Persian heard it, and confessed dismay ! * " Let us dine clieerfully to-day, for to-night we shall sup with Pluto," are the recoi-ded words of Leonidas to his soldiers. PART I.] LEONIDAS. 95 As sweeps the av'lanche from the mountain's height, Eapid, resistless, momently more strong ; The tree is shivered by its rushing might, High rocks arise, yet still it bounds along ; As some tornado rages fiercely by, As darts the lightning ocean's waves among, As meteors shoot across a troubled sky. Blazing in glory, though they blaze not long — So dashed the dread " three hundred" on the foe, Whate'er they met down-sweeping, laying low. The Persian fell, the Mede was backward driven. Death laughed at Xerxes' proud " Immortal band ;"* The jewelled cap was cleft, the helm was riven. None showed a front, or battled hand to hand ; Yet from afar weak cowardice could kill, The Mede could bend his bow, though dared not stand ; Shafts, javelins, rained from rock, and fence, and hill ; The small waves beat, and wore at last the strand ; The Greeks from very slaughter weary grew. While, cloud on cloud, still deadly missiles flew. He stood in front ; where'er his falchion swept, It sent some Persian soul to Hades' night ; Though pierced by darts, his post the chieftain kept ; Thousands pressed round, he quailed not at the sight ; Death heaped his path — he mounted o'er the slain ; Faint, sinking on his knee, he still could smite ; His sword was shivered, and life's purple rain Poured from his wounds, his arm had lost its might. * The troop called the " Immortal" was composed of ten thousand men, the flower of the Persian army. 96 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK II. Yet once more rising, rushing on, he cried, " Freedom and Greece ! " then struck one blow, and died.* So fell the bravest, though not greatest man Greece numbers 'mid her heroes ; history's page Eecords no scene like that since time began, Where one small troop dared all the East engage ; Where king and soldier fought, though hope had fled, With ready hearts, and 'mid the battle's rage Sank one by one, rejoiced their blood to shed ; Well may such actions charm each land and age ; Were not such men of daring, mighty mind. As models sent — -the wonders of their kind ? Sleep, ye " three hundred ! " centuries travel on. Sleep, \ratched by fame, in Gllta's haunted pass! Yet,, like your dust, each trophied stone is gone. And flourish there but ferns and waving grass ; Each crag your memories hallow ; evening's gale, That stirs the pine and breaks the fountain's glass. Seems murmuring of your names, and in yon vale Fancy beholds the great Lconidas. Wrapped in immortal dreams, we linger here. Glow while we mourn, too awed to shed a tear.f * When Leonidas fell, his surviring soldiers retired to a small eminence, where they sold their lives dearly; one man only, it is said, consented to live. The Persians, wc are told, lost some thousands of men, among whom were two of the king's brothers. t Cippi, or small monumental pillars, were erected in the strait of ThormopyL-c in honour of the dead, and a stone lion ■was set up near the spot wlicre Leonidas fell ; but about forty years after tlie battle, his bones were conveyed to Sparta, and interred there in a magnificent tomb south of the Theatre. PART I.] XEEXES. 97 But Xerxes, proud of crushing men like these. Insults the martyr-slain, and Greece defies. Burns each small town, and now elated sees The columned pride of far-famed Athens rise ; But here the despot's star must darkly set,. And happier fate awaits the brave and wise ; At Salamis the hostile fleets are met. Deadly the strife — a Nation is the prize ! Ship locked in ship, the waves, no longer blue, EoU with the blood of men a sanguine hue. He stands in safety on the rock-bound hill,* Watcliing the mortal conflict waged below ; What varied passions Xerxes' bosom flU, Fortune now favouring him, and now the foe ! The working muscle and the glaring eye. The firm-set teeth, the visage' wrathful glow, As now he sees his headmost gallies fly. And hears the G-reek's victorious trumpet blow. Tell of a soul o'ercharged, of feelings dire, Ready to burst, like pent-up, smouldering fire. Yes, on the winds the cry of victory swells. More proud the shores each billow seems to kiss Saved is the land where ancient freedom dwells. And art shall flourish still with peace and bhss : The armament, designed to shake the world, A bubble bursts on ruin's wide abyss ; The despot from his tower of pride is hurled ; - Shout from the sea foe-scattering Salamis ! * The hill -Slgaleos. 98 SPIRITS or THE PAST. [BOOK II. Send through all lands the magic of that name, To call on tyrants' brows the blush of shame ! And Xerxes fled ; o'er Thracia's darkening steeps. Solemn and sad, the dreary day was dying ; Westward the clouds were rolled in sable heaps, A mournful spirit on each gale was sighing ; The cheerless billow beat the lonely shore. Home to the cliff the shrieking sea-gull flying ; No gentle moon the rough wave silvered o'er, The jackal yelled, the caverned rocks replying ; Nature put on a frowning, sombre air, Such as in life too oft our fortunes wear. He paused by Helle's waters, worn and spent Through long and rapid flight ; his garb was mean, Fear in his anxious glance, that oft was sent To hills behind, where scattered troops were seen. His bridge was gone, the foe might reach him yet; Stranger to courage, fortitude serene. Shivering he stood ; his worshipped day-god set, Like his own glory ; darkness veiled the scene ; One little sldfi' his crown was scarcely worth ; Is this the boasted conqueror of the earth ?* * As Napoleon, after the disastrous Russian campaign, retreated from Moscow, so Xerxes, finding tliat his aimy could not retire so swiftly as he wished, left it, and reached the Hellespont with only three or four attendants; he found his bridge of boats shattered by a storm, and was compelled to pass over to the Asiatic shore in a fishing smack. PAKT I.J MILTIADES. 99 The fisher's bark is lavinehed ; the star-beams light Her lonely track across the stormy tide ; Sad change since when the monarch, in his might, Passed the bridged waters, millions at his side ! Three followers now, like mourners, form his train, And blame too late his folly and his pride ; His giant plans have all been laid in vain, The freeman threatened, and a world defied ; That tiny skiff, tow'rd Asia gliding slow. Bears a crowned head, but ah ! a heart of woe. So ended Xerxes' ever-famous dream. With hordes of slaves, to subjugate the free ; And so shall end the mad unhallowed scheme Of each aggressor earth is doomed to see. The Persian lives, yet covet- not his fame ; Methinks 'twere better all forgotten be, Than stand immortal in the ranks of shame. Age after age the world's great mockery, Blackened by cowardice' deep-branding stain, Eaising in men no feeling, save disdain ! And yet not always have the great and brave Obtained reward for high, heroic deed ; The man, who nobly fought his land to save. Tyrants oft trampled on, like some scorned weed. Success breeds Envy's serpent, whose sharp sting Doth poison genius ; Malice loves to feed On Virtue's heart, and Hatred's blighting wing Shadows the happy ; thus our passions speed ; Their baneful influence warps the soul from right, Till e'en we deem all dark the fair and bright. 100 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK II. In Athens stood a prison ; never yet, How liigh soever freedom's sun might glow, Did men, who sought their country's weal, forget To raise that dreary house of chains and woe. A prison — must we bar from Grod's own air. From all that glads the sense, above, below, Our fellow man, and bow him by despair? Yes, while the streams of crime and evil flow ; Yet history darldy tells that power can doom Honour and worth,, to pine in dungeon-gloom. The cell was damp and cold, and sad as lone ; Crept through a narrow grate a struggling ray. And yet so faint,, if glimmering starlight shone. Or summer's sun, the inmate scarce might say ; The spider wove its web securely there, Along the wall the moist slug traced its way ; Silence in that dim spot embraced Despair ; A tomb it looked without its proud decay — A place where hope's sweet beamings were unknown, And musing Woe might think her heart to stone. A man now trod the floor ; his cheek was pale, His noble head was gray, yet not with years ; The blight of wrong, the shafts of ill assail, Swifter than time, the form where strength appears ; His brow was seamed with scars, and CA-ery scar Had bled for Greece ; his eye no gentle tears Filled with soft grief, but, like some brilliant star, It flashed in gloom — an eye ne'er cowed by fears. A prisoner ? yes — yet still a hero he — His body fettered, but the spirit free ! PART I.] MILTIADES. 101 Ungrateful Athens ! couldst thou thus immure The man who saved thee from barbaric thrall ? Couldst thou believe that soul would take a lure, And at foul Mammon's sordid altar fall ? Slander upreared the bold unblushing brow, And dared Miltiades a traitor call ; E'en Marathon is half forgotten now, His deathless laurels stained by Envy's gall : Hi-judging Athens ! hang thy head in shame. That hero's doom a blot upon thy fame. (28) He leant against the pillar, at whose base Lay rusty chains that earlier captives wore, Eor hearts had broken in that dreary place, Valour had pined, and sunk in death before. His eye was fixed, his thoughts were far away. The cold, dark walls, the chains, were seen no more ; He marched to fight, his troops, in close array, Chanting war's song, as down the plain they bore ; He saw again the flash of sword and spear. While battle's music thrilled his joyous ear. The mountains circling Marathon were passed ; In all their pomp swept on the vaunting foe ; Like waves with glittering sunshine on them cast. The mail-clad troops were dashing to and fro ; But, fearing nought, his eager bands he led, His wings drawn out, his lines advancing slow ; Now front to front they stood — a moment fled Ere arms were crossed, and blood began to flow ; Each viewed the other, and each held his breath. In that dread pause of fate — of life and death. (29) 102 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. " Forward !" he waved his sword — " Athenians, on ! Forward for Greece 1" — hark ! faintly through the cell The words are heard, then " victory ! Marathon !" While flash those eyes where pride and valour dwell. Lost in his vision, see the hero raise His arm aloft, as if some foe to fell ! Spring from the pillar — suddenly his gaze Meets the dim grate, and then dissolves the spell ; The cold, cold truth falls freezing on his heart. And all his ardour, hope, and fire depart. He bowed his head upon his wounded breast. For recent battle-wounds were festering there ; A passing pang his musing soul confessed, Half indignation, grief, and half despair : His laurels reft away, his hard-earned fame Blasted by foes, his age thus doomed to share The traitor's blaclmess, and the felon's shame — Alas ! a crushing load 'twas his to bear ! Well bitter hate for men his soul might fill. He wrought them good, they heaped upon him ill. " Athens !" he cried, and shook his raised, clenched hand, " Shall 1 not curse thee for such matchless wrong ? Yet Grroece is still my home, my native land. For which I've fought so oft and toiled so long : No, cast me from thy bosom, brand my name, Deem me a wretch to whom all crimes belong, Let me sink, perish here, a thing of shame. Spurned by the proud, insulted by the strong ; I cannot curse thee, cannot love thee less ; The gods protect thy walls ! thy cliildren bless ! PART I.] MILTIADES. 103 " And when expires life's flame, now burning low, The victim gone, and they, who wronged, no more. The day may come when Greeks the truth shall know, And feel regret's sharp pang, unfelt before ; Then may they thhik of Marathon, and deem The conqueror scarce deserved the fate he bore. And as they woo the high, enthralling dream Of glories past, his blighted fame restore. Think of his wounds, and call his lot severe. Place on his urn one flower, and drop one tear." The soldier's murmurs ceased ; still, calm he stood, Yet less, in apathy, than saddened thought ; But well-known steps now broke his solitude. And light, quick-flashing, to his features brought ; She stole across that cell of gloom and fear. Coming like some sky-dweller, who had sought Oiu" dark earth for a while, to bless and cheer — Incarnate Hope with balm and healing fraught : Feelings warm, pure, yet spirit to defy Foes and the world, illumed her lovely eye. The Thraoian lady led a black-haired boy. Soul on his brow, Hke light on streamlets, beaming, He who one day vast armies would destroy,* How to ensnare the wild-bird only scheming ; A slight-limbed maiden, too, was tripping there, With snow-fall step, the heated fancy deeming Psyche had dropped from heav'n, and walked on air, Fragile, yet bright, beyond a poet's dreaming ; * Cimon, who for his valour, and the numerous victories which he won over the enemies of his country, has been called the last of the Greek heroes, was at this period ahout ten years of age ; his sister's name was Elpinice. 104 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. E'en northern sylphids, envious, might behold Her peaoh-hued cheeks, and curls of glossy gold. The noble wife, the daughter of a king,* Lay mutely in the veteran's clasping arms, Her tears were gushing fast from feeling's spring. Lending a softness to her stately charms. When man is bowed by pain, or mind's distress. How pure the love that woman's bosom warms ! Halo'd with beauty and a holiness. Its speU e'en death of half his sting disarms : Blest he who breathes his last, thus watched by love, A woman's prayers to speed his flight above 1 Low o'er his drooping wife the soldier bent, Moved back her hair, and kissed her weeping eyes ; He mourned not, spoke no word of discontent ; His was not grief to find a vent in sighs ; Yet was his nature human, pity came. And warm affection in her softest guise ; Close to liis heart he strained that gentle frame, And bless'd, for such a wife, the bounteous sides ; He felt that hope, that rapture were not o'er. Though he might never quit liis dungeon more. The chUd, with golden locks and sunny brow. Hung on his vest, and fondly clasped his knee, A sadness on those meaning features now, That hushed her voice, and checked her artless glee ; * Miltiacles, when governor of the Chersonesus, married Hegesipylsc, daughter of Olorus, king of Thi-ace. PART I.] MILTIADES. 105 The boy looked on, a sternness in his air ; Why should his noble sire a prisoner be ? His dark eyes beamed defiance ; mirrored there, The father's hero-soul you seemed to see : — Such was the group within that dreary cell. Where one too soon in death must say farewell. Thrice had the sun illumed th' ^gean isles, Flashed over Athens' temples, Corinth's towers. Bathed green Hymettus with his rosy smiles, And called the wild bee to her feast of flowers. When, in that prison, Athens' hero lay. To death slow yielding nature's sinking powers ; The father for his children stooped to pray. Not dreaming of the past, but future hours ; Placing his hands upon each shining head, His brief but parting words the soldier said : " Cimon ! I leave to thee, sole gift, my sword ; Lay me in peacefid earth, nor mourn me long ; Forgiveness to my bitterest foes accord. And, in thy love for Greece, forget my wrong : Fight for thy native land, whate'er betide ; G-lory must still to virtuous deeds belong ; Would that at Marathon thy sire had died. In victory's arms, amidst the laurelled throng ! By thee, perchance, such honour may be won — • 'Tis my last wish — adieu, my warrior son ! " And thou, green ivy to the oak that clings. My rose-bud fresh with dew ! come rest thou here ; The trunk is withered, but the young leaf springs ; Cease thy sad sobs, and dry that pearly tear. H ]06 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. Thy father loves thee, others too will love ; Oh ! may life's stream for thee flow bright and clear ; Each guardian spirit watch thee from above, Virtue thy guide, and joy for ever near. Farewell ! this parting, child, is fate's decree ; Each blessing heaven can shower, I call on thee !" They bore the children from the place of death. Young eyes should ne'er behold such mournful sight ; But one above him leans with scarce-drawn breath, Intently watching life's slow-waning light ; Her lord, so stern, and dreaded by his foes. Was gentleness to her ; heaven's lofty height The star illumes, but on the lowly rose The beams shine, too, all lovingly and bright ; The sea is deep and fearful, yet its gale ^\'recks not the Nautilus' slight, skimming sail. The wife, in agony and gushmg love. Kissed the cold forehead on her bosom laid ; Oh! be there feelings, thoughts, that soar above All others, with the light of heaven arrayed j Be there a grief pure, holy, in its flow. And yet which wrings the heart, a banltrupt made ; Be there a hopeless, desolating woe. That turns from life, and asks the cypress shade — She knows them all, whose days in love have passed, Her heart now doomed to lose that love at last. Pale fell the lamp-beams on the warrior's face ; Her hair's black masses on his shoulder lay ; No fear of death in that calm eye you trace. Death braved too oft amid the battle-fray. PART l.J MILTIADES. 107 But now she charms him with poetic dreams, Such as rapt Homer sang in ancient day, Tells him of happier plains, and brighter beams, In that far land to which he hastes away ; Glory will crown him on Elysium's shore. No prison bars, no foes to wrong him more. " Ay, there," she cried, " Achilles' shade wUl rove. By crystal rivers Ajax' form recline. Hector again Andromache wUl love. But patriots, such as thou, wUl brightest shine; A few short hours, and I shall join thee there, For here in solitude my soul will pine ; Thy great renown, dear love, I then shall share. Through joyful, endless ages thine, all thine! The thought of that blest time will balm impart. Stay misery's tear, and soothe my breaking heart." He looked his thanks, confessed his full belief In all she promised, all her fond lip spoke ; He knew, he felt their parting would be brief ; Now come, stern death ! he shrinks not from the stroke : But hark I what heard he ? not the gaoler's tread, Not the lark's far-off lay, as morning woke. But near that cell some chief a squadron led, And stirring trumpet-peals the silence broke ; The warlike passion, strong in death, arose. As the lamp's flame springs up, when near its close. That sound pierced each deep chamber of the brain. Unlinking memories time had fettered fast ; Scenes of departed years rushed back again. As thunder-clouds arise against the blast ; 108 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK II. The charging troop, mailed horsemen, glittering arms. All war's dread pomp whose magic had been cast Bound him from boyhood, dazzling with fierce charms. Before his spirit's eye that instant passed : Oh ! yet a moment, death ! withhold thy dart. And let those brilliant dreams enchant his heart ! He raised him on his couch, and searched his side, 'Twas in forgetfulness, no sword was there ; He faintly moaned, and turned his head aside ; But now his feeble hand was waved in air : " Farewell, ye plains of glory ! war ! farewell ! Your wild delights I never more shall share. Or hear again the battle-trumpet swell — And now I go, but feel no dark despair ; Is not that trump the pasan of the brave ? Would it not stir the ashes in my grave ? " My loved and loving one ! through life's long hoiu% I've worshipped war, but not forgotten thee ; The soldier's blessing — gold has gone with power — Is all to gentle worth bequeathed by me. For Hellas' glory, for my children's bliss, And thy dear welfare, my last prayer shall be ; If the red war-field I have trod amiss. Great Jove ! forgive — thy slave repentant see ; But Pluto calls — death's shadows round me roll ; Father of gods ! receive my parting soul !" So died a man that earth looks rarely on, Wronged by his land, in dungeon-darkness pent, Yet happier than his foes ; their names are gone. Vanished like mists from time's wide firmament ; PART I.] ALEIANDEK THE GREAT. 109 But, fixed as some bright star, in lustre shines The fame of him at whom their shafts were sent ; Around thy brow, Miltiades ! still twines Valour's green bay with honour's lilies blent ; (30) Thy bones repose beside the sounding sea, E'en on the plain where Persia bowed to thee.* There is in some a fever which ne'er dies. Calm hours to them a torture ; onward still, As if Ixion's curse upon them lies,f 'Tis theirs to force their way through good or ill : The banquet Nature offers charms not them ; Yain blooms the flower, and flows the mountain-rUl ; Despised or cast aside is learning's gem ; Thought on their souls will no sweet dews distil : In action, action, pass their restless days. And on that burning road their foot ne'er stays. There live bold, grasping spirits, who would seize What others have by toil and patience won ; Who think, so strength be theirs, 'tis right to please Each wild caprice, nor heed injustice done : Gold, power, or kingdoms, whatsoe'er it be Such men desire, aU risks they gladly run To win their aims, wovdd 'round them misery see, Unpeople earth, or blot out God's own sun ; The milUons must to them give slavish way, Born but to conquer, living but to sway. * The grave of Miltiades still attracts the eye of the traveller on the plain of Marathon, at a short distance from the sea. t Ixion's punishment in hell was "perpetual motion," the wheel to which he was attached revolving for ever. 110 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK If. A man like these in Macedon arose, With heart of daring, and with soul of fire, Wlio asked not friends, but would mankind were foes. So he might conquer them, and thus aspire. His country's rest, the calm delights of peace. The happy homes that pass from sire to sire. His nature loathed ; the light of hope would cease. And aU that charms most breasts would pall and tire, If he but reigned the lord of one fair land, No others to be won by Valour's hand. He studied history's truths, the warhke page Of Troy's famed bard,* and striving to control His passions by the lore of priest and sage, Would stiU expand, and iron-crust his soul. All for one end — to mount the steps of power, And gain ambition's bright, alluring goal. To call the world his own in some great hour, And Grod-like stretch his sway from pole to pole ; Gigantic fancies fiUed his ardent mind. He seemed a Titan, yet not rash or blind. AVarrior of Pella ! f didst thou then suppose Man only born thy dictates to obey ? Was it no crime to spread unnumbered woes, And with the sword whole nations sweep away ? * Alexander had conceived such a passionate admiration for the Iliad of Homer, that he caused a. copy of it to he enclosed in a costly casket, and it was always placed at night beside his pillow. The famous Aristotle was his preceptor. t Pella, the town in which Alexander the Great was bora B.C. 356. ' PART I.] ALEXANDER THE GREAT. Ill Heroic robber of a hundred lands ! Who gave thee jight on strangers' homes to prey ? Men who ne'er wronged thee, or thy blood-stain'd bands, Was it such glory to oppress and slay ? — Glory to darken what was bright before, And leave o'er half the world thy trail of gore ? But mortals set up idols, and resound The praise of those who compass lofty deeds ; In every land applauders will be found. And followers, too, where some bold spirit leads. As long as power hath charms, some souls will dare To mount above their kind : they build on reeds. And yet their glory-dome looks passing fair ; Of future wreck the dweller nothing heeds. So did thy tower of fame, young hero ! rise. Shine o'er the world — a beacon to the wise ! Where green Sigeum breasts the rolling wave, A form bent low as purple evening fell ; He came not there to watch the billows rave, Or hear the Nereid wind her pink-lipped shell ; He came not there to view the far-off isles Burn 'neath the kisses of the sun's farewell. Or mark those clouds, like rich palatial jDiles, Built in the west by air-god's wondrous spell ; He came not there to worship Eve's first star. Whose silver altar gleamed in depths afar : But on an urn-adorned, a grass-grown mound. The youthful soldier knelt, with musing eye ; His white-plumed helm was cast upon the ground. His unsheathed sword was slowly raised on high ; 112 SPIEITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. Great thoughts his bold, ambitious bosom filled, And now he smiled, now breathed an ardent sigh; Dreams of the glorious past his spirit thrilled, Immortal shades in fancy gliding by : Well might the heart of that young warrior glow ; Eival of gods, AchiUes slept below ! (31) To honour Homer's chief, the monarch sought Troy's desert plain, where dust of thousands lay ; Wliat spot might prompt so well heroic thought ? Where better for success might warrior pray ? Vast was his enterprise ; to sweep with arms The Eastern world, the wealth of kings his prey — To build one throne — to shake with war's alarms Primeval lands, where dusky myriads stray — Oh ! smile thou, Peleus' son ! thine aid accord, And fire his soul, to victory point his sword. He who that noble figure there had seen. Stalwart his limb, yet shaped in manly grace, Th' expanded brow where daring sat serene. The faultless lines of that mind-breathing face ; The ebon locks which wreathed the lofty head. The broad deep chest that spoke the Argive race,* The eye wliich feeling's softened lustre shed. Then flashed forth fire — the soul's bright dwelling- place — He who had seen had almost deemed a god Breathed in that form, now bending o'er the sod. * While the inhabitants of Macedonia appear to have been a mixture of different races, Illyrians predominating, the Mace- donian monarchs came originally from Argos, and boasted purest Hellenic or Grecian blood. PABT I.] ALEIANDEE THE GREAT. 113 The games commenced — ^they hailed th' illustrious dead ; The champion fought, his skiU the wrestler plied, Swift round the tomb the palm-crowned heroes sped. And incense burned on wild Sigeum's side :* There for long years had funeral silence reigned, Or waves but boomed, and lonely sea-birds cried, Now music, shouts, arose, tiU echo gained Far Ida's hill, whose startled caves replied ; Called up, they deemed, from Hades' depths of fear, The mighty chief, they honoured, hovered near. The army marches — Troy is left behind ; Hark to the neigh of steeds ! the trumpet pealing ! Visions of glory fiU each ardent mind, Each eye one passion — war's fierce fire — revealing ; Unlike the barbarous crowd by Xerxes led. Pouring on Europe with no centered feeling, Compact, aR-armed, the Emathian masses spread,f Not idly vaunting strength, but strength concealing ; Pomp o'er that host doth no vain splendour fling, Each veteran looks a chief — each chief a king ! (32) Asia ! thy time is come ; for Athens burned, For those who fell in (Eta's crimson vale. Vengeance is near — thy prayer will now be spumed ; Daughter of Persia ! Bactrian maiden ! wail ! • Alexander offered sacrifices at the tomb of Achilles, and according to the ancient custom of the Greeks, very opposed to our notions of solemn respect due to the dead, ordered a variety of games to be performed in the vicinity of the burial place. t Emathia was the ancient name of Macedonia, according to Pliny, Justin, and others. 114 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK II. The flowers, that 'neath your light steps breathed perfumes, Are wet with gore, and tell foul slaughter's tale ; Gay, festive halls give place to voiceless tombs, And funeral hymns, for love-songs, swell the gale. Death on Granicus' banlis glad counts his slain, The late clear waves red-rolling through the plain.* One effort more, to save his tottering throne, The lord of grandeur and of wealth will make ; His troops pour down from yonder mountain-zone, I Like countless rivers meeting in a lake. The land seems grown one forest in a night ; With their wild shouts the hills appear to shake ; If bold display and numbers prove their might. Well Alexander now may shrink and quake ; Well may he deem that Pluto, smiling grim. Opens his doleful gates, and waits for him. Calm sits Darius in his lofty car, (33) That flames with gems, and statues wrought in gold ; Each silver wheel turns glittering like a star. White steeds, gold-bitted, skilful drivers hold : The upright crown, all jewels, decks his brow, J Long purple robes his graceful form enfold ; His sword, within its flaming scabbard now. Hangs at a belt — an iris round him rolled. * The splendid action of the Granicus was the first victory- won by Alexander on Asiatic ground. t The ridge of Taurus called Amanus, and extending towards the bay of Issus. J The Persian croivn was a high cap covered with precious stones, and resembled a head-dress rather than the European symbol of royalty. PART I.] ALEXANDER THE GREAT. 115 He comes to fight, and thinks to daunt the foe — Poor child of vain parade, and empty show ! Behind Darius, costlier e'en than his, Moves the bright chariot of his dark-eyed queen,* For Persian kings no dear delights must miss. E'en in the fearful battle's bloody scene. Eunuchs in glittering ranks around her stand. And smiling maids from silken litters lean, While censers burn in many a Magian's hand. Trailing rich odour-clouds through sties serene ; Guards in their high-peaked caps, and vests that shine. Stretch like long walls, and close the royal line. Proudly the king now halts his countless host. And draws them out on Issus' level plain, Assigns to every nation, tribe, its post ; Here rise the girdling hUls, there spreads the main ; And all between, his squadrons fill the space. Spearman and archer, horse and camel-train ; Each looks resolved to blot the foul disgrace Of former days, and laurel- wreaths to gain ; And as the pipe thrills high, and trumpet peals, Courage and burning hope the monarch feels. But mark, beyond the bright, dividing stream, (34) The men of Macedon in close array ; There no proud chariots roll, no jewels gleam ; But iron helms black iron crests display : • The wife of Darius, and his mother, Sysigambis, were both present at the battle of Issus. 116 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK II. There spears are bristling in the steady hand, The phalanx forms, so deadly in the fray ;* Like some tried friend, the warriors grasp the brand — Mockers at fear, and strangers to dismay ; Such veterans fight to conquer ; e'en in death They're victors still, and smiling yield their breath. Swift down the ranks, see PeUa's hero ride, Borne by a steed that needs no spur or lash ;f He speaks, he cheers them, wakes the fire of pride ; Victory awaits them in the battle's crash : His plumes are nodding, and his shirt of mail Yields to his form as on the steed doth dash ; His sword is lifted — shall it not prevail ? Glory, success, seem promised in its flash. How did the veterans that young chief adore. Who won rough hearts, as ne'er did chief before ! One spirit seized the troops — such ardour burned. When Gaul's famed conqueror led his eager men ; Like laurels, and renown, Napoleon earned ; la him Olympias' son but Hved again. Ye hear the wild applause, the deafening shout. That smooth the sea, and reach the mountain-glen ! " Lead us !" the answering echoes thunder out — " Lead us !" — ^the roused up lion quits his den ; Woe to the antelope on which he springs ! 'Tis doomed to fall though terror lend it wings. * The famous Macedonian phalanx, as organized by King Philip, was composed of six distinct brigades, the spears which the soldiers used being from seventeen to twenty feet long. t The renowned horse Bucephalus. PART I.J ALEXANDER THE GREAT. 117 Charge on the right ! — ^not vain is given that word ; On rush the squadrons, spear and buckler gleaming, The Monarch in the front with waving sword ; They halt not at the river seaward streaming ; But foot and horsemen stem the rapid tide, On dashing, fearless straining, madmen seeming ; 'Tis done ; they climb the bank's steep, slippery side ; Th' astonished foe wakes up from idle dreaming ; His arrows rain, his javelins pour around. And many a grey-haired veteran bites the ground. But nought can daunt the fierce and fiery heart, Th' unshaken courage of the Western King ; He joins the soldier's to the leader's part. And seems around him some dread charm to fling ; Where Persians yield, his plume is ever seen, Where waves his falchion, flows life's purple spring ; Yet 'mid the raging strife how calm his mien ! As if Death's angel flapped not there his wing ; As if, on every shaft by valour hurled. Hung not two thrones — the empire of the world ! And other chiefs, upon that bloody day. Fought like their king, and won immortal fame ; See where Parmenio, by the dashing bay, Turns back that column pouring on like flame ! And drives them in the deep ; their bubbling cry Mingles with ocean's roar ; the noble frame, The costly garb must undistinguished lie ; Death heaps the sand — alas ! for war's wild game ! The sword of Clitus, too, is red with gore, But gallant Ptolemy's young race is o'er. (35) 118 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. Cleaving his way, the Monarch still advances, And marks Darius on his glittering seat ; Can he but break yon hedge of circKng lances, One blow may lay an empire at his feet ! He comes — he bids the Persian fight or die ; Up springs the king ; their burning glances meet ; Away ! Darius shrinks from that fierce eye ; He leaps to earth, his safety in retreat. And trembling, panic-stricken, files the field ; His guards an instant fight — cower — turn, and yield. They yield ! — their broken squadrons sweep the plain ; Then comes war's blackest and most dreadful hour ; Then fury raves, and blood is spilt like ram, Mercy forgotten by triumphant Power. Some wildly struggle through the narrow pass, Arms cast away ; where rocky mountains tower. Some refuge seek — a mixed and bleeding mass ; Drink, drink, O ground ! the fearful, sanguine shower ; Man and his passions fertilize the earth, And where he falls the flower will spring to birth. Pach is the spoil, the Queen the loveliest prize,* But stay ye not, pursue the flying throng ! Heed not the faint one's groan, the strong man's cries, Ply the red sword, and sweep — along — along ! The son v\ho, loath to leave his sinking sire. Binds up his wounds, and strives to shield from wrong, Pierce him, avenging host ! let both expire ; Now blow your trumpets ! sound your victory-song ! * The wife of Darius is said to have been the most beautiful woman of her nation, and the forbearance of Alexander, who made her his prisoner, ha.s, like the continence of Scipio, been tlie subject of much eulogy. PART I.J ALEXANDER THE GREAT. 119 'Tis Conquest sends these crowds to Hades' gloom, 'Tis Glory, Glory, fills the insatiate tomb ! Alas ! and this was winning proud renown, Plucking the wreath from Fame's immortal tree ! Man ! canst thou laud thy fellow trampling down The bright and fair, and spreading agony ? The lessons, taught by long revolving years. Ope not the world's dull eye the truth to see ; And all the blood, and all the burning tears. Have flowed in vain ; war's passion still must be ; ^MiUe Honour girds the sword, and twines the bay, Eeason wUl vainly plead, and Mercy pray. What then hath wisdom done, and art, and taste. If the black volumed clouds that curtained mind, In barbarous ages past, be never chased. And Error's starless midnight left behind ? — Oh ! come blest hours that glow in poets' dreams. When Truth, without the sword, may rule mankind, Earth's nations bask in love's Elysian beams, And man, in slaughtering man, no pleasure find ! Sweet is the fancy, let its spells impart A hopeful joy, and charm the trusting heart. Still bent on conquest, south the victor speeds. Sweeps Syria's plains, and storms majestic Tyre ; Queen of the sea ! put on thy funeral weeds. Thy pomp must fade, thy beauty must expire ; Thou who a thousand years hast ploughed the wave. Blest earth with commerce, fostered genius' fire. Must now go down to Euin's sunless grave. To glut one despot's wanton pride and ire ; 120 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. £bOOK II. Where all was hope and joy, despair must reign, That fortune's child a hero's wreath may gain. (36) Salem bows low, and bids the stranger hail, And flatteries save her towers from Heathen thrall ; (37) But from doomed Gaza rises misery's wail. For direful ills her valiant sons befall ; The conqueror, rivalling him who dragged of yore Old Priam's son 'round Troy's beleaguered wall, Binds to his car the white-haired chief, who bore So brave a part in staying Gaza's fall ; The whirling chariot 'round the city flies, 'Mid dust and shouts, the hapless veteran dies. His sword, without a battle, flashes o'er The hoary country of a hundred kings ; He walks in armour Nile's time-hallowed shore ; For him its shade the patriarch palm-tree flings; The Pharaoh's throne, the temple's columned pride, The mighty pyramid, which gives us wings Far down the past eternity to glide. The ob'lisk's graceful form that heavenward springs — All, all, while gazing 'round, he calls his own. And feels in that proud hour colossal grown. Success intoxicates and maddens too ; Mind's strength dissolves with power's too fervid heat To conquer nations is the boast of few. But ah ! self-conquest is a nobler feat. Stern man of Macedon ! though swaying earth. Slave to himself, doth reason hold her seat ? Or can prid6 soar so high, that mortal birth No more contents him ? must his spirit greet PART I.] THE OASIS OF LIBYA. 121 Immortals only, as his peers below, From Jove's great self his blood's celestial flow ? (38) To spread through subject realms his god-like claim, He seeks the far-famed shrine in Libya's sand ; The trembling priest must heaven-born Ammon name, Father of him, the feared of every land. He scours the wild ; hot beams and withering blast. Such as laid low Cambyses' hapless band,* Dismay not him, but, fearlessly as fast, He spurs his steed, and forward points his brand ; The soldiers faint beneath that brassy sky. He braves himself the samiel rushing by. Nought wholly waste or wretched will appear Through all the world of nature or of mind ; Hope's tender beamings soften sorrow's tear, The homeless outcast happy hours will find : To Polar snows th' Aurora-fires are given. The voice of friendship cheers the groping blind ; The dreary night hath stars to deck the heaven ; One law prevails beneficently kind ; E'en not all darkness is the silent tomb. Faith points to bowers of bliss beyond the gloom. So Libya, in thy wide and fiery waste. Gladdening the traveller, plots of verdure lie. As if, when demons thence all life had chased. They dropped in beauty from the pitying sky. • A body of fifty thousand soldiers was sent by Cambyses to ravage the Oases of Libya, but all, it has been recorded, perished in the desert, suffocated by hot winds, and overwhelmed by moving sands. I 122 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK IT. The parched, worn soldiers, dragging o'er the plain, At length Ammonia's* loveliness espy ; The sight revives them ; swiftly on they strain. Drinking sweet odours as the breeze floats by ; They see the greenery of the swelling hills. They hear, they hear the gush of bubbling rills ! Oh ! beautiful that soul-enchanting scene ! The fresh leaves twinkling, and the wild-birds singing. The rocks so mossy, and the grass so green. From tree to tree the vine's young tendrils swinging ; Fruits of all hue — pomegranate, plum, and peach, Tempting the eye, and thoughts luxurious bringing ; Flowers of aU breath that each stray hand may reach. The glittering bee among them blithely winging ; While skies more clear, more bluely seem to glow, To match the bright, and fairy scene below. (39) Smiled on by earth and heaven, the softened heart Might deem it here unchanging bliss to dwell, From man, and all the iUs of life, apart. And Passion's storms, and mad Ambition's heU ; To muse by lapsing streams 'neath some tall palm, Wliile pensive ilemory opes her inmost ceU ; To climb the mossy knoll at evening's calm, Or scent the flowers that fill the purple deU — So might we live, each woe for ever chased From this far Eden of th' untrodden waste. * The oasis, called anciently Ammonia, bears in the present (lay the name of Siwah. PART I.J THE OASIS OF LIBYA, 123 Alas ! these fancies soothe, but cheat the soul, Passing like meteors in the night of life ; And, pleased, the spirit yields to their control, Though with romance, not truth, such dreams are rife. A hermit-lot of loneliness, and peace. Might charm awhile, but man requires the strife Of varied feelings ; action must not cease ; E'en pain must wield at times its probing knife ; The thunder and the gale make pure the air, The sea would stagnate, calms for ever there. Massy, severe, majestically grand, Ammon's famed temple towered above the trees — Shrine whose dread oracle shook many a land, . Whose power o'erthrew the tyrant's stern decrees : Then giant gateway, column lotus-crowned, Statues to which awed votaries bent their knees, Blazed in fresh pride, and cast a glory round, Wild music ever floating on the breeze, Meet from such dark and solemn pile to swell. And soothe immortals deigning there to dwell. (40) Not far away, pure, radiant as the sky, Spread like a glass the Fountain of the Sun, Cool, while the withering day-god burned on liigh, But warm when Night's pale vigil had begun ; Palms viewed their tufted heads in that clear water, And painted insects came, when day was done. To sleep within the lotus ; Beauty's daughter. The coy maid by that lake was wooed and won. For gazing down she saw her lover's face. And his eyes took more light, his form more grace. 124 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. For ever bubbling, and for ever sparkling, Feeding the rill that wandered to the dale — The rill that slow, through clustering lilies darkling. Crept telling to the waste its gentle tale. There to be lost 'mid wide and burning sands, Like some sweet joy cut off when ills prevail — That fountain, formed by nature's skilful hands, A wonder seemed, which pilgrims went to hail ; Man's work is gone, proud Ammon's shrine is low, But, mirroring still the sky, those waters flow. (41) And Persia's conqueror gained the boon he sought. Declared divine, from deathless godhead sprung ; How at those words his eager spirit caught ! "'" Though false he knew them, to the cheat he clung. The blind believing age he hoped to sway ; Wlio would resist war's bolt by godhead flung ? AH nations Ammon's son would sure obey, As some immortal's would his deeds be sung ; Oh ! poor ambition's craft ! how weak, how vile ! Yet trembling men bowed down, nor dared to smile. Back through the waste th' exulting squadrons wind, For other conquests wait the warrior-king; Nought he regrets the Eden left behind, The flower-enamelled vale, or sil\'er spring; His joys have other source than nature's charms — The blood-stained field, where terror wa\'es her wing, The stormy cauij), war's dangers and alarms. The fierce excitement wild adventures bring, The crash of ancient dynasties o'erthrown — These yield him bliss — for these he lives alone. PART I.] ALEXANDER THE GREAT. 125 'Twas on Assyrian plains Darius made His last, and dying efFort of despair, But stUl against him fortune was arrayed, The star of Persia set for ever there.* The empire Cyrus raised in ruin lies, The moral weeds of ages doomed to bear ; Grandeur by bowed Euphrates sits and sighs ; Ah ! doth the general mourning nature share ? Breathe flowers less sweet in Bactria's musky vale ? Or sings more sadly Susa's nightingale ? See yon dark crowds slow-winding down the hills ! They reach the tombs of Persia's royal line ; The rock-hewn grave lugubrious music fills ; Dim on Persepolis the moonbeams shine ; Now where the torches cast a spectral ray. They place what once bold flattery called divine. Shedding in haste sad tears above the clay ; Last of the kings, poor Monarch ! there recline ! Better thus slumber in thy dreamless tomb. Than live, and mourn in vain thy country's doom. (42) Open, earth-shaking Babylon ! your gates ; The stranger sits on Nimrod's ancient throne ; Men, empires, must obey the ruthless fates. The law is " change," through all creation shown. * The last and decisive battle fought by Darius took place on the plains beyond the Tigris, near the Tillage of Gaugamela; but it has been called the battle of Arbela, that town being the nearest one of importance. 126 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. Susa, bright Pleasure's haunt, her wealth must yield ; Persepolis bows low with fruitless groan ; There burning brands the bacchant conquerors wield ; Mark ye those flames whose light is sky-ward thrown ? Xerxes' tall pillared palace sinks in fire — Glory's adieu, dead Freedom's funeral pyre !* Slayer of thousands, slaying now his friends ! What ! doth a tear of anguish dim his eye ? O'er Clitus' dying form the hero bends. Mourning his deed with many a bitter sigh. Love, too, the warrior's heart at length assails. Though long in vain did Eros' arrows fly ; O'er cold, hard self, humanity prevails. The snow dissolves beneath love's summer sky ; Eoxana bound the lion in soft hours, (43) Not with an iron chain — a chain of flowers. Yet e'en sweet Love, with all his luring smiles. Not long enthralls the spirit, panting still For war and conquest ; nought his heart beguiles But one dread pastime — 'tis to spoil and kill. Awake ! for India now his war-cry rings ; Vain towers to heaven the e\erlasting hill ; Vain streams oppose ; his ardour gives him wings. Danger and toU his breast with rapture fill ; • The royal palace at Persepolis, burnt by Alexander and his officers at the instigation of Thais, on the night of a banquet, B.C. 330. The lofty pillars still standing on the great plat- form bear the name of Chil Minar, or the hall of the "Forty Columns." PART I.J ALEXANDER IN INDIA. 127 Rise, snow-capped Himalay ! deep Oxiis, roll !* The conqueror comes ! ye nothing daunt his soul. Through fair Cabul the invading squadrons sweep ; (44) Spring kisses Nature ; earth laughs out with flowers ; 'Mid fresh green corn the horse are trampling deep, The ponderous war-cars crush the viny bowers ; For roads the orchards' budding trees they clear, Almond, peach, plum, resign their bloomy showers ; The peasant views the wreck with many a tear. His fairest hopes laid low in few brief hours ; If this be glory, this the march to fame. He envies not the conqueror's dazzling name. The hero-king hath reached the favoured land, Where wide, deep streams their grateful courses pour;f Brave were those tribes who dared the foe withstand. But whence they came proclaims no ancient lore : Yet Brahm they worshipped, and the sage maintained The same dark doctrines held so long before — | * Oxus, the modern Amoo or Jihon, a broad and rapid river which rises among the mountains north of India, and falls into the sea of Aral. Alexander, before entering India, crossed this stream twice, in 329 and 328 B.C., on floats made of skins stuffed with reeds. t The Punjaub, the Persian tenn for the Country of the Five Elvers, the Pentopotamia of the Greeks, now forming part of Sritish India. t The tribes then occupying the Punjaub were of the Brah- manic faith, and proved themselves to be as brave and warlike as the disciples of Nanak Shah (the Sikhs), who formed his re- ligious brotherhood in the province of Lahore just 1800 years after the invasion of Alexander. The Punjaub was included in the Aryavarta, or Holy Land, celebrated in the ancient traditions of the Hindoos, and whence they believe they all originally migrated. 128 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. Creeds which in Ind firm-rooted have remained, Enslaving mind,— will e'er their thrall be o'er ? Bright Truth, arise ! disperse those clouds of gloom ! Eescue the race, before earth's final doom. Slight thought had he of Macedon, who came To subjugate, and hold the land an hour. That ages after, with their bolts of flame. E'en in that spot, but mightier in their power, Men would arrive from far-oiF northern land. Where wild waves beat, and clouds of winter lower, And wandered then a painted savage band, The woods their home, and cruelty their dower — A race whose war-art now would sweep away. Like summer dust, such hero's proud array. Yes, where the Emathian fought, ere Christ was born. The Briton, too, hath drawn his conquering sword ; But wide apart their aims ; in pride and scorn One sought but conquest o'er a barbarous horde. Meant not his ground to keep, improve the race, Eeligion's light, or Europe's arts accord, But only ravage, peace and freedom chase — O black and wanton outrage ! deed abhorred ! May action's magnitude excuse the ill ? The world-wide robber is a robber still ! But Britain doth not raise her mighty power, In gorgeous Ind, on needless blood and tears ; No crushing woes, but blessings she would shower, Not to destroy — a saviour she appears. PART I.] ALEX.VNDER IN INDIA. 129 Know, world I that wonder' st at the course she keeps, The tower of proud ascendancy she rears, Know, 'tis through might and justice — might that sweeps Wrong from men's paths, and justice quelling fears ; These are the secret springs of Britain's sway, The talismans that million hearts obey. Behold that land from Himalayan snows, From Scinde's wUd shores to Brahmapooter's tide, Thence southward sweep, where isle-gemmed ocean flows — Land Nature favours — ^land of wealth and pride ! There's scarce one prince, one slave but happier feels, And more secure, since Britons sway and guide ; Contention's wounds still British wisdom heals — The weak complain — redress is ne'er denied : Not to rouse up, but lull the passions' storm — Oh ! tills is victory — conquest's noblest form. Go on, my country ! run thy great career. Support thy power, be jealous of thy fame. But rule the Orient more by love than fear. The dark man's weal, enlightenment thy aim ; Then wUl the millions, bending at thy nod. Honour, respect, and learn to bless thy name ; Oh ! teach in Pagan shrines the creed from God, And truth and immortality proclaim ! Black Error from his throne of ages hurled — And thou and India shall defy the world ! 130 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. The Macedonian reached Hydaspes' side,* Checked by the westward-rolling, rapid river ; No cannon then frowned there in iron pride — War's mightiest arm, of swiftest death the giver ; But far and near the dusky thousands spread, With sling, and reed-formed lance, and bow and quiver, With mail-wrapped limb, and thickly turbanned head. And tempered sword that brazen casque could shiver. While elephants, unknown their fearful powers. Walled the deep front, like crushing, living towers. The hugest brute, with golden trappings dight, Bore, mountain-like, the proud barbaric king ; But Porus was a warrior skilled in fight, And high of soul — no Eastern crouching thing : He rode his elephant in dazzling state, His robe all glittering as young Cama's wing ;f That haughty sadness on his forehead sate. Which ever in the East its gloom doth fling ; His hair streamed black as night, his full dark eye Claimed kindred with the lightnings of his sky. Th' invading host nought feared that dread array. Blackening the banks of fair Hydaspes' tide ; They saw, and vrildly panted for the fray. But, deep and swift, the severing waters glide ; * The Hydaspes, the modern Jylum: it has been conjectured that the battle fought by Alexander and Porus was near the spot memorable in 1849, for the sanguinary action between the British forces and the Sikhs. t Cama, or Cameo, the Indian Cupid. PART I.] ALEXANDER IN INDIA. 131 Their boats are launched beneath the veil of night ; The thunder rolls, the lightnings skirmish wide, Yet on they sweep, the blue flames, glancing bright. Burnish the waves, and serve their course to guide ;* Unconscious stream ! so kindly on its breast Bearing Ind's blood-stained foe — ^her scorpion-guest ! Morn lights the East ; the opposing bank is won ; Troop after troop is swiftly forming there ; They march — they charge — the conflict has begun. Shouts, clash of arms are maddening in the air : Nobly the Indians battle for their land, The tower-crowned elephants their ardour share. And mock the javelin, mock the whirling brand, And, scattering death, their riders proudly bear ; Porus, the king and soldier, bravely leads. Cheers on his subjects, fighting while he bleeds. ■ But what avaUs the struggle of the brave, 'Gainst Europe's might, or fortune's adverse star ? Sure a charmed life some favouring genius gave To him 'mid dangers bred, the child of war : It seemed great Alexander's glorious fate To fight and vanquish — his victorious car. Where'er it rolled, made nations desolate. Dashing down thrones, and bursting every bar ; In all his wars he ne'er was known to yield. As if, some god indeed, he walked the field. • The passage of the Hydaspes was performed at night, and during a thunder-storm. 132 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOKL II. And 30, like others, fled the Indian host, The forest-kings, by instinct, turning too ; Porus alone stood firm ; the fight was lost, Grief, but no dread, the dauntless savage knew ; Chains locked his limbs, yet proud he met each gaze ; The land he fought for must his blood bedew ? For once aggression's lord let Justice praise ; He lauded valour, granted worth its due ; For noble deeds Ind's champion he would save, Exalt and honour — brave men love the brave. How oft we see the hard and selfish heart, That rarely feels for human ill or woe, When some brute suffers, act the mourner's part. Till e'en unconscious tears will softly flow ! Thus turned the conqueror from the field of death, Where torture writhed, and pain was moaning low. And hundreds yielded momently their breath, Entering the realms whose mysteries none may know — Turned to lament a loved, and dying steed, No more to bear his lord, no more to bleed. There pants Bucephalus his life away, The aged horse that stemmed so many a fight, His last now over ; fades the generous ray In that wild eye, no more a globe of light : With neck once arched in pride, and hoof that trod Earth as the clouds, an eagle in his flight— And must he now lie still beneath the sod. His fiery vigour changed to ceaseless night ? " Alas ! my noble steed !" the hero cried, (4.5) And drooped his head, his bitter grief to hide. PART I.J ALEXANDER IN INDIA. 133 Another march — more conquest, and more blood, Founding of cities by those distant streams Tliat wash to-day their ruins, for eacli flood Still bounds in strength, surviving human dreams ; But ah ! the conqueror's race is almost run, The quiver of its shafts exhausted seems, In western skies already hangs the sun. The passing comet soon will lose its beams ; He mourned his steed that died when old and dim, But death, in life's strong hour, must come for him. He crossed the eastern plains and still cried — on ! (46) Spoke of the palmy tracts where Granges rolled. But worn with very conquests, thousands gone To gory graves, their humbler deeds untold, The troops would follow not their fiery chief, Eefused more trophies, ceased to sigh for gold ; He heard their firm resolve with rage and grief, Insatiate, as indomitably bold, Miser of glory, hoarding his great store, Robber of thrones, and panting yet for more ! And so down Indus' wave at length they steered. And reached the ocean ere they marched for home; 'Twas by the mighty surge, that truth appeared To him whom lust of conquest urged to roam. (47) In musings sunk, he climbed the storm-beat rocks ; Spread far away the everlasting foam, O'erpowering with sublimity, that mocks Man's grandest works — dread Nature's awful tome. Wherein is writ, in lines of living light. That attribute of God — unbounded might. 134 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. Ay, as we gaze upon thee, glorious ocean ! Wrapping thine azure arms 'round half the world. Thy heart in calms, like love's, all tremulous motion, Thy locks, the wreathing waves just softly curled ; Thy breast in storms to thousand furies given, Wliere the hot lightning-bolt is hissing hurled, WhUe rolls aloft the artillery of heaven. And their black flags the clouds have all unfurled — We feel that thou wert formed to humble man, Teaching him lessons, since young time began. There is a terror on thy boundless waves, O'er which the vaulted skies for ever lean, A beauteous horror in thy sunless caves, Which foot hath trod not, fancy only seen ; Down in the unfathomed depths dread secrets dwell ; Thunder doth never shake that blue serene, 'Twill only hear Creation's funeral knell. Booming through coral vale, and cavern green. When the long buried there throw off their sleep. Their souls, like meteors, flashing from the deep. As gazed the conqueror o'er the watery mass. Stretching to meet the sky — here rolling dim, There burnished like a shield of polished brass, Where paused the sun on ocean's flaming rim. Thoughts long unknown his late proud bosom filled ; What cared that ocean-world for fame or him ? He trampled earth — his name all spii-its thrilled ; Here the white bubbles, seen yon surge to skim. Emblemed his mighty host, his power, his pride, All, all to sink in Time's engulfing tide. PART I.J ALEXANDER IN INDIA. 135 Oh ! humbled the strong heart of daring grew, Thus feebly beating by that sounding sea, Thinking, in spite of flattery's lauding crew, How truly little, and how frail was he : His schemes, his victories, his down-trodden thrones — All where till now such glory he could see, Passed like a mist : from yon deep ocean, tones Seemed to arise — ^thy voice. Eternity ! A voice which told how fleeting were his years. And bowed his spirit, late despising fears. Well might'st thou, blood-stained warrior ! hang thy head, While moody sadness gathered on thy brow ; By ocean's side thy towering visions fled, The boasted son of Jove is nothing now ! Thy sword, thy steeds of war, are baubles here. With none to flatter thee, and none to bow ; Thy conquests end beside these depths of fear ; Yon ocean-bird seems nobler e'en than thou ; He rides the billow where thy foot would fail. And on the wings of tempests loves to sail. Brief space elapsed, and he, thus musing there. Was called from life and fame, in manhood's prime, (48) Undone what stUl his restless soul would dare. For when did Glory's votary cease to climb 1 Few heart-felt tears bedewed the royal clay ; Kough soldiers loved him in youth's opening time. But love had yielded long to terror's sway. His manhood stained by cruelty and crime ; With boundless power enslaving passion came. His heart grew selfish pride, his brain was flame. 136 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK II. And yet his actions did so charm his age, He soared so far above the herd of men, In thought and deed gigantic, that the sage. Though harsher now, gave smiling judgment then ; His brief wild life was such a brilliant dream, A grand romance — his like ne'er seen again, Save when o'er Gaul there flashed a meteor's beam, And History wrote an hour with crimson pen; Glory, success, so marked his high career. E'en kings applauded, while they shook with fear. The echoes of those plaudits reach us yet ; Our sympathies and passions burn the same ; The world's great hero men will ne'er forget, The many praise, the few alone will blame : Then, too, some good perchance he did perform. As air is purer for the lightning's flame ; And virtue, like an iris in the storm. Shone out at times, and beautified his name ; A moral wonder, with more might than worth, Great Alexander rose, and dazzled earth. (4y) EXD OF PART I. SPIRITS OF THE PAST. BOOK II. MILITARY HEROES. Part II. Creator ! what a varied world is this, Thy fiat called from dark chaotic night ! Sublimity on ocean's vast abyss, On woods and valleys loveliness and light. In earth and air we trace thy kindly hand ; The mighty river, fountain bubbling bright,' Winter's rude storms, and Summer-breezes bland, Lightnings that glare, and rays that bless the siglit- Nought, nought exists through wide Creation's plan. But yields some secret good to thankless man. Thus the wild Alps that rise before me now, In awful solitude, and barren pride. Cold's ice-haired demon throned upon each brow. The spectral clouds beneath him rolling wide ; Disrupted masses of a primal world ! Their glaciered belts each form of life denied. Save where thin moss around yon rock is curled. Save where fierce wolves in snow-drift caverns hide- Sky-piUaring peaks, no part of man's domain ! Heaven's glorious builder raised them not in vain. K 138 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK. II. Oh ! no ; they cool and purify the gales, That waft fresh health to bloomy plains below ; Th' attracted thunder-cloud around them sails, That fairer scenes its fury may not know ; With them soft rains are born, and mists distil. While countless limpid founts begin to flow. That gather crystal wealth from hill to hill, Then, lordly rivers, sounding forth they go. Washing far cities, giving flowrets birth, And cheering man, while fertilizing earth. Yes, mountains are our friends, howe'er they tower In hermit gloom, and loneliness, apart, Though awe-struck at their feet we pause and cower. And feel strange terror creeping at our heart. Bald hill of Jove !* I climb its frost-bound side, As from heaven's windows Morn's first glaneo^ dart. Pierce the white mists its purphng peaks divide. And drink the freshness sky-born gales imjjart; The eagle shrieks beneath me, on his way. Through paths of air, to meet the flaming day. Farewell ! the world — its strife, its joys, its woes ! And now I am alone with earth and sky. And yet not lonely — all that awes, and glows, Thi_> rugged crag, the gold-bathed cloud on high, ' The mountain of St. Bernard was called by the Romans Mons Jovis, the mountain of Jupiter, from a small temple sacred to tliat deity, situated near the spot where the celebrated hospice of St. Bernard now stands. PAST II.J THE ALPS. 139 The pines whose tops the amber rays have caught, The foaming torrent sounding hoarsely by, Are eloquent companions, waking thought, And speaking to the soul through ear and eye : Thus raised o'er earth, more light we tread its sod. More near we draw to Nature's awful God. Be there a spot where spirits, wandering free The blue profound, might pause upon their flight ; Where unimagined, cloud-wrapped Deity Might sit in glory, 'tis the mountain-height. So Heaven on Tabor opened ; Sinai's brow Burned with a lustre withering mortal sight ; Ah ! may not many a chainless spirit now Pass from high peak to peak, like beam of light ? All mind, all thought, 'mid scenes like these to dwell, The raptures of th' unbodied who may tell ? I lean above the snows of countless years ; Mount Blanc's hoar side in morning-light is flashing, And Cenis like a rose his forehead rears. And Dora's stream in spangled foam is dashing ; Beauty is covering Horror with her smUe ; Not now the storm the ancient oak is lashing, But quiet reigns in yon gray convent pUe,* As if the monks ne'er heard the lauwen's'f crashing, When sending forth their faithful dogs, to save Some hapless traveller from his snow-heaped gravf . * The monastery of St. Bernard. t Lauwen, one of the many names applied to the avalanche. 140 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. Strange scenes in these wild solitudes have pass'd ; Here long before Graul's chief his cannon drew Up the snow-steep, defying winter's blast ; Here long before great Cfesar's eagles flew, A far-famed leader swarthy myriads led. Here Hannibal his startUng trumpet blew ; (50) O'er all these paths his bristling squadrons spread, Till snows seemed sudden turned to dusky hue ; Cold swept the gale, the savage hovered near, Above, steep rocks, beneath them gulfs of fear. But onward pressed that fierce and living mass, By toil unworn, by danger undismayed ; Rolled the strong car, and beamed the helm of brass, Troop after troop in lengthening files displayed. O'er rooks, o'er ice, the foot impetuous poured. The horse, half hid in clouds, their passage made, While thundering down, more dread thanfoeman's sword. The av'lanche swept, and hundreds prostrate laid ; The Libvan, sinking on the cold hill's side, Thought of his home's warm vales, and moaned and died. Who stands at last on Jove's commanding height. And southward casts his eager-straining eye ? There woods wave green, and rivers dance in light. And spreads the azure of a happier sky. Italia! e'er for thee, thou beauteous land! Strangers have struggled, strangers still will sigh, As if, like lovers. Nations sought thy hand, In jealous hate, and deadly rivalry, Striving through passion, blood, and war's alarms, To win the prize, and seize thy witching charms. PART II.J HANNIBAL. 141 'Tis Hannibal's that dusk and noble frame,* Herculean strength in every graceful limb, His brow all pride, his eye all soul and flame, Rome well might view with dread a foe like him ; Oh ! yes, before that arm her sons must quail. Her blood like water flow, her fame grow dim ; See ! his black hair is stirred by morning's gale. His sword is pointed tow'rds th' horizon's brim ; Deep thriUing hearts, amidst a hush profound. His voice is heard by thousands' gathered round : " Soldiers ! behold yon land of fruits and flowers. Spread like a bright Elysium at our feet ! One blow, that glorious. Summer-land is ours. There, after all our toils, will rest be sweet. — Tremble, base Rome ! upon thy robber-hUls, Too long earth's scourge, of vaunting pride the seat ; Hate, life-sworn hate for thee my bosom fills,| Oh ! how I pant thy world-feared hosts to meet I Soldiers and friends ! Italia soon shall see We live to rule, not bend the servile knee !" * The Carthaginians had now existed as a people on tlie African coa^t above six centuries, and though the original settlers (Tyrians) had intermarried during times of peace with several of the African nations, they were of a swarthy, not a black com- plexion, and are described as having been a remarkably fine race of men. The Carthaginians have no representatives in the present day, the Tunisines, who occupy their country, being a mixture of Turks, Moors, and Arabs of various tribes. f Hannibal, when a child, had been compelled by his father, Hamilcar, to swear solemnly on the altar eternal hatred to Rome. 142 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. What scares the eagle from his wind-rocked nest, And, sweUing on the clear and frosty air, Shakes the white mountain's everlasting crest ? It is not thunder — all is coldly fair ; The lauwen's fall, the cataract's hollow roar. Are lost amid those sounds the breezes bear, And when the long, long shouts ascend no more, A thousand echoes still are busy there ; Ages shall pass ere human voices rise, Like those again, through lonely Alpine skies. There spreads, embosomed amidst guardian hills. Outposts of Apennine, an ancient lake ; Its banks with varied crops the peasant tills, There earliest flowers from winter's sleep awake ; The trees, which trembling stoop when kissed by gales. See aU their leaflets in that mirror shake ; The swan, that o'er the Hving crystal sails. Proud of her image, circles loves to make; High leaps the fish its bright scales to display. And birds chant joyous song the livelong day. The sweetest time that silver lake to see, Is just when sunset casts its hallowing glow. And the deep purple tints, before they flee The circling heights, are richly shed below ; Wlien steals the skiff across the wave's soft gold, Floats on the green hUl's side the cattle's low. And in the convent Evening's bell is tolled. Echo o'er mount and valley swinging slow ; When flowers, ere fairies come to close their eyes. Breathe all their odours to the sleepy skies. PART II.] HANNIBAL. 143 Life seems to pause that hour, and Nature's face Grow meekly sad, and yet she breathes no sigh ; That crimson glow is but her blush of grace, From Day's warm kiss, before he quits the sky. Ah, me ! these lovely nooks that dimple earth. And ravish pilgrims' hearts in passing by. Give holy thoughts, and golden fancies birth ; Here might the sage delight to live and die ; To guard fair Eden's bowers if angels flew. Well might they, Thrasymene, watch o'er you. (51) But sweetest scenes man's passions oft have made Their theatre, and turned them to a hell ; 'Twas here his prey rejoicing Death surveyed, Wlien victory bade awhile pale Kome farewell : 'Twas here, for waves' low whisper, birds' soft song. Rang the loud trumpet, rose the maddening yell ; Trampling the flowers, the war-steeds foamed along, For rUls of crystal, blood in torrents fell ; Why didst thou. Havoc! stalk to scene so fair, And, mocking beauty, loose thy demons there ? Versed in war's art, the Carthaginian held Each narrow pass, and lined each towering steep ; The Romans, thus decoyed, their doom beheld. Closed in that vale — Ausonian widows ! weep !— Swift Hannibal descends ! his swarthy bands, His desert horsemen, down like meteors sweep ; Rome's chivalry awhile the shock withstands. And front to front the battling squadrons keep ; Valour fires both, and Fame her laurel waves, But Death is sidelong pointing at their graves. Hi SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK II. So rapt the foes in fight, they take no heed Of Nature's strange convulsion at that hour ; Rocks nod, the pine is quivering like a reed, And heaving waters feel the earthquake's power ;* But there they combat, drunk with blood that fills The rents cleft earth discloses ; storms may lower, And thunders echo from the shaken hills. Rage cannot part, and death must still devour ; They fall in files, and where they perish lie. And others, standing o'er them, fight and die ! But Carthage triumphs ; Rome's bright star grows pale. And they, to whom earth bo\yed, themselves must bow, The stranger's shout reverberates through that vale, The vanquishers of earth are vanquished now ! Some plunge within the lake — along the sliore Groan bleeding, dying thousands — on the brow Of proud Flaminius, wreaths shall wave no more ; Well Hannibal has kept his sanguine vow ; Sweeter to him than all the flowers which bloom. Is that red scene — ^that glen, his foemen's tomb. Blood, too, in torrents Cannae's lUy dyes ; Eternal Rome at length must quake with fear ; Oh ! that a Codes from the dead could rise If A mightier than Porsenna now is here : (xreat joy had Pluto in his dark domain. Such crowds the Stygian river drawing near ; * An earthquake, which overthrew several Italian cities, is said to have taken place during the battle of Thrasymeue. t Horatio Codes, who by his single arm checked" the advance of Porsenna's troops, while his companions behind him were breaking down the bridge across the Tiber. PART II.J HANNIBAL. 145 Alas ! what countless souls of warriors slain Went down to night, and claimed their country's tear ! Cannse and Thrasymenfi ! — names the pen Might trace in blood, to daunt the hearts of men. (52) Thrice fickle Fortune ! changeful as Spring's sky, A Venus now, she sheds her favouring smiles. Then, a foul Hecate, all her graces fly, And man despairs — the victim of her wiles. Such Hannibal that faithless goddess found ; She left his side in Capua's marble piles, Where Pleasure's rosy chain his warriors bound ; Ah ! witching sense oft sternest heart beguiles ; Luxury saved Eome ; her foe, thus bending o'er The nectar-cup, achieved great deeds no more. Sad was the noble leader's closing hour ; Fruitless his wars, his native land undone, A lonely exile in a stranger's power. Was this the man a world who almost won ? We see him now gray-haired, and bowed by age, Yet his stern eye still flashing like a sun ; He would not live to glut the Eoman's rage. But called on death — the fearful deed was done ; One little hour — a wreck the vessel lay; Cannae's dread hero was but soulless clay. (53) With Hannibal's is linked a brilliant name — 'Twas Scipio crushed his pride on Zama's plain ;* In him pure, long-descended martial flame, A heir-loom, burned ; he fought no fight in vain : * The last battle which Hannibal fought with the Romans was that of Zama in Africa, when the conqueror of so many Roman generals yielded to Scipio. 146 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. Oh ! rare the virtues of a Scipio's heart ! Valour to conquer — justice, truth, to gain The foe, when vanquished — boldness, all apart From headstrong rashness — grief for others' pain, A continence e'en hermits scarce might show, Bounty to friends — a river in its flow. (54) The fight was o'er ; Spain's city was his own ; Beauty a gem most dazzling boasted there ; Before the chief that captive maiden shone. Sweeter for tears, and lovelier for despair ; The light that melted in her soul-fraught eyes. The loves and graces waving in her hair. Form fresh as Hebe's gliding from the skies. The winning chasteness of her tender air — Ah ! couldst thou see such peerless beauties shine. Nor burn to make the prize, young hero, thine ?* He drew his hand athwart his stooping brow, To shade the witching vision from his sight; Did the schooled heart at length to woman bow, And Love's weak arrow pierce that corslet bright? They who seem coldest oft the warmest feel ; Fires burn beneath the snows of Etna's height ; Some souls the thoughts within will ne'er reveal, As ocean-depths their secrets shroud from light ; * It was after the taking of New Carthage in Spain that the incident, related in the text, is said to have occurred ; the cele- brated beauty was betrothed to a prince of that country, named AUencius. PART II.J SCIPIO APRICANUS. 147 Scipio was human, yet no word confessed His eyes were charmed — what stirred his ravished breast. There bent the lovely captive, mute and stiU, In her own light each moment loveher growing ; So they who watch sweet morning crown the hUl, See softer splendours every instant glowing : Her young affianced lord stood near in chains, Looks of imuttered anguish on her throwing. While indignation swelled his tingling veins, Fortune his bride on Rome's proud chief bestowing — One who, he deemed, would pluck the honied flower, And reckless trample Beauty's broken bower. Scipio refused their ransom ; then despair Fell like a cloud upon the maiden's soul ; Dread on her face, and wUdness in her air, No more her country's fire could brook control ; But soon her proud defiance turned to sighs ; For anger's flash, her tears fast downward stole ; She gazed on him she loved, then veiled her eyes ; Of all her struggles death must prove the goal ; How should she live, survive her virtue's bloom ? And yet her young heart shuddered at the tomb. She leant upon her lover, but his arms Could not, for bonds, support her sinking frame ; Scipio an instant viewed her stricken charms, Not with strong passion's, but a purer flame : He took her hand so marble-like and cold ; She shrank away — a shudder on her came ; He freed her lover from the fetter's fold ; " No ransom, but your friendship let me claim ; 148 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK. II. Captives no more, true love I ne'er will part — (iods on you smUe ! heaven bless each faithful heart ! " Thus Scipio, while he waved the conqueror's sword, Won men's affection ; Rome through him was known A guardian parent ; many a barbarous horde, Erst filled with hatred, fond alKes had grown. But now the hero, worn by scenes of strife. On whom fame's radiant sun so long had shone. Sheaths the red sword, and, far from busy life. Closes his days a higher aim his own ; Xo more in war's wild camp, his home is made By babbling streams, in still Liternum's shade. There nature's book the warrior-scholar reads. Improves each light-winged moment as it flies ; The leafy groves, the flower-enamelled meads. The tender azure of Campanian skies ; The streamlet gliding to the crystal sea. Whispering of time — a sermon to the wise ! The general bliss, the breathing harmony. Heaven's love whose stamp on all creation lies — These cahn his soul, and cool ambition's fire — A scene too chaste to cloj', too sweet to tire. (55) He sits with tuneful Ennius,* where the trees Cast grateful shade on moss and dancing riU; With eyes half-shut, they hear the drowsy bees. Or woodman's axe low-echoing from the hill ; * The poet Ennius was the constant friend and companion of Scipio, during the years of his retirement at Liternum. PART II.J SCIPIO AT LITERNUM. 149 The dog, coiled near them, sleeps the sultry hours ; Nestling 'mid leaves, the small bird sings Ris fill ; The air is steeped with scents of countless flowers ; One dream melts round, luxurious soft and still — A waking dream, where all things joy express. And mere existence seems a blessedness. And Scipio listens Ennius' glowing line. Its thoughtful beauty valour's heart beguiles ; Then unperceived, a wreath his fingers twine, To crown the bard — a wreath no blood defiles. Hark ! through the shade a low sweet voice is singing ; Is it a Nereid's from yon bowery isles ? Now, gay and glad, the silvery notes are ringing ; A maid springs forth, all innocence and smiles. Kisses the warrior's cheek with gleesome air — 'Tis Scipio's black-eyed daughter laughing there.* Oh ! life of calm reflection, ease and peace ! Where the wild struggle with the feverish throng, The chase for power and fame, their tortures cease ; So Scipio's last, best moments stole along. Did man but know the crystal springs of joy. To which, like Nile's far source, such doubts belong, His mind he would not fix, his hours employ. On low ambitions, born of crime and wrong, But turn to Nature's school for that high bliss He ever seeks, though doomed the prize to miss. * Scipio had two daughters, one of whom was the famous Corneha, mother of the Gracchi. 150 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK II. Mocking such doctrine, two dark heroes see — Marius, who bartered aU for place and power, And thought life nothing worth, his fate to be One step removed from honour's topmost tower ; And Sylla, sparing not his country's blood, A laughing demon in successful hour. Who smiled a murder in his gentlest mood, (56) His passions raining round a poison-shower ; At whose command the dead, from out the grave, Was dragged, and burnt, and scattered to the wave.* Marius rough, tasteless, letters held in scorn. And spurned calm Learning's thoughtful, toiling band. Deeming mankind for warfare only born. Slaughtering with cruel, but with honest hand ; — Patrician SyUa, whether trampling Kome, Warring in Greece, or Pontus' distant land. Wooed grace and elegance — a painted dome All foul within — mad faction's burning brand ; He bore in revel, feast, a brilliant part. Mirth in his eye, but hell within his heart. Illustrious rivals ! your long lives were passed In envy, strife, and bloodshed, hearing now The sighed-for music of Fame's trumpet blast, Then stung to wrath, when men refused to bow ; Following each other with undying rage. Say, when ye bound the laurel on your brow, And ivon poor praise from trembling bard and sage. Did happiness your loveless hearts avow ? * Sylla caused the body of his hated rival, Marius, to be exhumed at Tibur, and, being burnt, the ashes were thrown by his order into the river Anio. PART. II.] JULIUS C^SAB. 151 Alas ! mind's scorpion-pangs ye could not fly, Your proudest hours were dazzling agony. (57) Still Eomans quailed at Sylla's dreaded name, When, 'mid the gloom, the star of Ctesar rose ; Not bright at first its steady beamings came. Meteors alone a quick, wild ray disclose. Power was his god ; some spirits, from their birth, Seem doomed to take the lead, whate'er oppose. Lording by instinct o'er the sons of earth ; They cannot foUow friends, or yield to foes ; Such was the man who'd rule the peasant's home, Ere second stand in proud and mighty Eome.* There were, whose names spread wonder in their day, Swelling in thunder-tones from shore to shore. But aU they did, like mist, hath passed away ; Their deeds were deserts that no harvests bore. What of Sesostris' conquests lives this hour, Save a wild tale ? the triumphs, tears, and gore, That tracked great Alexander's path to power. Have wrought no good, no change — are felt no more. We hear the fame of both, but cannot trace Their " life" on earth, their influence on our race. Not so Eome's hero ; o'er the Alps he came. And, whUe he conquered, humanized the West ; The torch he lit burned on mth brighter flame. Till arts and letters Europe's children blessed. * It was when passing a village among the Alps, that Cesar addressed to his friends the well-known words, " I would rather be the first man here, than the second man in Kome." 152 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. From Ehone's fair banks to Belgium's fruitful fields. On mount and vale his spirit seems impressed ; And what to Britain's sons that valour yields, That pride, that fire, which warm each generous breast? 'Tis Roman blood with Celtic mixed, and he First sought our shores, and bade our darkness flee. There is a link which binds this wondrous man To Europe's destiny, and Britain's heart ; Then but a trait to paint, a deed to scan, Of him who from mere conquerors stands apart, Methinks were grateful as enlightening task ; Such theme might well engage the minstrel's art, A nobler scarce the ^Moralist could ask. Seeking his stern, high lessons to impart ; Caesar the warrior, author, civic sage ! His by-gone deeds have coloured e'en our age. He loved — and who hath not, in life's warm prime, AVhen the soft soul the mystic impress takes That ne'er shall quit it more ? in after time. The cares that wreck our peace, the storm that shakes, Shall rarely chase that dear delicious dream, E'en death around it but a halo makes ; Man may wed on, and loved and loving seem. But his first love his heart's core ne'er forsakes ; So Cicsar loved Cornelia, whose young bloom Sweetened his path — a flower to deck the tomb.* * Ctesar was deeply attached to his first wife, Cornelia. Sylla, Plutarch informs us, being at that time absolute master in Rome, and hating Cornelia's father, ordered CsBsar to divorce her, and on liis refusing to do so, he confiscated her dowry ; he also deprived Ca?sar of the office of Flamen Dialis. PART n.J CvESAR's CORNELIA. 153 She lay upon a couch, which luxury's hand Made soft as Pity's heart, and fair as snow ; A female slave her thin, sad features fanned, Where spread, like twilight tints, a hectic glow. Her coal-black hair, no longer starred with pearls, Fell by her side, like some dark torrent's flow. Save where, escaped their band, a few loose curls Lay on her bosom, beating faint and low : Her eye, though full of love, grew slowly dim, As stars turn pale, when near th' horizon's brim. And thus Cornelia drooped, resigned to death ; How piteous, yet how beautiful that sight ! O Heaven ! relentless fate ! bestowing breath, Only such lovely thing to crush and blight. Alas ! we darkly see ; the flower so fair Heaven kindly may transplant to scones more briglit ; Lone hearts may bleed, o'erwhelmed by their despair, But woes oft bring us purity and light ; He, whose pale cheek is channelled by a tear, Will learn to wean his soul from follies here. And Cajsar bent above his dying ^vife. Mute, motionless, as rooted to the spot, Ambition's projects, worldly toil and strife, Seemed in that hour of anguisli all forgot : His heart in weakness as a child's had grown. Clinging to her whose memory nought would blot, And loving, as the hopeless love alone, Who deem no joy again will bless their lot ; The light of life was closing with the spark In those dear eyes, and all would soon be dark. h 154 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. Her hand was laid in his, and now her lips Murmured his name, while smiles around them played ; So on the moon, amidst the drear eclipse, One silver edge shines out beyond the shade. " Cfesar, I go ; my own dear lord, farewell ! Death early comes, but not in gloom arrayed ; Though brief our wedded Kfe, this heart can teU That faithful love an age of joy has made ; Foes strove to part us, but it might not be ; All a fond wife could crave, I've found in thee. " I know thy soul ambitious, that thine eye Is fixed on Glory's ever-dazzling sun ; I chide thee not, I would not have thee die Nameless like me — go on — thy proud race run ! Yes, I can sympathize, my hero-lord. With lofty aims, and when thy bays are won. And earth applauds, and men their smiles accord, For me Elysium will be then begun : Oh ! happy will my spirit hover near. Crown thee, exult, do all my love would here.* " But 'midst the blaze that wraps the conqueror's way, WUt thou at times bestow one thought on me ? I ask no fruitless anguish o'er my clay, But let not life's first visions wholly flee ; • Prior to Cornelia's death, Caesar had gained some honours in the state, but had not distinguished himself in the field; there can be little doubt, however, that his heart was early bent on military glory, and it is reasonable to suppose that his secret inclinations would be known to his wife. TART ii.J Cesar's Cornelia. 1 55 I read thou'lt lave me in that starting tear, Think of my faith when cold this heart shall he, Love, too, the flower that blooms above my bier. The pledge I leave — Heaven shieldmy child and thee !* Now on my lip the last dear token seal — Life has no joys to give like those I feel." And so in kissing him Cornelia died, The warm of heart, the beautiful, the young ; His anguish hard-browed Caesar could not hide, But by the beauteous clay his form he flung. How grief will bend the proud and stubborn mind ! To that poor cheek his fervent kisses clung. As if the wreck, which death had left behind. Could heed or feel, the spirit heavenward sprung. Weep for the lost ! blush not, stern man, to weep. And through thy stormy life her memory keep !' Ay, in the battle-field, her hand shall seem To wave thee on to conquest and renown ; 'Mid toils of state, and power's too feverish dream, Cornelia's eye shall, beaming hope, look down : At midnight hour within the shadowy tent. When thy pale, musing brow may wear a frown. Thoughts of thy early lost one shall be sent — A soft, bright tide all harsher thoughts to drown : War, strife, power, splendour, nought shall e'er remove The haunting memory of thy first sweet love.f * Cornelia left one daughter named Julia, afterwards married to Pompey the Great. t Cornelia died B.C. 68, when Ca!sar was thirty-two years of age; in the following year he was sent as Qusestor into Spain, and in that country gained his first laurels. 156 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK U. Oft men, who deepest feel, most ardent rush To action's vortex, lest cold, stagnant woe Benumb their energies ; amidst the crush And stir of life, an eager front they show. Tlius Caesar toiled in Kome — not sad or lone — Smiled with Ms friend, or struggled with his foe ; As orator he charmed, as statesman shone, Mounting fame's hill with steady step and slow, Gay with Lucullus, and with Pompey proud, Feared by the rich, yet worshipped by the crowd. (.58) They made him ^Edile, Consul : still he burned For higher honours, more exalted fame ; By greatness each duU limit will be spumed ; Sides know no bound — high spirits are the same : A conqueror now, he flashed upon the world. And ne'er a mightier won men's praise or blame ; Yet war's red bolt by Cresar was not hurled For carnage' sake, or blazon of a name : 'Twas Philip's fiery son who thrones o'erthrew, Warred fi'om caprice, and harmless thousands slew. But C;osar battled — first, to raise liis power. That earth should own one head, one lord in him. Then wide to scatter, in propitious hour. The light of mind, where all before was dim. So, like a thunderbolt, he burst on Gaul ; (59) 'Mid gloomy forests, by the lake's smooth brim. On Arar's banks, before Alesia's wall,* And where the Belgfe stalked with iron limb, * On the bants of the Arar, (the Saone,) Cfesar defeated the Helvetians. During the famous siege of .Mesia, (now the village of Saint Reine, ten leagues N.W, of Dijon.) he scattered tlie whole Gallio confederation, consisting of 300,000 men. PART II.J JULIUS C^SAR. 157 Wild valour fought in vain, each tribe gave way, His falchion victory, and his name dismay. On G-aul's west coast he stood, and cast his eye Across that sea where then no ship appeared ; Half veiled in foam, and mingling with the sky. Her snow-white cliffs barbaric Albion reared : 'Twas a new world no Roman yet had seen. To which alone th' adventurous Tyrian steered. Where arts and heaven-born letters ne'er had been, And mists, and storms, and wilder men were feared ; Where through dense woods his prey the hunter chased, And built his mud-walled cabin on the waste. And Csesar leant upon those rocks, and sighed That men should stUl be found so dark and rude. And yet kind earth each simple want supplied, Contentment bless'd their sylvan solitude. Alas ! would learning's light, and wisdom's stream. Would wealth obtained, would honour's shade pursued. And aU Power grants to gUd her brightest dream, Make them more happy ? mournful doubts intrude. He who climbs highest, higher yet would strain. The wisest sighs more wisdom still to gain. Oh ! in time's sunless depths what marvels lie ! What change, undreamt of, hidden ages bring ! Britain, the wUd man's land, o'er which the eye In pity wept — poor, scorned, and barbarous thing ! Britain, this hour regarding Rome no more » Than dust beneath her feet — that spreads her wing O'er nestling nations, swaying from her shore Lands where at once melts Autumn, laughs the Spring; 158 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. Mother of infant kingdoms, earth's great nurse ! The envy, wonder of the univerae ! Arise ! he dares the deed ; the sliips are manned. The breeze is up, the friendly stars are beaming ; "Tis Ciesar's fleet — the first invasion planned Of Britain's Isle — it steers in gallant seeming :* Away from Gaul, across the wave — away ! Soft o'er the surge the far white cliff's are gleaming ; The veterans cheer, as swift the cloven spray Sparkles behind ; of conquest all are dreaming ; Li thought already Csesar rules the Isle, Half draws his sword, and sternly deigns to smile. Wave-girded, lonely land ! the conqueror comes, Envying the mud-buUt vUlag'e, leaf-wove tent ; Yet Britain will not yield ; her forest-homes Send forth strong hearts, on deeds of valour bent. With eye of fire, and floating silvery hair. His days in woods and gloomy caverns spent, The holy Druid bids them ne'er despair ; To each wild breast is burning ardour lent ; Rough is their land, yet stiU to Britons dear. They ask not arts, they want not luxury here. On ploughs the fleet, but now the rising morn Turns, glorious Alchymist, the waves to gold ; High on each prow is Rome's bright eagle borne : The trumpets sound, their shields th« warriors hold. * Cffisaf embarked his force (two legions, 12,000 men), in eighty transports, at Portus Itius, now Witsand, between Calais and Boulogne, on the night of the 25th of August, B.C. 55. Cavalry troops were to have been embarked at a port eight miles off, but contrary winds, or some unexplained disaster, detained them there. PART II.] Cesar's descent on Britain. 159 The clifis are near ; far sweeps the rugged coast ; The Bomans there wild men, like bees, behold ;* Still as they sail, pours on the savage host, And spearmen rush, and scythe-armed cars arerolied, Fierce, bat undisciplined, that warrior crew — Such all the army ancient Albion knew. The gaUies form at last, their lofty beaks Breasting tbe shore — a gilded, glittering wall ;t Hark ! to his eager soldiers Csesar speaks, Wins by warm praise, and &es, and urges all. But fast the Britons now their jav(diiis fling. Hurtles the dart, like rain their arrows fall ; Warding these missiles, Roman bucklers ring. Nor shouts, nor rushing crowds one heart appal ! Veterans, they coolly stand, and deal no blow, But wait th' auspicious time to charge the foe. The moment comes — impetuous in the sea, Shouting for "Rome !" the standard-bearer dashes, (60) And thousands foUow — must the Briton flee ? He fights amid the waves — ^his blue eye flashes ; Fiercely he grapples with Rome's sinewy son, With tempered steel his weak sword boldly clashes ; Noble the deeds by that poor savage done, Blood, tinging ocean, streams from countless gashes ; * At 10 o'clock in tlie morning, Csesar reached the British coast near Dover, but sfeeing the shores covered with armed men he did not immediately attempt a landing. As the Romans sailed along the coast, so the Britons followed, watching their movements, and ready to oppose their disembarkation. t Csesar, about three hours past noon, prepared to land his forces, and, it is generally admitted, he effected his olyect on the flat open shore between Walmer castle and Sandwich. 160 SPIEITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK II. He dies, though not in victory's cheering smile, The first defender of Britannia's Isle. " Forward !" — 'Twas Caesar's voice ; that magic word Ne'er urged to fight, ne'er thrilled his hosts in vain ; It bound a spell on each victorious sword ; Their long, deep lines are charging through the main ; And Cfesar, too, breast-high, is battling there : No gay-armed chief that dreads his robe to stain. The post of danger still 'tis his to share ; That whelming shock can barbarous troops sustain ? The shock of men who come, as if the waves Sent forth their gods from all their azure caves. Britons ! stand firm, your trusty bucklers raise. Swing the huge club, and point the flint-formed spear ! Druids ! invoke high heaven ! your oak-leaf bays Weave for the brave — all, all are needed here ! Alas ! though valour fired the Celtic breast, And Britons, then as now, might mock at fear, Small skill they showed, no discipline possessed, They sank beneath the Soman's fierce career ; Some died — some fled — his robes the Druid tore, And Britain's savage freedom was no more ! (61) The conqueror climbed a rude sepulchral mound, Exulting visions lit his daring eye ; He viewed the hills, the forests stretching round, And thrice he waved his crimsoned sword on high : " This broad green land, scarce known to southern world, Where wealth may dwell, and countless secrets lie, With pride in every wave around it curled. Is Eome's ! is ours ! now shout ye, victory ! PART II. J JULIUS CiESAR. 161 Send the wild pjean thundering o'er the deep ! And what Eome wins, her arm of might shall keep." Ah ! little dreamt the invader, at that hour, What ishores he called his own ! but Cajsar's soul Was not a prophet's ; present fame and power Engrossed his thought, and formed hope's shining goal. Now quitting Britain, on Italian ground We view the man who never brooked control ; On Power's high, giddy ladder one more round. Another draught of Glory's maddening bowl ! K joy crown such delirium, happy he ! But night is near, Cassar ! e'en for thee. No land may hold in peace two ruling men ; Ambition's rivals needs must chafe and hate ; Pompey would govern Eome ; is Caesar then. For such high destiny, too frail, too late 1 Dare Gaul's great hero yon small streamlet pass, Eome hath decreed him traitor to the state ; It spreads before him now in living glass. Ah ! well may Caesar pause and meditate : If his armed bands but stem that placid rill. What change must come! what blood the sword must spiU!* • The Rubicon was a small stream not satisfactorily identified in the present day, bounding CEesar's province on the south : he set off towards this river with a few troops by night, in order to surprise the town of Ariminum ; he has been described as long pausing on the banks, reflecting on the momentous step he was about to take, since the passage of the Rubicon would be the commencement of hostilities with Pompey's party at Rome. 162 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK II. The glow-worm twinkles on the banks of green, The lily bends her virgin head in sleep ; A holy silence wraps the beauteous scene, Save where from stone to stone the wavelets creep ; They raise their tiny voice as if in prayer. To him who treads the shore in musings deep ; They seem to say, " Thy fellow mortals spare ! Happier the task to bid them smile than weep ; Years swiftly, as my waves of crystal, flow, Then grudge not man his fleeting span below." What passed in Caesar's bosom who may tell, His eye fixed steadfast on that glittering tide ? His thoughts on carnage, or on thrones might dwell ; Yet sadness paled his brow, and oft he sighed : When night and stillness wake reflection's train. To days long fled will memory backward glide ; CcEsar one blissful moment lived again. His long-lost wife in fancy by his side ; Cornelia's happy voice he seemed to hear — The voice that once life's darkest hour could cheer. Oh ! never from his heart, in peace or war, The image of his first dear love could die ; Her memory beamed upon him like a star. Warning from crime, and wooing from on high ; A hero's bride, proud visions she could share ; If things terrestrial bade her smUe or sigh, Might she condemn the deed he now would dare. To crush his foes, and crown his destiny ? Would her bright spirit wave him on to gain All that he burned for ? burned perchance in vain. PART II.] CiESAR AT THE RUBICON. 163 Cffisar was no wild dreamer, yet he raised His eye to heaven ; there stars with silvery glow Studded the cloudless blue, but as he gazed, A pale white mist seemed near him passing slow ; And then it moved betwixt him and the moon, Assuming shape, wliile robes appeared to flow ; No sound, no breath, disturbed deep midnight's noon. Save the rill's voice, like whispered plaint of woe ; 'Twas fancy's dream, he thought, but soft and fair. Features now shone — Corneha hovered there ! She looked in youth and beauty as on earth, For time from happy souls can steal no grace ; Yet other charms of heavenly spheres had birth. Immortal ^irit brightening o'er her face ; A crown of flowers, aU thick with dew-formed pearls. Circled her head, and where the eye might trace Her breast's pure alabaster, radiant curls Lay like wreathed clouds in golden eve's embrace ; Her cheek stole morn's first blush, her eye's sweet beam Was soft as starlight on a crystal stream. No word the vision breathed ; it did not smile. But met pale Csesar's eager-straining gaze With sweet, sad, meaning looks, and sighed the while, Tears falling, and, while falling, shedding rays : The shadowy hand tow'rds Rome was pointed now. As warning or as cheering ; glory's bays. Or death might wait him ; will not Heaven allow One fond embrace 1 — ^his loved of happier days! He moved — he stretched his arms — a cloud stole o'er The sinking moon — the form was seen no more. 164 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK. II. He bowed his head ; cold reason would believe That vision, whose dear smile he asked in vain, Was not Cornelia's shade — for eyes deceive — But some frail phantom of his fevered brain ; Yet strangely throbbed Ms heart, and softening fell Warm tears that since her death had frozen lain ; But ah ! on dreams his spirit must not dwell, He turned, and strove his wonted calm to gain. Paced by the moonlight river, thoughtful, slow. And joined his squadrons at the ford below. He paused no longer — Rome must own him lord ; The die is cast* — he'll climb the giddy tower ; Let carnage stalk, and woe for man be stored, His course is — on ! fate hangs upon this hour ; Across bright Rubicon his followers sweep, Pollute the crystal, crush the willow-bower ; Cajsar will join Cornelia's shadowy sleep, Or win a world — all weakness or all power ! The last or first ! whUe earth an equal shows. He'll know no rest, the great alone his foes. The task is done : again doth Csesar's star Arise triumphant ; see ! his foot is placed On Rome as on a footstool ; how his car RoUs through the shouting crowds with laurels graced : His word, a wliirlwind, prostrate lays the land ; E'en he who Rome's stern foes so oft had faced, Xow leading freedom's last, sad, desperate band, From red Pharsalia's fatal field is chased ; * " He cried out, ' The die is cast !' and immediately passed the river." — Plutarch. PART n.] THE DEATH OF CATO, 165 Would Pompey there had perished with the brave, Nor found on Egypt's shore an outcast's grave !* But he who deepest mourned his country's fate, Thus bound in chains, all vain her generous rage, Her freedom wrecked, her beauty desolate, Was Utica's stern-souled, immortal sage — Cato, who scanned all deeds with strictest eye, Sworn 'gainst oppression life-long war to wage, Stranger to pleasure's smile, to pity's sigh, And sympathies that gentler hearts engage ; Who mercy to man's failings ne'er would show, And deemed perfection might be reached below. He lived in the ideal ; earth to him Was as a charnel-house of crime and wrong ; And yet he strove to brighten what was dim, Denounced the vicious, struggled with the strong ; He sighed for bliss, yet missed the path to joy, Wandering harsh Discontent's dull wastes among ; He toiled Pollution's currents to destroy, Yet cast in venom as they swept along ; Thus blaming, trampling, mourning over ill, He raised not man, but made life darker still. There stood the foe of Cessar, deeming now His country lost, and hope for ever fled ; But passions must not ruffle Cato's brow, AU feelings, save despair, within him dead. * Upon Ctesar's advance to Eome, a general panic seized Pompey's party, and they hurriedly withdrew from Italy into Epirus. Pompey's overthrow at Pharsalia by Caisar, and his subsequent murder by order of Ptolemy off the coast of Egypt, vfiil be familiar to all readers of history. 166 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK II. The iron Stoic of the soaring soul, For him one cloud o'er all things human spread ; The conqueror's course no power might now control, And must he, like earth's millions, stoop the head ? He looked to heaven in firmness more than woe. And clenched his lifted hand, and answered — "No !" Plato's immortal page before him lay, And fiUed his musing soul with dreams sublime, Told of some essence never to decay. When man's poor frame hath done with earth and time — An essence subtler far than air, or fire, With power beyond those starry heights to climb ; A thing which wisdom, godlike thoughts inspire, Untouched by sorrow, and undimmed by crime; And Cato longed to set that essence free. And aU we dream of darkly, brightly see. And yet the Orient dream the thinker caught. Saddening the sons of India e'en this hour — (62) Absorption in their G-od — Oh ! vision wrought From air-bred folly, withering hope's sweet flower ! To lose remembrance, individual sense. Unmoved by in-born wiU, unblest with power Of separate thouglit and act — Omnipotence Might well have framed no souls, such fate their dower ; If spirits know not spirits, hope, praise, love. Distinct, immortal, where is bliss above ? Oh ! yes, in that bright sphere, when light shall break Instant upon the soul released from clay. The bosom of the Eternal it shall seek, And drink enraptured glory's holv rnv ; PART II.] THE DEATH OP CATO. 167 Yet will it stand complete, at that new birth, The wheels of each quick sense in burning play, Affections, longings, all it owned on earth. Sublimed and pure, yet holding stiU their sway. Knowing each form admired, or cherished here, No frailty felt, no second death to fear. He held the sword— a cure for mortal ill ; Pale on his face the flickering taper shone ; Despite Ms hardihood, a shivering chiU Crept at his heart to tempt the dread unknown. O death ! to pause upon the brink, and feel 'Tis. but a plunge, and we shall stand alone Before our God, poor reason well may reel. And valour find her wonted boastings flown ; A moment opes the sealed, mysterious door. Beyond it bUss — or darkness evermore ! Unhappy suicide ! misjudging sage ! And didst thou think it wise and sinless deed. When evil outweighed good, to rend the page From life's dark book ? — Oh ! blind and erring creed ! Our lives are heaven's ; God gave, must take away ; By mortal hand let ne'er the soul be freed ; What are the woes, the trials of a day, To sufferings for uncounted years decreed ? Then let us bear our fate ; though storms arise. Herald of good, Hope's bow will span the skies. But Cato thought not this — " Farewell to time! Farewell, my bleeding land !" he faintly cried ; " I would not live to see thy brow sublime Bend in the dust to please one tyrant's pride. 168 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK 11. Speaks Plato truth, I soon shall upward spring, Through star-strewn depths of ether joyful glide ; Away ye bonds that check the spirit's wing ! I go — I mount — my guardian angel, guide !" He struck — a minute, and the soul was free, The lone, dark wanderer of eternity ! (63) But Eome is gay, for C'rosar keepeth there Grand festival, his toils and warfare done ;* Pageants amuse, and feasts the people share, And pleasure sets not with the setting sun : The gladiator fights, the actor plays. Swift round the course the gilded chariots run ; Cffisar's flushed brow the flatterer crowns with bays ; The reign of mirth, not terror, has begun : Bounty and pardon — these alone appear. The orphan smiles, the widow dries her tear. Yet they who tower the highest make them foes, As mountain-peaks attract the storms of heaven ; Some deemed Rome's lord a tyrant, spreading woes — Men to whom daring hearts, strong hands were given : Brutus, whose love, like Cato's, hovered o'er The fair Eepublie's corpse, was onward driven By honest zeal, but C'assius hatred bore; The lightning comes, the oak must soon be riven ; The dark conspirators together stood. Banded by Stygian oaths, and bent on blood. (64) * Cffisar, on his return to Rome, ordered a triumph and grenf rejoicings ; he mude large donations to the soldiers, exhibited shows of gladiators and naval fights, and feasted the people at 22,000 tallies. — See Plutarch. PAKT II.J THE LAST HOURS OF C^SAR. 169 'Twas the last night that CEBsar passed on earth ; The feast was ended ;* in his quiet room He sat unsleeping ; thoughts had sj^rung to birth, That iiUed, he knew not why, his heart witli gloom. 'Tig strange man oft hath warnings of near ill, A something whispering him of coming doom ; Is it that shades, as far clouds veU the rill. Already reach his spirit from the tomb ? Is it liis guardian angel's soft alarm. Fond striving to the last to shield from harm ? He gazed upon the moon ; its beams were shining On mighty Home all sweetly, calmly cold. The marble shrines against heaven's blue reclining, Tiber scarce breathing whispers as he rolled : The matchless grandeur of that wide-spread sueue, Gorgeously fair, majestically bold. Palace, and tower, and cypress-grove between, The stranger, charmed, entranced, might well behold ; Ah ! much less he, whose eye around was cast. The head of Rome — ^tlie lord of all at last ! Yes, the proud lord : the dreams of youthful hour. The burning hopes of manhood, all were crowned ; He knew no equal ; now, O pride ! power ! He drank your draught, and what? deep rapture found ? Alas ! behold that foreheadploughed by thought ! That sleepless eye, when earth in sleep is droivned ! He looked not one whose soul with joy is fraught. Anxious, and doubtful, starting at a sound; • The evening before the day of his death, Cassar supped with Marcus Lepidus and some others. Plutarch mentions many forewarnings which he received of his approaching fate. M 170 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. His heart was hard, yet torturing memories rose Of all the deaths he caused, and all the woes. A hero's glory 'midst the stir of life. And action's fever, looks a dazzling thing ; In lonely hours, when hushed the passions' strife, It prompts sad dreams — -a bitter, poisoned spring. The conqueror's fame is built on others' woe, And blood and tears like curses to it cling ; This Caasar felt, and, as his head bowed low. Conscience more deeply plunged its serpent sting ; Myriads of victims seemed to crowd that room. Myriads of voices hail him from the tomb. Then the black thought — no honour more to gain. No higher peak of glory's mount to climb, Was anguish to his soul ; a galling chain Curbed eagle-hope that still would soar sublime. Ambition's cravings ne'er were sated yet, So ne'er her heart was happy ; earth and time No prize can yield, to win her to forget Dark discontent — that woe, that curse, that crime : Thus Caesar, as those thought-winged moments flew, Stood first in Rome, but first in misery too ! He turned, and gazed on one who slumbered near. Holding his lost love's place, though still his heart Hung o'er Cornelia's tomb ; a dream of fear Disturbed the sleeper, ofttimes seen to start ;* * "He observed by the moonshine Calphumia in a deep sleep, uttering broken words and inarticulate sounds ; she dreamt that she was weeping over him, as she held him murdered in her arms." — Plutarch. PART II.] THE LAST HOURS OF CESAR. 171 And when 'twas told, so strange the vision seemed, Weak superstition played so well her part, E'en iron Caesar of assassins dreamed ; But morning dawned, and bade each fear depart ; He looked abroad, nor dreaded gods or men, His spirit nerved, his brow all pride again. The senate-house was full, and voices died, Hushed into silence, as great Caesar there Assumed his place, august and dignified. Each gazing spell-bound on his ivory chair : The war-worn veteran of a hundred fights ! More firm, more lofty, never seemed his air ; The death-doomed eagle of power's stormy heights. The noble lion hunted to his lair ; And yet unconscious gazed the hero round. In life's fuU flush of pride, with glory crowned. What suppliant, bending low, approaches near. With cringing mien, and half-averted eye ? 'Tis Cimber* — yet the caitifi" shakes with fear. But Cassius, aiding his false suit, is nigh. Then that conspirator, the black of breast, Casca, in whose soul's depths a hell doth lie. Steals up behind, and, when on Caesar's vest False Cimber hangs, his dagger gleams on high — It smites the hero's neck — a dastard blow ; A nobler stroke should lay such victim low. * Cimber was the conspirator who advanced in a posture of supplication, praying Csesar to recall his brother from exile ; Casca and others grouped behind the chair. 172 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II, Up starts the chief, rage, wonder in his glance — "Villain! what mean'st thou? ingrate, traitor, slave !"* The sign thus given, the blood-sworn friends advance, Intent to kiU, ere others rush to save. Quick, Caesar ! draw thy sword, thy life defend ! Conqueror of Gaul, and Isles beyond the wave ! Must tliis then be thy doom, thy hapless end. Sent ere thy time to Murder's gory grave ? Oh ! in the glorious battle thou shouldst fall. Listening the shouting host, the trumpet's call ! He stands — he sways his sword — and, as he turns. Steel gleams — ^before, around him, every where — A hedge that bristles, and a wall that burns. For none to meet his arm may singly dare. Wound follows wound, but Caesar struggles long, Indignant from his foes such fate to bear. Till one dark form he marks amid the throng. His cherished friend, the loved, the favoured there ; That Brutus, too, should rise, and see him bleed — Oh ! this was anguish — this was death indeed ! Touched to the heaji, no more regarding life. He gazed and murmured, " Brutus, is it thou ?" Then dropped his sword, resigned the fruitless strife, Covering his face, content to perish now. * Casca gave Caesar the first wound; the latter, hastily turn- ing, caught the handle of his dagger, exclaiming in Latin, "Villain, Casca ! what dost thou mean ?" while Casca in Greek called on his brother to assist him. PART II. J THE PALL OF C^SAR. 173 Hy Pompey's statue, shedding life's warm tide, Slow to the earth he stooped his pallid brow ; All silently he sank, for warrior pride Would no vain threat, no weak lament allow ; Still as goes down the stately orb of day. Or lightnings vanish, passed his soul away. And thus was laid the world's great master low, The polished warrior of a polished age. Whose lip was eloquence, whose soul could glow With lofty thought — a spirit bold as sage ; Whose prudent valour, energy of mind. And dauntless calm where others yield to rage. Leave Philip's son, e'en Scipio far behind ; Ne'er mightier actor trod Hfe's varied stage ; He worshipped power — he loved — could never hate ; A few rejoiced, a million mourned his fate. (65) END OF PART II. SPIRITS OF THE PAST. BOOK II. MILITAEY HEROES. Past III. Earth's youth had past, and soberer years began ; 'Twas time that mortals reason's voice should heed, Renouncing blood, the paths false glory ran. For higher destiny, and nobler deed ; But men not yet the darkening veil could rend. And truth's fair book with eye uncurtained read ; With Virtue's harvest. Passion's tares must blend, The love of power undying strength decreed ; The billow may forget to beat the shore, But wild ambition, stirred, will rest no more. Thus do bold spirits rise in every land. The heroes, or the troublers of the world. Aiming above their fellow men to stand ; At duU equality their scorn is hurled ; The sUvery wave of calm contentment's lake Must by their breath, a poison-blast, be curled ; Dark grows the Eden peace and friendship make, Thy flag, Aggression ! 'midst its bowers unfurled ; Pride's heart to humble, lawless WiU restrain. Divine Philosophy shall toil in vain. PART III.] TITUS. 175 What mean those voices shaking Eome's fair shrines, From mount to mount the silver trumpet pealing ? The waving sea of heads, the glittering lines Of helm-crowned warriors, pride and power re- vealing ? Up Via Sacra gay-dressed thousands sweep,* The curbed horse prancing, rich bronzed chariot wheeling ; In front the spoils are borne, the captives weep — A Titus triumphs ! banish mournful feeling — Triumphs for victory o'er the fallen Jew, For all the wreck he made, and all he slew. (66) High stood within the car that radiance shed. He whom Eome loved, no foe could e'er withstand, A laurel-crown upon his helmless head, The toga on, the sceptre in his hand. How swelled his heart ! he felt a god that hour ; The groans, the blood of crushed Judasa's land, Eose not to mem'ry, rapture in its power O'ersweeping thought, as waves o'ersweep the strand ; And still did men, to glory rarely blind. Hail with loud shouts the " favourite of mankind."| • The procession in a Roman triumph (the greatest honour that could be bestowed on a conqueror) advanced along the Via Sacra to the Capitol ; the general stood in a chariot drawn by four horses, and he was preceded by the captires and spoils, a select portion of the army following. f The favourite of mankind — the delight of the human race — such were the names bestowed on Titus, by the Roman people. 176 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [dOOK II. Titus ! beautiful thy form,* thy soul Generous, refined, and seeking others' weal, Euling so mildly that thy bland control A father's seemed, intent each woe to heal ; Yet can we ne'er dissever from thy name Salem's last agony ; with thunder-peal, Her wrongs cry out, and, as with lightning's flame. Doth Truth to Time the bloody page reveal ; Blent with thy praise, sad burden to the skies, The suffering Hebrew's groan shall ever rise. The songs of triumph, in Eternal Eome, Are changed to wailing ; pale and shivering Fear Sits on each palaced hill ; the Ctesars' home Protects no more, e'en gods no bulwark rear : The Goth is raging at the Imperial gate ; City that chained the universe ! her tear Of slavery now must fall, her high estate Must crouch on ashes ; Eome's dark doom is near ; Shout Carthage ! Salem ! mourning from you cast. The crusher of your towers is crushed at last ! There Alaric pours on his human flood. That dashes 'gainst those walls of hoary pride ; The swift, dread surge a moment is withstood. Then bui-sts the bound'ry, ruin scattering wide : Oh ! the wild terrors of that fearful night ! Wlien lust and havoc revelled side by side. And Mercy fled before the fiend of Might, And Tiber rolled his corpse-encumbered tide ! * Titus was so remarkable for the grace and comeliness of his person, that he was declared to he the handsomest man in Rome. PART III.J ALARIC. 177 Borne on the midnight winds from mount and dell, The shrieks went up, like torture-shrieks from liell.* The Goth upon the Capitol was seen. Waving his sword exidtant o'er his head, Standing where Glory's shining foot had been. And consuls, monarohs, wont in awe to tread. The fair-haired savage of the Northern wild Was master now ; as Eome beneath him spread, Eeceiving chains and doom, he grimly smiled. While rising flames strange lustre on him shed : Burn on, and suffer ! fall, thou city ! fall! Fate does its work, and change awaiteth all. Yes, Alaric, and he, the fiery Hun,t Bursting on Europe from his woods of gloom, And Timur, whose red course was later run. Making in God's great name the East a tomb ; (67) Who piled in pyramids his victims' heads. Prayed while he murdered, turned fair Nature's bloom To waste and woe, till e'en Love's garden-beds Breathed to the sun gore-scents for sweet perfume ; These were fate's messengers, the scourgers given To wreak on erring man the wrath of Heaven. Less barbarous, but as fierce as Hun or Goth, Armed with the Koran, and the Prophet's sword. Comes conquering Omar in religious wrath, Leading from desert-depths his Arab horde. * Alaric entered Eome through the Salarian gate on the night of the 24th August, 410, A.D. He gave his soldiers leave, under certain restrictions which were little regarded, to plunder the city for the space of six days. t Attila. 178 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK II. Burning with zeal, the Eastern hero cries — " Believe or perish, infidel abhorred ! Our holy mission oometh from the skies, Fighting for God, no mercy we accord : One drop of Christian blood by Moslem spilt, Speeds him to heaven, and cancels all his guilt !" No marvel thus, by bigot ardour led, Omar rushed on, and vanquished every foe. That Syria crouched, and Salem bowed her head,* And trembling Egypt lay for ever low. Weak human valour quaUed before the might Of Zeal's untiring arm ; and then to know, He who, witli Christians battling, fell in fight. Swift to entrancing Paradise would go. Drinking eternal joy from houi-is' eyes — How would the trusting heart stern death despise ! Alas ! for Moslems, stiU through ages blind, Their sensual heaven of earthly-moulded joy ! Alas ! for all who persecute their kind! Must only death their cherished dreams destroy ? Heaven, for what purpose 'tis not ours to say. Permits foul error mortals to decoy ; The Hindoo, Moslem, thus in darkness stray. Wrapped in mad visions, ravished with a toy ; And yet they deem all truth is theirs the while, And, at Truth's radiant self, will scofi" and smile. (68) * After the captui'e of Damascus and other Syrian cities, Omar made his triumphant entry into Jerusalem in the year 16 of the Hejira, A.D. 637. PART in.] RICHARD CCECR DE LION. 11'-) But now a goddess lights upon the earth, With waving hair, and love-illumined glance. Crested, and armed, like Pallas at her birth. With silver shield, and slender quivering lance ; Called into being by her glorious eyes, And rendering homage at her proud advance, A miUion worshippers and heroes rise. With fancy filled, and warm with high romance : Spirit of honour, valour ! hail to thee ! Bold-fronted, generous, bright-souled chivalry ! Then Europe, as half frenzied, rushed to arms. Her pulse wild beating to the trump of war ; Men worshipped battle, tiU his grisly charms Halved hearts with woman's fair, alluring star. The western world was one vast muster-ground, Rising to crush the East ; o'er every bar Burst the Crusader host ; their trumpet's sound Woke Syrian glens, smoothed Jordan's waves afar. And landless knights were honoured then like kings. And chiefs seemed shadowed by celestial wings. Lo, where a Richard leads his fiery bands ! Star-pointed lances gleaming, banners flying ; Like a long wall, the hostile army stands. The Moslem moon the Christian cross defying ; Now rushing spears on meeting bucklers crash. And some " Mohammed !" some " St. George !" are crying; Horsemen, like whirlwinds, against horsemen dash. There peal the trumpets, yonder groan the dying ; Confusion, torture, glory, all are here. Horror and grandeur, in that scene of fear. 180 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK II. Tlie English monarch lifts his axe on high, And backward leans to give more forceful blow, And Saladin, with quick and glittering eye, Points his long sword, and fronts his powerful foe. Illustrious chiefs ! that single fight to view, Surrounding crowds their own death-work forego ; Falls the strong axe, the helm half crushing through, No deadly wound, though blood begins to flow : Ah ! why this strife, poor children of the sod ? They seek, in different ways, to worship Grod. But turn thine eye, a gentler picture see. Where by yon anguished man young beauty kneels ; Her heart all love, her soul all agony, Each pang that wrings her lord she doubly feels. That poisoned wound may bring the night of death. Ere down the Syrian liills the day-god wheels ; In prayers ye hear her faintly murmured breath ; Now round the couch, as treading air, she steals ; For aid, for pity, must she vainly sigh ? So he but live, herself would gladly die ?* She stoops above him soothingly and calm. Like some good angel come to watch and save. Whose voice is music, and whose look is bahn, Wiose brightness chases shadows from the grave ; Her soft lips press the wound, her knees are bent, Her hair streams o'er him, like a golden wave ; On mercy's wing what healer might be sent, Eisking a life like her, the fond, the brave '.' •" The affecting stoi-y related of Eleanor, who, while in the Holy Land, extracted at the peril of her own life the poiso n from the wound of her husband, (afterwards Edward [.,) will be known to all. PART III.] INVENTION OF GUNPOWDER. 181 Starred on fame's sky, shall shine for evermore Thy truth, thy love, devoted Eleanor ! But changed is now the crimson world of war ; Arrow, and spear, and sword, are all too slow To feed insatiate death ; from clouds afar Doth Havoc hurl his lightning-bolts below ? Schwartz ! to thy peaceful ceR what demon came, Telling a secret fraught with blood and woe ? Millions of deaths hung round that sulphurous flame. But this thy calm sage soul might Httle know ; Yet, monk of murderous fame! since time began. No deadlier boon than thine was giv'n to man. (69) Hark to that sullen roar, whose echoes roll From vale to mountain, bidding mortals start ! 'Tis drear and ominous — 'tis death's first toll For man, the victim of his new-born art : That hoUow sound upon the shrinking gale — Sends it not mourning e'en to nature's heart? O yes ! the answering mountain seems to wail, Glen, rock, and sky, in sorrow take their part. Prolonging that first gun's terrific roar. Whose death-note, woke below, shall cease no more. 'Mid rattling voUeys, heroes now must die, Fate riding viewless on the flying ball. That sends the soul to dread eternity, Ere from the slain one's lip a prayer can fall ; Yet belching fire, th' artillery's thunder-tone, The clouds of wreathing smoke enwrapping all. Hide piteous torture, drown the sufferer's groan, For battle must excite, and not appal ; 182 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK II. If man will war, let pride exalt her crest, An unseen death, the speediest doom the best. The roar is heard at Crecy ; where the wave Washes the seven-hilled city of the Greek, Mohammed points his guns ; ye last few brave ! Pale priest and scholar, aged, strong and weak. Pray in the dust ! the Moslem chief is nigh ; Where from his vengeance refuge shall ye seek ? Like fate's dread voice, his cannon shakes the sky ; He comes, on unbelievers wrath to wreak. And plants the crescent on that honoured wall — Learning ! Religion ! weep Byzantium's fall ! (70) Some heroes perish sword in hand, some live And wear their laiu-eb to a proud old age. But few, despising aU that fame can give, Ketire from glory, and life's brilliant stage : Yet Royal Charles, who bowed the Western world. Shines a rare instance on pleased history's page ; He sheathed his sword, his crimson banner furled, The conqueror turned the churchman and the sage, Kissed with warm tears Laredo's peaceful soil. Resting from all his wars, and aU his toil. (71) On lonely Gr6dos' hiUs 'tis midnight's noon,* Glen, leafy wood, descending spirits hush ; The fairy sleeks her locks beneath the moon, Bathing her feet where foamy fountains gush. * The convent, into which Charles V. retired, was that of St. Jasto near Plasencia, in Estremadura; it was situated in a beau- tiful valley, and overlooked by the wild Sierra de Gre'dos. PART UI.] CH.VELE3 V. 183 Old Moorish towers that crown the silvered hUl, Cascades, in diamond spray, that valeward rush, The moss-clad rocks, the plane-trees tall and still, The moon-kissed flowers that seem in dreams to blush Starred heaven above and sleeping earth below — A scene more fair Elysium scarce might show. It is the hour when, thought absorbing mind, We live again, in memory, perished years. When fancy leaves the real far behind, And mean, and poor, ambition's prize appears ; Life's countless aims, renown's loud trumpet-peal. All that once wrapped our being — -joys and fears. No more engross us, but we inly feel That which exalts, and Natxu'e's Grod endears : The soul, ethereaUsed, expands her wing. Looks to yon skies and fain would upward spring. Behold where Pavia's hero bends the knee,* At midnight prayer, in calm St. Justo's cell ! His eyes no longer thrones and pageants see, Nor in his ear do battle's thunders swell : For Power's dread sceptre, yon small cross he clasps. For sweeping sword, his beads he stoops to tell ; For shouts, and cries of rage, and dying gasps, Meek saints smile round, and sounds the convent bell. While, mUd and stiU as love-rocked infant sleeps, He folds his hands, and pensive vigU keeps. •» The battle of Pavia, in which Charles overthrew his great rival Francis I. of France, and made him prisoner, took place 24th February, 1525. 184 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK II. Strange was thine act, thou once bold, fiery Idng ! For whose ambition Europe seemed too small, Whose hand the bolt of war so well could fling, Crushing the Turk, and withering boastful Gaul. Gay was great Scipio in his calm retreat. But hermit gloom o'er thee had cast its pall ; With saddest spirit Nature didst thou greet ; Prayer, penance, fear — life's final draught was gall ; Thy closing days dark truths upon us press, That Power is frailty. Glory nothingness ! Unlike his royal namesake, Sweden sends A warrior forth, bold, chivalrous, and rash ;* He dares all deeds, his country's bounds extend.s, But chief on Eussia's rock his war-waves dash : Rival of Pella's hero ! sweeping on, Feeling but rapture in the cannon's flash. Triumphant now, now all sa\'e honour gone. Yet flrm, and buoyed by hope, 'mid rum's crash — O Swedish Charles ! his joys, his passions lay All in his sword, the madman of his day ! How Washington to both opposing stands. Yet great as either ! prudent, cautious, slow, He led for one high cause his country's bands. Nor dreamt of glory when he braved the foe : Soldier and statesman ! in his patriot breast No genius, fancy shed their burning glow. Yet with a sage's spirit was he blest, While perseverance stiU woidd strike the blow ; * Charles XII. of Sweden, the purest specimen of a hero enamoured of glory, and fighting only for fighting's sake, since the days of Alexander the Great. PART III.J WOLFE. 185 More wise than soaring, honest than refined, Simple and massive was his mighty mind. He bade liis country cease to bow the knee, Moulded a people by his plastic hand, Tin fair Columbia shouted, she was free ! And 'mid earth's foremost nations took her stand. Yet art to him, and daring were unknown ; He lost more fights than won ; he saved his land By iron fortitude, and truth alone, Conquering by soul, and not the battle-brand : Men called him father, blessed the patriot's name. And crowned liis hoary head with wreaths of fame. Not of disease, slow wasting life's pale fire — Not of old age that brings its dark decay — In victory's arms young Valour would exijire. And midst the roar of battle pass away. Thou hadst thy wish, brave Wolfe ! if such were thine. And never from this earth to realms of day. Did soul more noble mount, a star to shine. In honour's heaven, with pure and quenchless ray : E'en now, while musing on thy bright career. And early doom, warmed Pity drops a tear. Waving thy sword to those who toil behind. We see thee scale yon steep at dead of night ;* Britannia's lion-banner fiaunts the wind ; The foe awakes — he comes with boastful might ; * On the night of the 12th of September, 1 759, General Wolfe, at the head of his troops, performed the very difficult task of ascending the rocky eminence above Quebec : he then drew up his little army on the plain of Abraham, and gave battle to the French, who advanced in force from the city, at that time in their possession. 186 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. His charging bands would sweep you in the wave, That glows beneath, as breaks the morning light ; Boom his loud-rolling guns, till cliff and eavc Seem 'live with echoes — forward to the fight ! Thy sword, thy look, thy voice, were magic then. Electric fire that thrilled the hearts of men. More rapid than the rapid tide below, Dash on thy squadrons, deadly bayonets gleaming, And, like a ri\or, pours the maddening foe ; The human torrents meet — ^thy blood is streaming ; No matter — full of fire thou battiest yet, Feeling no pain, of victory only dreaming ; Save England's honour, all thou dost forget, But dimmer now thine eagle eye is beaming ; Thy failing hand no more the sword can sway — Oh ! for an hour the stroke of death to stay ! We mark thee leaning on the veteran near. Striving poor Nature's anguish to control ; Hot still the conflict — ah ! will victory cheer. Before it mounts from earth, thy ardent soul ? Gaul's eagle wavers — England's banner flies, Though red witli blood ; her volleying thunders roll ; " They yield ! they yield ! " a light illumes thine eyes ; Now welcome death ! high hope has won the goal ; No longer clinging to the suffering clay. Borne on that shout, thy spirit wings away.* * Wolfe, mortally wounded wliilo advancing at the head of the grenadiers, and leaning on a soldier, heard a voice cry, " They run!" "AVho run?" he asked faintly, being in the agonies of death. "The French," he was informed. "I die then happy!" were the last words of this young and brave commander. PART III.] NAPOLEON. 187 Slow fades our dream of heroes ; soon to blood. And battle-fields, and death, we say farewell ; The heart recoils, when on that sanguine flood. By man's mad passions spilt, too long we dwell. War hath its charms, its sickening horrors too ; Of fiery joys let patriot Valour tell, And eager youth Fame's phantom-shade pursue, Yet war at best reflects the pomp of hell, SuflTered for crimes to torture man below — Engine of fiends — a great incarnate Woe ! One hero more stands forth, nor may in vain The beacon shine, but warning light impart ; Behold a man, by conquest doomed to gain All for which pants the high-aspiring heart ! Not proud his birth, or noble was his frame, But his soul grasped the world — his eye could dart Deep into breasts — dominion, glory, fame. Filled his lone dreams — he plan,ned, would act his part. The means, his sword unsheathed in favouring hourj And his strong will the lever of his power. Mercy, and charity, and truth, and love. He banished from his more than Stoic breast. For such might bar his aims ; his hopes above Were lightly held, one earthly prize possessed : No scruple checked him in his bold career, No conscience whispered, no remorse oppressed, A man without a heart, without a fear, In action fire — an icicle at rest. Prudent yet daring, with the gift to bind Hearts to his cause — so ruled this master-mind ! 188 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK II. Centuries produce a bard, and centuries pass Ere one Napoleon rises on the scene, Or earth were too much troubled, and the mass. Though it applaud, were swept with scythe too keen ; Yet glory doth so blind, that men will bear Privation and affliction, while they ween Their leader's fame and growing power they share ; Bright looks the landscape, woods and meadows green, But winter comes, when no young leaf shall wave, And glory hath its winter — man liis grave. Oh ! to look back, and trace the crimson way This new Sesostris, polished Timur, trod! The wrong, the far-spread suffering, the dismay, The victor's havoc, and the scourger's rod : Slain thousands sent to Hades ere their time. Thrones crushed, and towns unpeopled at his nod; And all, that one proud man might higher climb. And move among his kind, a little god — The sorrowing soul may scarce her patience keep, And wonders Heaven's avenging thunders sleep. 'Twas not to spread enlightenment he fought, 'Twas not to render blest exhausted France ; The patriot's nobler fire he never caught. Power he but strove for, self he would advance ; Thus life he spared not — those who loved him fell. He shed no tear ; he ever scorned romance ; His breast to fine emotion could not swell ; All things were trained by fate, or born of chance : PART III.] NAPOLEON. 189 His very crimes, he thought, were doomed to be ;. He stood 'mong men — the " Cliild of Destiny ! " * Yet was Napoleon moulded for his age. With lofty views, a mighty spirit still ;. An able statesman, a deep-seeing sage ; The dangerous post he seized he well could fill^. Since o'er bowed Europe Caesar's eagle flew, One hath but equalled him in martial skill ; How rare in earlier day defeat he knew ! Victory the very vassal of his will ! All energy, resource, and depth, and wile. He seemed to force, not court, proud Fortune's smile. For years his arm spread fear and death around ; The Alps have heard his thunders ; scarce a vale In Italy but echoed back that sound ; His trumpet swelled on Syria's musky gale ;. The pyramids, in stern, calm grandeur piled. Patriarchs of earth, that bade the Pharaohs hail. Have seen his squadrons charge along the wild ; The crimsoned Danube told its ghastly tale ; His cannon crowned the storied hUls of Spain, Till Britain came, and made their terrors vain. * Napoleon was an oriental in his fatalism; yet he may have called himself the " Child of Destiny," more perhaps with a view of excusing some of his acts, and of inspiring his soldiers ■with confidence, than from any settled conviction that he was appointed to work out such and such measures by an irresistible fate. 190 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK IT. His eagles flapped their wings o'er Eylau's snow ; Proud Austerlitz and Jena wove him bays ; Crowds still on crowds he sent to shades below, As if he deemed too long man's fleeting days. Wliat craved he ? toiled he for ? — A brilliant name ; Little in greatness, so to covet praise ; But war he loved — that passion was a flame Which burned with sun-like, unconsuming blaze ; War was his mistress, life, his god, his all — Such love the peaceful sage might madness call. It could not last ; forced power must droop with time ; The star had reached its zenith ; Fortune's eyes Had beamed their brightest ; blood, and woe, and crime. Sent up their voice, not vainly, to the skies : His deeds and Graul's eternal justice weighed. Full of dire ill, tlie scale refused to rise ; Then came the avenging goddess, wrath-arrayed. At Moscow, Leipzig, fierce the scourge she plies ; Dread retribution ! myriads meet their doom. And e'en loved Glory will not grace their tomb. Brief time could Elba bind him to her rocks ; Loose on the world again that chief is cast, Ready to brave Heaven's ire, and Fortune's shocks ; One struggle more — the deadliest and the last ! Fair Belgium's plains are black with Gaul's huge host ; In panoply of steel some glitter past ;* Like wave on wave, slow rolling on the coast. Their lines advance to drum and bugle-blast ; * The Cuirassiers. PART III.] BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 191 That eye, long used vast armies to survey. Ne'er blazed in joy on more superb array. Tiie day has daimed which seals wide Europe's fate, And thousands never more shall view the sun ; True courage wUl be grave, and not elate. The sands of life, perchance, so nearly run ; A shudder e'en may reach the hero's heart, But soon 'tis checked ; he thinks of laurels won. And burns in that red field to bear his part ; His blood turns fire, the combat once begun ; And thoughts of death will rare his soul appal. Though hisses by his ear the fate-winged ball. There ranged in squares, compact each serried mass. Champions of truth and right, yon host survey;* The British lines stand firm as walls of brass, Europe's great hope on this tremendous day. Not one breathes there, from him whose high employ Is aU to guide, — to him that village play Might seem to suit — the blithe-eyed drummer boy — Not one breathes there, who proudly would not say, " For yon loved Isle, for right; my arms I'll wield, I'U toil, I'U die— do aU but quit the field!" They come, in deep-formed Knes, and far drawn out. The ground beneath their heavy tramp is shaking ; The British squares receive them with a shout ; Think you the Island's lion-heart is quaking? * While the cavalry was stationed in the rear, to act as occasion might require, the British infantry, and the infantry of the allies, were for the most part drawn up in hollow squares, on the memorable 18th of June, and thus they remained, resisting the impetuous attacks of the Trench throughout the day. 192 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK II. Thick, fierce, and fast, the levelled tubes belch fire ; And bayonets, 'mid the Gauls, are havoc making; Yet other troops advance as these retire ; No time ye have for pausing, or breath-taldng ; The slain step o'er — ^the wounded to the rear — Close your thinned ranks — ^be calm — away with fear ! The Gallic chief throughout this deadly fight, Still, as of old, would urge the fierce attack, Impetuous as the lauwen* in its might. But breasts are there to dash that lauwen back. Who cheers the steady Briton ? spurs him on. When, worn and bleeding, cheers he well may lack ? Heads now a hard-pressed troop, its leader gone. And sheds hope's beam where clouds are lowering black ? Moves amid flying balls collected, calm ? Crown England's chief with bravery's deathless palm !f See ! Gaul's artillery onward sweeps again — Dark-gaping, iron mouths, in long, long row ; Behind, in armour, crowd those stalwart men,J Towers of bright steel — no vain or idle show ; * The avalanche. t The battle of Waterloo may be described as a continued scries of attacks, on the part of the French, along the whole British front, the allied army standing on the defensive, and repulsing each attack with immense slnnghter. The conduct of the Duke of "Wellington on the field offers a striking contrast to that of his great rival, for while Napoleon remained aloof at the house of La Belle Alliance on the hill, and did not head in person a single battalion, Wellington exposed himself continually to the hottest of the fire, animating the troops by his presence, and encouraging them witli his voice. {The Cuirassiers. PART in. J BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 193 And, further back, the foot in close array, Whose bayonet-points, like countless night-stars, glow; And thus they hope yon squares to sweep away, And whelm, with storm like this, the Island-foe, Pouring and rolling, battle's maddening sea ; Death joyous stalks, and Carnage shrieks in glee. A line of fire — a burst of earth-born thunder, As hell had opened on that quivering ground — ■ Dense, wreathing smoke, nought seen a moment under— The storm of balls has past with whirring sound : A thousand die, a thousand take their place ; Then swift in front Gaul's glittering horsemen bound, Eush on the British — dogg'd, unflinching race ! The cuirassiers their equals now have found : Here, there, between the squares those horsemen dash. Sweep their long swords — ye hear the ceaseless clash. Away ! the steel-clad men their part have done ; Now, column flanked by column, down the steep Pour foot-battahons — veterans who have won Battles alone ; how fierce their onward sweep ! They'd break the ranks the cannon galled before, Yet their hot fury can no vantage reap ; A hedge of bayonets meets them, volleys pour, And still unmoved the Island heroes keep ; Albion and Caledonia mix their cheers. And not a man his brow but proudly rears. So raged the combat, hour on dreadful hour. Charge following charge, the living and the slain Blent and confused, the gushing sanguine shower Making all crimson winding hUl and plain : 194 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK 11. Each gentler feeling Vengeance stifled there, Pale Passion raged, and moaned unheeded Pain, Pear walked the earth, and Furies rode the air, And, throned on horror. Grandeur held her reign : A spectacle that fiends might rise to \'iew, And angels weep o'er — such was Waterloo ! Fortune above those armies doubtful hung ; On whose red forehead should the laurels light ? It seemed as one shaft more, by Valour flung. Had turned the balance of the deadly fight. In heaps the slain were lying, ball and shell Making new victims in their viewless flight ; Gaul ne'er had fought so furious, long, and well, Ne'er swept her masses with such whelming might ; " One master-stroke !" now flashed Napoleon's ej'e ; " On ! glorious guard ! and seize the victory !" (72) They came in streaming columns, and once more The flanking cannon vomited its fire ; No shouts were heard amidst the deafening roar ; Did Britons waver ? bravery's light expire ? Thin grew their ranks, yet closed above the dead. They know the way to die, but not retire : Fierce charged the Gauls, and strove their front to spread, But foiled, repulsed, they reeled in maddening ire ; The battle-surge swept backward from the strand. Melting, like foam, that once proud, matchless band. Victory ! end this carnage ; or O Night ! Come with thy gloom that man may cease to kill ; If England fall, she falls defending right, If France must win, then reign, triumphant ill ! PART III.] BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 195 Poor Mercy weeps — 'tis all she here can do, And pale-cheeked Pity bows to Power and Will ; His ruthless course fell Battle must pursue, Heap earth with death, with rage the living fill ; An empire is the stake — a world looks on — Glory or doom to great Napoleon ! How anxious gazes Britain's chieftain now Tow'rd distant heights, for Prussia's promised bands ! Dread moment of suspense — on yon hill's brow. Sees he the sparkle of far-flashing brands ? Yes, there waves Prussia's standard, sounds her drum, Announcing near those friendly hearts and hands ; Hark ! to the joyous shouts — they come ! they come ! New-nerved, more boldly-firm, each Briton stands ; Though fearing nought, to heaven he renders thanks. While cheers burst forth from all the bleeding ranks. (73) Troop after troop, fresh, eager for the fight. Wheels down the hill, and pours upon the plain ; Instant they dash upon the Gallic right. And charge its mingled mass, nor charge in vain ; While opens full and wide their deadly fire, That mows down men, as sickles autumn-grain ; The Prussian bosom now can vent its ire, For all the wrongs endured, and thousands slain ; Thy lofty vauntings, France, are answered well, By yon deep roar, which seems thy funeral knell. The moment comes to turn the battle's scale ; A smile for England fortune's brow doth wear ; No more defensive — up ! she dares assail ; The lion rushes from his gory lair : 196 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK II. Guns, horsemen, foot — each squadron forward wheels ; One long-drawn, lowering front — what power is there! The humblest soldier burning ardour feels. E'en wounded men this last, great movement share : Loud sounds the charge, and swords and bayonets shine. Flashing like fate along the mighty line!* Away ! midst shouts and musketry's sharp rattle, And cannon's deeper roar, the heroes go ! A sight that well might thrill the god of battle ; Nought heed they, see they, save the wavering foe. O'er the red field the human torrent dashes. And bears down all things with that whelming flow ; The leader cheers, his lifted sabre flashes ; May Gaul withstand the dreadful onset ? no ; O'erpowered, borne back, death following those who fly. Her army yields — 'tis England's victory ! (74) So fell earth's troubler — ^proud Napoleon's star At Waterloo went down to rise no more ; He who had driven o'er necks Power's iron car, Whose deeds loud fame had trumped from shore to shore ; Wlio built up thrones, or crushed them in a day, The arbiter of nations, at whosS door Monarchs obsequious waited, while his sway O'er half the West his fiery eagles bore — * The last charge, when the British squares no longer acting on the defensive fell into line, and the entire army, including the cavah y and artillerj-, moved forward as one man, led by ■Wellington in person, was as grand as it ivas decisive and terrible in its effects : it was the closing act of the tremendous drama ; tlie curtain fell, and there was no more fighting — all afterwards was massacre and flight. PAET III.] NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA. 197 How little now ! how weak ! how changed in all ! Of those who flattered, who wUl weep liis fall? 'Tis well ; to climb the steep is bravery's task ; Th' aspiring spirit is a noble thing, But when too far we strain, too much we ask, And scatter misery from Ambition's wing, 'Twere better live obscure, and die unknown; Oh! who may tell the secret pangs that wring Thy heart, successful Crime ? — the tear, the groan, Napoleon caused to others, did they sting ? Yes, the hard bosom is not always steeled ; Sharp, deadly is the sword Remorse can wield. Day drove his burning chariot down the west, His golden wheels more faint each moment flashing ; The hermit seabird sought his spray-washed nest. The long-ridged billow made a mournful dashing ; Inland no sign of life, no ship at sea. More welcome were the cloud-born thunder's crashing. Than that strange calm, that dead monotony. Wide earth, vast heaven, all human pride abashing — A state nor death, nor life, that has no name. Where thought upon the bosom feeds like flame. Is yon fixed form a statue on the hill ? The earth's " last man" spell-spoken into stone ? The shaded eye moves not, the hand is still. No fiery passion in that face is shown ; Yet 'tis not calm repentance, black despair. Shadowing the man who called the world liis own. The stamp of iron pride his features bear. Cold and repelling scorn around him thrown ; 198 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK. II. Ajax once dared the lightning — ^that still brow Man and the bolt of fate defies e'en now. The mountain eagle in his iron cage, The captive tiger never more to roam, Less pining, than in sullen gloom and rage — So dwelt Napoleon in his Island-home. And should he stir men's passions, fight no more ? His charging troops were now the breakers' foam, His trumpet the loud winds, his cannon's roar The thunder when it shook heaven's awful dome ; Yet might his own drear thoughts form deadlier foes. With which liis soul might strive till life's dark close. And oh ! what thoughts ! — in silence and alone, No action to disturb the spectral train, How torturing mem'rics, long in shadow thrown. Would come back flashing on the busy brain ! Myriads had then been living, but for him ; Battle, and fire, and helpless captives slain,* Again he saw ; the stars of fate were dim. His laurels ashes, crimes and schemes in vain — Ye who would win a conqueror's trophied name. Behold, and envy not this child of fame ! He never loved his kind, though with strange power He gained the hearts of men by dazzling deeds, Their demi-god, their idol of an hour, And yet his doating followers leant on reeds ; * Twelve hundred Turkish prisoners at JaiFa were by Bona- parte's orders shot in cold blood, two days after their surrender. The warmest of his admirers have failed to justify him in the commission of this act. PART III.] NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA. 199 E'en her, his faithful spouse,* who wept and prayed, Coldly he cast aside ; all men were weeds. He the sole flower in garden-pomp arrayed — Such pride had sprung where Self had sown the seeds ; AU adverse colours marked his changeful mind, Mighty, yet weak — far-seeing, and yet blind. He lay in Stoic mood, resigned to death, The eye that burned in battle ceased to glow ; The lion-soul was issuing with that breath, Remembered glories could no balm bestow : Wliat now availed his vict'ries ? never more Yon sun for him the wide, green earth would show ; The gate of Time was closing, and the door Of dread Eternity was opening slow : Hear it, thou Island ! sigh it. Ocean's blast ! The slayer of a million sinks at last ! He died — the world's disturber now was still. The thunderbolt was quenched in death's deep sea. The dire volcano ceased to shake the hill. The meteor had gone out, no more to be. Wliat doom awaits that soul beyond the grave. It is not ours to say ; heaven's stern decree Is launched at guilt, yet Love can guiltiest save, Or whither on death's shore shall millions flee ? — He died, his blazoned name not claiming teal's. But casting terror's shade on future years. * Josephine, divorced for political purposes. END OP BOOK II. SPIRITS OF THE PAST. BOOK III. CELEBKATED WOMEN. Part I. Man walked in Eden ; gorgeous, fair, and gay, Earth, like a mighty smile, around him spread ; Crime had not marred one hue, or dimmed one ray, And fresh the bloom young Life on all things shed ; The flowers ne'er died, the dews they bore looked pearls. Each streamlet was a harp, and high o'erhead The clouds, gold-tinged, hung rich as angels' curls ; On nectar-plants the dainty breezes fed ; Glory and light, and loveliness and grace. Beamed in glad Nature's new-created face. Man stood within this wilderness of sweets, A loveless, sad, and solitary thing ; The seraphs hovermg o'er those radiant seats, The cherub sitting by the silver spring, Seemed not his meet companions ; soul and eye Asked other friend to which the heart might clins', Eeturning love for love, and sigh for sigh. Without whom no delight long day could bring. Tuneless went up sweet Nature's evening hymn, And night's sky-gemming stars were cold and dim. PART I.J CREATION OF WOMAN. 201 A flood of golden beams o'er Eden's bowers, As if a new-formed sun that moment rose — A burst of incense from ten tliousand flowers, For all their souls had started from repose — A peal of music melting down the air. As though heaven's crystal portals did unclose, And seraph-lutes were softly ringing there — ■ Strains that might soothe th' unblest amid their woes ; And Woman, perfecting Creation's plan. Woke into life, the radiant mate of man. Wondering he gazed, and saw, as in a glass, All beauties in that face reflected clear ; The bosom's alabaster, hair's black mass Touching her heel, the dark eye's speechless tear. Attracted, won him, but the soul and heart, Grentle, and pure, and true, did more endear : So were they linked in Eden, ne'er to part. She the sweet sharer of his pleasures here, Lightener of toil, the soother of his sigh. The angel partner of eternity ! But crime soon dims man's glory ; evil too Casts envious shade on woman's soul of light. Yet 'tis a star eclipsed, for piercing through The sombre haze, you find it purely bright ; Dark passions cloud, temptation's storms assail. But look! an iris trembles into sight — Virtue's fair beacon, which shall rarely fail To fix her eye, and guide her course aright ; But if she falls, her fall, alas ! is deep, And angels o'er the ruin bend and weep. o 2(12 SPIRITS or THE PAST. [BOOK. III. Did they not weep in ages long g-one by, Daughter of hoary Tyndarus,* o'er thee ? Scarce deeming that thy mild celestial eye, A baneful firebrand lighting strife, could be ? That youth's warm heart which panted 'neath the snow Of Beauty's breast, and seemed from guile so free, Should cause by falsehood seas of blood to flow. And people tombs, and scatter agony ? Helen ! genius, glory sound thy fame, But tears for human frailty steep thy name. Yet were it not for thee, fair Spartan bride ! Thy luring loveliness, and broken vow. We had no tale of Troy, its name had died. E'en glorious Homer would not charm us now — Thanks to thy very falsehood, since it gave The matchless verse to which all ages bow. That lives and glows o'er Time's wide-wrecking wave, Th' immortal fruit of Genius' golden bough, A strain of thunder pealing through mind's sky, Shaldng all hearts, its echoes ne'er to die. (75) On Sparta's rude-built towers, and low-walled shrines,']' The white and loving moon was softly beaming, Laconia's long, deep vales, and mountain-lines, Half lay in shadow, half through mists were gleaming : * Tyndarus, King of Sparta, and father of the famous Helen. t The LacoTiian city in which Helen lived did not assume the name of Sparta, or Lacedaimon, until occupied hy the Dorians, 1104 B.C., nearly a century after her time; we call it, liowever, Sparta, since by that name it is best known in general history. PABT I.] HELEN. 203 The flowers that fringed Eurotas' haunted tide, Drooped low, their dewy petals closed in dreaming ; The waves would sleep, but, sleepless, crept and sighed — Sweet fretful waves, like pouting Beauty, seeming ; The night-bird's song came gushing from the hill, Sad, deep, and rich, and all again was still. Such nights were meant for thought, and passionate love ; When weary earth, heaven-guarded, takes her rest. Fancy, most active, turns to realms above. And walks those plains with gorgeous wonders drest. The heart expands, and melts, and feeling's cup Flows to o'erbrimming — ^hour so soft and blest ! A prayer, a sigh, the rapt soul sendeth up, A vague desire that stirs the burning breast ; She asks perfection, craves the fadeless bliss Hearts know in brighter worlds, but ne'er in this. The dark-haired Spartan leant within her room, Not gorgeous its display, though chaste and fair ; Ionian statues gleamed, urns breathed perfume, And couches from soft Tyre blushed purple there :* Brightest of women, loveliest of her race, Famed through the world ! the gema earth's caverns bear Showed dim beside her eyes ; her faultless face Beamed like a sculptor's vision, rich and rare .; * The house of Menelaus, the husband of Helen, is described as having been situated near the Dromus or race-course on the banks of the Eurotas, which river formed the north-eastern boundary of the city, hifls rising beyond. The site or rums of the palace existed in the second century of our era, as recorded by Pausanias. 204 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. Pure flowed the Aohsean blood through Helen's veins :* Where now her Kne 1 no true-born Greek remains. Her beauty was majestic, not severe, Pride and sweet bashfulness in witching strife, Love smoothed her brow, and feeling gemmed her tear, Pygmalion's statue starting into life. Fresh Spring, gay Summer, Autumn's mellowing heat, Emblemed her heart, with tenderest fancies rife ; That fluttering heart with joyousness could beat, Or feel acutely agony's keen knife ; Her nature in bright calm was like a lake. In passion a wild sea, when tempests wake. Simple her garb, the pallium' $'\ folds of snow Fell 'round her form — such matrons wont to wear ; Grace twined her girdle, radiant with the glow Of Orient gems ; pearls spangled, too, her hair — . Spangled those locks which, thickly downward streaming, Looked like a patch of stars through midnight air ; Below her robe, her silver sandal, gleaming, Cased the small foot, as lily soft and fair ; And such was slio, whose loveliness and crime AVere doomed to live in song aU after time. * In Helen's time, the inhabitants of Laconia were unmixed Achajans; eighty years after the Trojan war, the Dorians con- quered the country, and then arose the warlike people so famous in Greek annals, t The pallium was the Chief garment of the Greek lady, usually of white linen, which the wealthier classes obtained from Egypt ; it covered the neek, arms, and reached to the feet, being confined by a girdle. The l(Ena was a loose mantle thrown over the pallium, and to be worn out of doors. PART I.] HELEN. 205 But who in silence near fair Helen knelt, Like some fond worshipper before a shrine, Speechless when adoration most is felt ? Yet earthborn thoughts were his — not dreams divine. 'Twas not her lord— he trod a distant shore ;* That haughty stranger sprang of royal line ; Eioh stars of gold his Phrygian mantle bore, Soft as a moon, did silver corslet shine ; But ah ! no honest soul that eye betrayed, And e\ il 'round him cast a nameless shade. Bold Paris on his lovely victim gazed. Who shrank, but could not shun his burning glance; So the poor fluttering bird, with wing half raised. Beholds th' attracting serpent's dread advance. He breathed his sighs, which like quick poison ran Through brain and heart ; guilt, danger, but enhance Passion's fierce strength, as winds wild flame will fan ; Wake! Helen, wake! from love's enthralling trance; Think of thy faith, thy duty ; spurn in hate That sweet-hpped tempter, ere it prove too late. " Fly with thee ? leave my home ? forsake my lord ? Thy vows are crime, thy proffered love is guile ; thou, my patron goddess ! strength accord ! Jove's lightnings, strike ! but Virtue ! on me smUe !" She rose with flashing eye, indignant air, But ah ! in anger ravishing the while ; She clasped Diana's white, cold image there ; The moon, from clouds emerging, ht the pile. * Menelaus, at the time Paris visited Spart.1, was absent in Crete. 206 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK III. And showed her upraised face, her wild distress — Too witching scene of fatal loveliness ! But deep the tempter played his fiendly part, And vowed, and promised, knelt, and still caressed ; He knew how yielding woman's gentle heart, When there love's mystic seal is once impressed. As spoke the wily Phrygian, Helen grew Less angry, and less scornful ; now her breast Heaved with deep sobs ; the diamond-glittering dew Soft on her eye's black fringe was seen to rest, Till nursed by growing anguish, love, and fears, In one wild flood, gushed forth her blinding tears. Bereavement has its agony ; despair Weighs down the spirit, making frail the strong; But wilder pangs the wavering soul must bear. Clinging to right, yet tempted into wrong. Love ! that winged from heaven with neetared dart, To whom joy's crown, and sunny smiles belong. Strange that so oft 'tis his to crush the heart, And chant pale misery's strain, not Hymen's song ; Ah ! who may say, in this poor world below. If love hath caused most joy, or wrought most woe. Weeping, and struggling to put out the flame Eros had kindled in her anguished soul ; Calling upon her goddess, whose pure name, With holy spell, strong passion might control ; Helen proved all that thousands since have felt, For love doth know no change, as ages roll, And hearts, deemed ice, in evil hour will melt. And crime, with virtue matched, oft wins the goal. PART. I.] HELEN. 207 So turning, aa the flower obeys the sun, She softenedi sighed, and listening — was undone. Fly ! with your steeds of eagle fleetness, fly ! Ye cannot speed from memory, ill-starred pair ! Her cloud will overcast love's summer sky, Her gall wiU drug the cup young Joy would bear. In one false heart Remorse wiU fix her fang — That heart will think of home in lone despair ; Eepentance too shall come with fruitless pang, Gone hours will sting, the future darkness wear. While Vengeance, with her scorpions, marks the deed — On ! in your car of swiftness, doomed ones, speed ! Thus Helen fled with that rash chief of Troy, And woke a world to arms, as bards have sung ; Her after story — passion, woe, or joy — Harped by gray Homer, through all years hath rung. Bright o'er her frailty, her remorse, and crime. Its sunshine Immortality hath flung. And treading Ilium's plain in this far time. We hail her beauteous form, of fancy sprung ; Her name each breeze seems sighing in our ears, And each flower-bell hangs moistened with her tears. (76) Doth Nature influence genius? will the soul Shape visions varying with the changeful scene ? Yes, earth and sky have sorceries that control Mind like the frame, for fine the link between : Thus dull the spirit placed 'mid polar snows, No light-winged fancy, no perception keen ; 'Neath torrid suns small energy it shows ; In temperate climes 'tis powerful yet serene ; 208 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. Mountains high thought, and warKke passions raise ; In fog-bound vales, man drags inglorious days. Be there a spot more favoured by kind heaven, Than other lands, for godlike mind's display, For taste's pure culture, fancy's beamings given, 'Tis where the Greek Isles court the eastern ray ; There in old time did Spring, descending, dwell, Dancing with Summer bloomy, fresh, and gay ; Autumn to ripeness kissed the purple dell. But ice-haired Winter wandered far away ; All things, in which grand, beauteous contrasts lie, Met glowing there to charm the soul and eye. The billows, mighty Nature's sounding lyre, Harping for ever marble crags among ; The mountains bathed each eve with golden flre, Vales that for beauty might to gods belong ; Cascades, like sliot-stars, falling down the rocks, Green sheltering nooks far off from man and vprong ; Liglitning upon the hills, and tempest-shocks ; The musky airs that pant the flowers along ; Birds sending music far o'er ocean's foam — Such was Song's cradling-place, bright Genius' home. Here first Greek minstrels felt the fire divine, 'Twas theirs, Prometheus-like, from heaven to bring, And traced amid these scenes th' impassioned line. And poured their spirits o'er the warbling string. Pass we Alca3US, who the tyrant's pride Crushed in high scorn, his verse an aspic's sting — Mimnernus, who in Asian valleys sighed, With pathos that a cynic's heart might wring ; PART I.J SAPPHO. 209 Or where in Cos, that gems the crystal seas, Hymned, death's sad mourner, sweet Simonides, (77) Another star attracts the searching gaze. Hanging its lamp above those favoured Isles, Soft gleaming through the night of vanished days, Now dimmed by mists, now brightening into smiles ; The star, slow-changing, takes a woman's form. Ethereal, fraU, with beauty that beguiles The heart to rapture, dazzling, pure, and warm. Yet sadness mingling with her witching wiles ; Thought pales her brow, emotion iires her eye, A thing of dreams, rapt Sappho passes by. What though, around this devotee of song, Some bright untruths hath fabling story thrown. We know her hand full skilful swept along The JEolic lyre, and rich its matchless tone.* Here did she dwell, where Lesbian breezes bore A paradise of sweets, and bluely shone Arched skies on hills where Bacchus' cup ran o'er ; Nature's luxurious feast she made her own. Drank from the scene around a wild delight — Warm Fancy's child, the burning Neophite ! And Sappho's soul, from that soft Eastern land. Imbibed a dangerous softness, and became Enamoured of the glorious, sweet, and bland, Casting contempt on all things stern or tame ; * Sappho wrote in the ^olic dialect, which was peculiarly light and lively, yet suited for the expression of vehement passion; the metre she adopted in some of her compositions resembled that of her contemporary, Alcseus; but she was the inventor of a measure greatly admired for its musical construc- tion, and which from her obtained the name of Sapphic verse. 210 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. The ideal was her worship, till she thought Its visions might be truth ; a star, a name, Music, the sea, the sky, with spells were fraught ; And thus she grew, all feeling, and all flame. Seeming of what so charmed her e'en a part. And tremblingly aUve her thrilling heart. As chafing, swelling streams their boundary burst, In song these struggling feelings found their vent ; No more its hopes, fears, joys, in silence nursed, The mind its fi.ery thoughts like lightnings sent. Emotion speaks in poetry; to her Earth was one poem; azure skies that bent In glory o'er it, the wild billows' stir. The gorgeous show of each grand element. Each flower, each leaf, possessed for her a soul, AVhUe poetry came breathing from the whole ! Her song was inspiration, not dull art. Earth's fairest forms embodied in her strain ; And so she passed her days, life's rougher part. And anxious cares, seemed profitless and vain. She lived within a world — a world her own, Peopled with dreams, and fancy's airy train, Beauty its god, one iris o'er it thrown, While rapture thrilled the fine excited brain ; Yet the cold sage in Sappho might but see A wUdered dreamer — phrenzied devotee. Ay, the strong phrenzy of an o'erwrought mind Clothing its thoughts with light, whose dazzling glow, E'en as a sun, the common soul might blind, For Sappliic genius rarely burns below. PABT I.] SAPPHO. 211 But all tliese sympathies, and warm desires, Were doomed to meet ; when heart like hers may throw- On one fixed object its concentred fires, Fearful the love such fervid breast must know — Love that Elysian flowers of bliss will bear. Or Stygian fruits all bitter with despair. The strains late poured in worship of a shade, The phantom of a poet's dream alone. Now found a living idol ; Sappho made Phaon her theme — ah ! happier, if unknown. Stern Moralist ! withhold thy ready frown; From all we learn, the taintless snows, which shone On Pindus' peak, looked not more purely down. Than Sappho's virtue from its lofty throne. Child of a simple age, and glowing clime, Oh ! judge her not by laws of modern time. A bark, in which th' adventurer risks his all. Foundering in tempests far away at sea — A blight, whose viewless dews of poison fall. Withering in stealthy silence flower and tree — A cloud, whose sunset tints, as night draws near. Fade one by one, then die, no more to be — A dream, where exiles see the land so dear In happier days, then wake to agony — Such is in woman unrequited love. That hath no balm below, or hope above. And Sappho loved in vain; her passion took A depth, a warmth, unknown to colder hearts ; Its power her inmost spirit darkly shook. For love oft stronger grows, as hope departs : 212 SPIEITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK lU. Unchanged in its intenseness, burned the flame. Not like fierce lightning, dying as it darts, But the strange fire which, lit, still glows the same, Where on the Dead-Sea shore the naphtha starts — A pale, sad fire, which no fresh fuel needs, Slowly consuming that whereon it feeds. Yet more than passion was the Lesbian's love ; All other feelings yielded to its sway ; Pride, glory, adoration, vainly strove To draw from Eros' shrine one thought away ; Love seemed her second self — her inward life — ■ The essence of existence ; as the ray. Though various, blends in rainbows without strife, All things m Love's one rosy colour lay ; It painted earth and sky, 'twas Nature's light. Love's sun extinguished, all were death and night. There stands a cape that breasts the Ionian wave. Immortal made by grief, and love's despair ;* The fevered brain and heart might find a grave. And cool their restless fires for ever there. Ah ! doubt not in old time that torture's breath Could fan the soul to madness ; — live and bear ? Or fly from anguish to the calm of death ? The last, in every age, rash man will dare. Then why the dark, the fearful story hide ? Wliy doubt the tale how Sappho loved and died ? * The famous rock of Leucas, or Leucadia, is situated at the southern extremity of the island, now called by the Italians Santa Maura. The cape of classic celebrity has also changed its name into Cape Ducato. PART I.] SAPPHO. 213 Eve blew its fragrance o'er Leucadia's isle, The sun in western waves his rim was steeping — A flying warrior pausing yet awhile, Shooting one bright shaft more, ere onward sweeping ; The sunflower turned to watch his red descent, The silver willow by the rill hung weeping ; It seemed a voice of sorrow heavenward went, And Nature's heart a holy hush was keeping ; And tranquUly the burnished billows lay. In mournful reverence for the death of day. Near the white shrine that crowned the airy cape, A graceful figure moved ; her step was slow ; Marked on the twUight sky, was that fair shape ; Now would she pause to view the surge below. Then on the gorgeous sunset fix her glance. Following those lines of light, whose purple glow Looked paths of glory on the wide expanse. Leading to brighter climes that none might know, Or ruby roads the Nereids wandered o'er. Seeking their rest on some far coral shore. The calm, the beauty, of the shadowy scene, Half stilled the fever of her troubled mind, And turned her spirit, 'mid the soft serene. From that dark deed her phrenzy had designed ; The breathing poetry of earth and air- Heaven's lyre, the golden cloud o'er waves reclined — Entranced th' Enthusiast, fancy spreading there The buoyant pinion reason failed to bind ; Once more did genius' glowing visions rise, As meteors flash, ere dying in the skies. 214 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. And Sappho, like a Pythia, stretched her arms, And hailed — her last, long look — the setting sun, Gazed on the Isles, whose foam-girt, purpling charms So oft her soul had fired, her love had won ; Her sad farewell, to scenes so bright and blest. Woke burning tears, but now her task was done ; Slow sank her head on that white throbbing breast, Crushed by despair, she felt life's sands were run ; The world, e'en fame, no more a joy could give. And Pride and Madness whispered — cease to live ! Forward she moved, and reached the loftiest cliff ; The green waves heaved a thousand feet below. Small as a seabird looked the passing skiff. Her creeping blood ran cold, her heart beat slow ; Nature recoiled — ^her eye refused to gaze ; Shuddering she turned away ; to bear her woe, And drag the weary chain of hopeless days. Shall she yet strive ? some demon muttered — no ! Tow'rd the tall crags, as there a sorcerer threw His fearful charm, again her footstep drew. She bent above them, as a passing soul Might lean in horror o'er the gulf of hell ; Though dizzy grown, she struggled to control Frail Nature's shrinkings, and each terror queU. Still as she looked, and looked, with maddened air. Her eyes dilated ; as her long looks fell, She flung them back ; you thrilled to view her there. Poised like a bird above wild ocean's swell ; One step — one movement — and that form would be Flashing through air, to meet the entombing sea. PART I.] SAPPHO. 215 Her hands were clasped, her eyes were fixed on heaven, Their dark depths showed no soft relieving tear ; Wildly she breathed a prayer to be forgiven ; " Better," she murmured, " death, than torture here ; Oh ! welcome Hades ! welcome Lethe's tide ! Forgetfulness were bliss — I now draw near Pluto's black realms, where suffering spectres glide ; Grloom, fire, for soul like mine possess no fear ; The Lydian's* anguish, and Ixion's pain, Were light to that which sears this heart and brain." Once more upon the shadowy Isles she gazed. Once more upon the hushed and darkening West, Then o'er her head her ivory arms were raised ; One piercing shriek — she sprang the cliff's tall crest ! That fearful cry rock, cavern, echoed back ; Down, like a flake of snow, the cloud's late guest, Down, like a falling star you scarce may track. She plunged through yielding air on ocean's breast! A splash — thin circles— -once her form arose, And wild waves swept o'er Sappho and her woes. Her tomb was ocean, but her memory still, Haunting those isles, was Lesbos' boast and pride ; Her lyre seemed sounding on each plain and hill, Her glowing verse Love's paeans well supplied : The wanderer now who sails the Ionian deep, When eve with kisses smooths the fretful tide, Hails with a sigh Leucadia's barren steep, And thinks of her who loved, and darkly died, Eanges in fancy cliff and marble cave, And hears her harp in each soft-murmuring wave. (78) * Tantalus. 216 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. Less warm than Sappho, and of sterner mood, Of intellect more keen, and mind more strong, Corinna, 'mid Bceotian valleys, wooed Th' Aonian nine, and gave her heart to song ; Or climbing slow Parnassus' sacred mount. Where screams the eagle hoary crags among, Or bending near Castalia's crystal fount, To which bright thoughts and sky-born dreams belong, She bless'd the land whose glory ne'er should cease, And hymned of gods, and wove the myths of Greece. Teacher of Pindar, and his rival too. She dared contest with him Apollo's bay ; A wild but brilliant picture charms our view. Such only Greece could show in earlier day. Fast speed the Pythian games, and warriors deign To wreath their swords with flowers ; all hearts are gay; The wrestler strives, the runner scours the plain, The rapid chariot shapes its circling way : Kind hour ! when man forgets his toils awhile. Care smooths her brow, and Misery e'en can smile.* Here, too, famed minstrels meet in bardic strife ; The Thebanf breathes his ode of stirring fire, That soars sublime, with warlike memories rife ; But who moves forward now with quivering lyre ? • The Pythian games, one of the four celebrated festivals of Greece, were held in honour of Apollo, eveiy fifth year, in the neighbourhood of Mount Parnassus. t Pindar. PART I.] CORINNA. 217 Hopes she to vanquish Thebes' immortal son ? Timid her air — her anxious maids retire ; Well hath her part charm-showering Venus done ; Not lovelier looks Castalia's heaven-born choir, When, grouping roun'd that fountain, beam their eyes, Stars of the wave — all radiant from the skies. Corinna's form is clad in robe of snow, That, graceful falling, hides her sandalled feet ; Grems on her Grecian girdle richly glow, Beneath a breast, young Cupid's soft retreat. Her locks, one loose black cloud, stream darkly down Her dazzling neck — so snow and night-shades meet ; Her brow, where hope would place the laurel-crown, Speaks soul sublimely thoughtful, blandly sweet ; Her eyes are fixed, her chiselled lips apart. Her cheek is pale with all that stirs the heart. And there the aspirant fronts the breathless throng, G-enius in Beauty's conquering light arrayed ; But now the lyre her fair hand sweeps along. For music's spell the poet's verse must aid. Low, tremulous, silvery, first her words are heard, Woman's weak nature shrinking, cowed, dismayed; Yet rich her tones as voice of evening's bird. Hailing the earliest star that gilds the shade ; Then at each pause, when all beside is mute, Melts on the clear, charmed air, her dulcet lute. More bold, more ardent now, Corinna grows, Soul from her large, dilating eye is fiashing ; With the heart's stirred up depths, each feature glows, All that late daunted her, no more abashing. 218 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. Impetuous, powerful, hear her rushing words ! Like torrents gathering strength, and wilder dashing ; Her satire, wit, burst forth, like swift-drawn swords. Emitting sparks, as when those swords are clashing; The beautiful, the peerless child of song Thus bears, as half inspired, all hearts along. Her task is o'er — a task performed so well ; Despite her efforts, Pindar claims the prize ; They wait their fate, but loudly murmurs swell. Calling the judges forth ; they smile — they rise — They hail the gifted pair — aloft they hold The laurel-crown, that draws ten thousand eyes ; The Theban rears his form, erect and bold. And seems his lovely rival to despise ; The crown, where gems no gaudy lustre shed. Descends, 'mid shouts, on fair Corinna's head ! (79) In classic lands, and glory-haloed days, Too oft was woman's mind in bondage kept ; Denied to her were wisdom's heavenly rays. Knowledge unquaffed, though near its waters swept ; Deemed but a toy for pleasure's lighter hour, High aspirations in her bosom slept ; A household captive, without name or power. She hut^''g-ed her fitters, or in secret wept : Her lord looked down, and half in scorn surveyed The soul he darkened, and the slave he made. But she who broke the time-linked, gilded chain, Emerging from th' inglorious prison-cell, Venturing to think, and act, and not in vain Scaling the heights where art and knowledge dwell, PART I.] ASPASIA. 219 Met censure's frown, and envy's blasting breath. Shunned by her sex, who dared not thus rebel ; Malice and falsehood stung her e'en till death ; Yet never woman wove a stronger spell, Softening the stern, enslaving the refined. But less they bowed to beauty, than to mind. The wit, the happy reasoner, from whose lips Poured streams of wisdom that refreshed the sao-e. Whose spirit's light could e'en her eyes eclipse. Who still with slavish custom war would wage — She charmed a Socrates by depth of thought,* Disarmed the cynic's world-directed rage. To Pericles that wondrous secret taught, (80) By which he gained men's hearts, and swayed his age,. Soul-conquering eloquence her envied dower — Such was Aspasia in her brilliant hour. She flashed on Athens, and illumed the schools, ^¥hen Athens boasted countless great and wise ; They crowded round her chair, received her rules. Centre of wit, and cynosure of eyes ! — 'Twas novelty, 'twas wonder gave the charm ; Sweet looked Philosophy in Beauty's guise ; Truths, dim before, were dazzling now and warm. Learning came clothed in robe of brightest dyes ; Those lovely lips persuaded, taught so well. Their honied words seemed nectar as they fell. * "Even Socrateshimself sometimes visited her, accompanied by his friends, and tlieir acquaintance tools their wives with them to hear her discourse." — Plutarch's Life of Pericles. 220 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. 'Twas eve; Aspasia's slaves, ■with busy hand, Had decked with flowers the pillars of her hall ; Airs, charged with fragrance, each rich chamber fanned ; The fountain rose, a diamond arch to fall : Bright oak leaves wreathed the Hermce; glossy bays (81) Crowned the fair statues gleaming from the wall ; Lamps made the peristyle one silver blaze — Soft light enriching, harmonising all ; Eanged in long rows, stood lyrists, half in gloom. Ready with music's flood to fill that room. The great, the sovereign spirits of the time. In famed Aspasia's glowing halls had met ; Athenian dames might deem her banquet crime, She spurned the limits timorous natures set. See, pearl-inlaid, and glittering tables spread, Crowned with the gods the Greek must ne'er forget !* Goblet and vase, that golden lustre shed. Flowers, with the dews of perfumed fountains, wet. And couches rich, where honoured giiests recline, Lean at their ease, and quafi" their Orient wine. (82) And who those guests ? not pleasure's idle band. Genius alone Aspasia's favour won: His eye revealing thought — the deep, the grand, Lo ! solemn Tragedy's immortal son ! * Images of Zeus (Jupiter), Demeter (Ceres), and Dionysng (Bacchus), with the tliree Charities or Graces, were usually placed upon the festive board, and to them libations were made, the wine being poured on the table, which was then conside»-ed sacred as an altar. PART I.] ASPASIA's BANQUET. 221 Bard! who couldst fill with wonder, melt to tears, Thy triumphs, Sophocles ! had just begun. Then in the strength and splendour of thy years ; Aspasia viewed her heaven, and hailed thee — sun! Thine was the pathos, thine the thoughts sublime, That reach, exalt men's souls, and live all time.* The matchless master of the sculptor's art. He who wrought sorceries with the Parian stone. As charming it to being, sat apart, A haze of floating fancies round him thrown. That lofty brow, that straight, high facial line, Expression beauteous, yet severely shown, Seemed, like his bright creations, half divine — Creations in their glory all alone ; Phidias was great that hour, but time hath made His name more great, and foes in silence laid. What ! hath the sage his lonely haunts forsook, Lycseum's grove, and calm Ilissus' side ? Left Heaven's bright page, the hill, the bubbling brook, Wliere Nature taught, and Wisdom was his guide. To read philosophy in Beauty's face, And, courting pleasure, bow the Stoic's pride ? Ay, Socrates, though wisest of his race, Yields now to human charms, and turns aside, • Sophocles was born B.C. 49&; lie first came forward as a dramatic writer B.C. 468, when Cimon adjudged to him the prize in his contest with ^schylus; Pericles about the same time commenced his political career ; and it is shortly after this period that Aspasia is supposed, in the text, to have given her banquet. 222 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. Sees galaxies of stars in gem-sown curls, Hears truth's sweet voice in words that drop like pearls. Cratinus,* with the laughing, sparkling eye. That flashed a soul all joyousness and mirth, Whose frolic muse would banish tear and sigh. Deeming light pleasure man's chief good on earth, Leant near dark Larapo, skilled in Egypt's lore. He who traced Nature's secrets to their birth, Evoked pale shades that walked the Stygian shore ; A man of gloom, yet seeming truth and worthf — Strange adverse pictures these two spirits gave — Flowers and a desert — sunshine and a grave ! But foremost of the throng — the honoured guest. See Athens' future lord ! that massive head Teeming with schemes,| while passions swell his breast. Glory's star-spangled road before him spread : He drank Aspasia's eloquence, and now Her charms a slow, sweet poison on him shed ; He came to learn, l>ut soon to love and bow ; The statesman, orator, was captive led: Proud Pericles tumultuous Athens schooled. Trampled all foes — himself by woman ruled. * Cratinus, the comic writer and satirist of the age. t Lnmpo, a soothsfiver, who predicted the rise of Pericles in the stnte, and Rained much lionour when his prophecy was verified. — See Plutarch. X Pericles was remarljable for possessing a large head, to which circumstance Cratinus, in his play of Chitones, makes allusion; it was probably to conceal this disfigurement that he was generally represented in his statues as wearing a helmet. PART I.j ASPASIA'S BANQUET. 223 And there smiles she, the goddess of the night, The banquet's peerless, all-enchaining queen, Fresh as Aurora laughing into light, Yet wearing Juno's high commanding mien. Fair are her Attic maidens grouping near ; So pansies by the gorgeous rose are seen ; So pale stars girt the moon's majestic sphere, So seabirds skim the waves' translucent green. While rides the stately vessel down the gale, Life in her prow, a glory in her saU. The feast begins; the slaves the garlands twine, Crowning each guest with new-culled honied flowers. For such dispel the blinding mists of wine ; (83) They pour libations to the heavenly powers ; Then melts the flute, and thrills the lyre's sweet string, While odours fall in soft and viewless showers. And white-robed youths in crystal salvers bring Confections rare, and fruits from foreign bowers ; Light wines from Chios, borne in goblets chaste. Serve to excite the thirst, and sharpen taste. Luxury with Art arose on Asia's shore, And Athens' sons too soon her voice obeyed ; From many a land the skilled Aspasia bore Her tempting dainties — lands of sun and shade ; Peacocks from Samos, attagens* from Thrace, And tongues of nightingales that once had made The Isles all song ; then, monarch of the chase. Came the prized Phrygian boar in pomp arrayed; * Attagen, a bird somewhat resembling our woodcock, and much esteemed by ancient epicures. 224 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. Nor taste forgot, amid that banquet's crush, Malia's famed crane, or Macedonia's thrush. Music the while soft floated through the rooms, His task to music e'en the carver plied ;* And Persian boys were burning choice perfumes. And maidens danced in warm youth's grace and pride. Fast and more fast the Samian wine flowed round, Inspiring feelings that life's cares defied. The statesman's dreams in rosy visions drowned. The sage's tear for man, by laughter dried ; And still Aspasia's charms, her briUiant soul. And sunny smiles, flashed magic o'er the whole. Such was an Attic feast ; there are who throw Scorn on these hours of lightly-passiug bliss. And deem a crime the excited spirit's glow ; Narrow the path to joy, which thousands miss. Nor shall the banquet prove true pleasure's road. Yet cynic ! why condemn ? care's dim abyss To brighten for an hour, ease sorrow's load, Are grateful tasks in weary world like tliis ; Shun ye excess, but not morosely fly From social life, in hermit gloom to sigh. Aspasia was an idol, yet her name Had perished from the records of the past. If joined not to another's deathless fame — Her happy sayings to oblivion cast: (84) • Carving to the sound of music we know, at least, was a common practice with the Konians, and such carvers made many and singular gesticulations. — See Feironius and Juvenal. PART 1.] ASPASIA.. §25 Her flashing wit had scarce survived the hour, Her eloquence, from sweet lips falling, fast In time's wide sea had melted like a shower — Through Pericles alone her light wUl last ; A chain doth link the two for good or iU ; Their story, spite of censure, charms us still. She halved with strong ambition that bold heart, Bowing the will that none beside could bend; He loved till love was folly ; for the part He played in Athens sneers to foes could lend ; He loved tUl love was crime ; first feelings dead. His own true love he scrupled not to send Disgraced away, this witching dame to wed ;* Where might his passion lead — his madness end ? So she, in after hour, by Nile's old wave. Warped Cassar's soul, made Antony a slave. Sparta's dread foe, the thunderer of the Porch, Before this Omphal6 all meekness grew. Basked in her smiles, or led her by Love's torch To nightly haunts that well the bacchant knew. To please her whim he roused the land to arms. And o'er the wave on wings of slaughter flew ; When foes accused her, and her dazzling charms Failed to blind men, to law and conscience true, How paled his cheek, and shook his heart with fears ! Threats sank to prayers, and prayers to pleading tears. (85) * Pericles divorced his first wife in order to marry Aspasia ; Plutarch intimates that the separation was by mutual consent, yet the wife could not, under the circumstances, but have se- verely felt her disgrace. 226 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. Yet from these idle dreams, this luxury, sprung A taste, a passion for the fair and grand ; Aspasia loved the beautiful, and flung, Through Pericles, her spirit o'er the land. Her lord would make of Athens a choice gem, Eadi:int with works by godlike genius planned. The city with the marble diadem. Blazing from Phidias' all-creative hand : So Art flashed forth, admiring earth looked on, And rose in light the matchless Parthenon!* But Pericles must die ; the plague has sent Its poison-blast ; the great one sways no more ; The Mysian hireling raises his lament, f The cypress bough hangs darkly at the door ; See in the vestibule the ivory bier, With rue, and flowers of Pluto sprinkled o'er! The funeral torch is burning' dimly near, The soul is hastening to the Stygian shore ; At dreary intervals sad harpings swell, And slaves bend low and sigh — " farewell ! farewell !" There lies the Master in his costliest dress, The crown he gained in battle on his head. His bare feet tow'rd the porch ; ah ! well distress Wrings Athens' heart — her Pericles is dead ! (86) * The Parthenon was finished about four years hefore Pericles made himself absolute in Athens, namely B.C. 448. t The Mysians, a people of Asia Minor, were frequently employed by the Greeks and Romans to perform the office of moiirnevs at their funerals, being considered cunstitutiowilly sorrowful, and given to tears. PART I.] ASPASU. 227 The sweet persuasive tongue is ever still, Taste's light is quenched, the fire of genius fled. With burning passion, and with headlong will ; Yes, this poor clay ruled cities, armies led ; O man ! proud dust ! we only fe3l and know How fraU thou art, when death hath laid thee low ! Braving infection's taint, the mourning wife Sits by the bier, and views the pallid face ; She yields not to wild gestures, nor the strife Of struggling feelings on her brow you trace ; Calm is Aspasia's deeply-seated woe, E'en in her agony there seems a grace ; Sweep the bright-pictured ground her robes of snow. Gems on her breast no more Love's fingers place, No more her looks the silken fillet wear. In all its length, unbraided, streams her hair.* Her hand holds funeral flowers, and as she twines The mournful buds, her tears fall one by one. And glittering on the leaves the grief-drop shines — Meet dew for flowers ne'er brightened by the sun : Then soft she breathes her sighs, and stoops to pray. Kisses that brow which Glory's crown had won. And hangs her wreaths above the unconscious clay ; Oh ! sad such tasks by fond affection done ! Yet they give strength to spirits bowed and weak. And ease the burdened heart that else might break. " Contrary to the cnstom prevailing at other times, the men during mourning covered their lieads, while the women went uncovered, abandoning every kind of ornament. 228 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK. III. She stood in thought, and, as she thought, more pale Her statue-like, majestic features grew ; No longer swelled the lyre, the slave's low wail ; Mute awe around the spot its curtain drew : Her half-raised hand, her backward-floating hair. Her eyes that wept not now, but glances threw Tow'rd the stiU corpse, then upward in despair ; The rising incense, pUlars wreathed with yew — Gave to that scene a hushed mysterious dread, Deepening the creeping fear that wrapped the dead. " Ye gods ! and this is death — the curse on man — To speak not, heed not, feel not — think no more ! The eye is here, the Kp, the forehead wan. But light, expression, mind are ever o'er. Oh ! it wUl give no balm to tell my heart The shade will yet be blest on Pluto's shore, I only see thee, loved one ! as thou art. And, blaming fate, thy hapless doom deplore. Vain Resignation sheds her smile for me, I curse fame, glory, life, deprived of thee. " Why didst thou, white-wing'ed Joy, descend from heaven , Since aU thy nectar'd flowers but blow to die ? Why wert thou. Love, to trusting mortals given, Since all thy bliss must vanish in a sigh ? Life's fruits are ashes, and the gods and fate Seem dark, and cruel oft, to human eye ; Learning will soothe not spirits desolate ; To cold philosophy we vainly fly ; Yet broken hearts live on, each hope o'erthrown, Our feelings frozen, bosoms turned to stone. PART I.] ASPASIA. 229 " Eest, statesman ! hero ! rest ! my love for thee Was deep, was true, whate'er false foes declare ; Beckoning me hence, thy shade methinks I see ; But smiles, not gloom, thy glorious features wear : Shouldst thou the lord be made of some bright star. Guiding its shining course through pathless air ; Should Hermes waft thee to those Isles afar,* Where Joy sits queen, and skies are ever fair ; Or shouldst thou mourn in Hades endless years, Oh ! let me share thy bliss, or share thy tears !" And Pericles in marble splendour lay. And glory for long ages watched his tomb, But fair Aspasia's deeds, from that dark day. We dimly know, her end is veiled in gloom : Another haply claimed her,f but her heart Ne'er turned from him she loved in life's sweet bloom ; The sage condemns her follies ; meteors dart. But true stars, too, the stormy night illume ; So, e'en in her, bright glimpses worth displayed, Her briUiant genius gilding error's shade. (87) * The Islands of the Blessed, placed by the Greeks and Romans in different localities ; the Fortunatce Jnsulre of the latter lay oif the coast of Africa, being, as it has been conjec- tured, the modern Canaries. t Lysicles. END OF PART I. SPIRITS OF THE PAST. BOOK in. CELEBRATED WOMEN. Pabt II. Progeess ! that word of sorcery — nought stands still, All onward sweeping to some fated end ; From acorns sprang yon forest on the hill ; An insect works, and coral reefs extend : A grub this morning crawls — the next 'tis seen A radiant thing-, where gayest colours blend, Sailing the air — the Summer's purple queen : All things advance, to far perfection tend ; The world was chaos first, but gradual grew To shape, to order, and to beauty too. Progress ! yes, all moves on ; e'en yonder sun. Blazing the centre of his subject spheres. Seeming so fixed, the burning mighty one ! King of the sky, undimm'd by myriad years ! Doth roll along the infinite profound. Seeking some centre, where that star appears Poised in unfathomed blue* — Creation's bound ? No, still beyond, worlds run their vast careers ; That star, too, journeys on its destined way. For all must progress make, and nought must stay. * The constellation Hercules, the presumed Central Sun around which our system, and innumerable other suns and systems in out galaxy, probably revolve, but in orbits, the vast extent of which passes finite comprehension. PART II.] PKOGRESS. 231 Then wherefore marvel that the mightiest mind Must first be frail 1 in boyhood, Plato's soul An idle game with strongest spell could bind ; Newton, with toil and time, won wisdom's goal : spirit ! deathless germ ! thou life of life ! As thus the years the knell of others toll, Experience, struggles, aspirations, strife. But raise thy powers, thought's mystic skein unroll ; Thy progress hath begun and still must be Tow'rd bright perfection, through eternity. High on a hiU a group of exiles stood, A small, determined, melancholy band ; Around them spread a waste of marsh and wood, And vales that never knew kind culture's hand : A river through tlie scene went creeping slow, The sullen bittern walked its sedgy strand, And cried its long wild cry, like plaint of woe, Answered by wolves, the lords of this drear land Day brought no charm, and eve's descending shades. With duskier horror, filled the pathless glades. Yet hopeful, undismayed, the exiles reared Their humble dwellings on that lonely steep ; Now o'er the trees their rough-built wall appeared ; None seemed for homes they left to mourn or weep ; But opening wide their gate, they hailed within All in whose breasts wild freedom did not sleep ; Whate'er the outcast's land, the felon's sin, Friends here they found, and here might revel keep : And woman blest at length their new-made home. Seized by bold love — and this was infant Eome ! (88) 232 SPIEITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. Who that beheld the rude, small town, had thought, Sown like a seed, 'twould yearly, daily grow ? Time to the plant increasing vigour brought. Widening above, and deepening stiU below : Soon states around lay slumbering in its shade, From warm Campanian plains to Alpine snow ; Then o'er the seas the rustling branches played. Casting on millions chequered weal and woe ; Till the tree's spirit, lilte a thing divine. Cried to the covered world — " thou'rt mine ! thou'rt mine ! " And this is progress. Nature's general law. And subtile mind's ; on ! on ! 'tis heaven's behest ; What though the waves at length may backward draw. The tides again advance — we ne'er must rest. Empires arise and sink, and rise once more. Now mightiest in the East, and now the West ; Humanity sees something stiU before, Some prize that lures, some glory unpossessed. Life, destiny, their mysteries understood. One ceaseless course to bright eternal good. We stand in Kome, but not to ponder now On Home's unrivalled progress, or to sigh Above her dark decay ; the tree doth bow. But others o'er the ruin tower on high ; We view her and Italia, as the home Of Beauty with the passion-beaming eye. Where she, the ancient-born of ocean's foam. Showered on earth's daughters all her witchery, The soul in union with the sunny clime, AJive to feeling — quickly warped to crime. PART II.] EGERIA, 233 In history's glass a touching picture glows ; The stolen Sabines, with their floating hair, Bush down that vale where blood like water flows, And part the combatants in wild despair : (89) Their lords, once foes, are now, oh ! more than dear ; Their sires must spare them — ^they their fathers spare ; Falls the raised sword, and drops the reeking spear. And hand grasps hand, late busy slaughtering there ; Hatred's black vulture yields to friendship's dove, The true, best conqu'ror, woman's conquering love ! There floats a gentle spirit at this hour. Or seems to float, along that road of tombs,* Where Death with cypress wreaths his marble bower ; Floats too, where Nemi's lily yearly blooms : (90) Wert thou a mortal, or a sky-born child, Egeria ! haunting spots where ruin glooms, Calling up dreams and fancies rich and wild, TUl something scarce of earth the scene assumes ? StiU by thy fount, with eyes of living light. Dost thou not stand, all palpable and bright ? Whate'er thou wert, enchanting, peerless one ! Though Truth declares thee but a mortal maid, No image e'er like thine heart-worsliip won. Warm with the hues of mind that cannot fade ; Thy Numa loved thee, till his passion grew His soul's religion ; calm Aricia's shade A vestal sanctity around thee threw, And what was earthly, fancy heavenly made ; Then bowing to thy beauty as a shrine. He deemed thy soft communings half divine. * The Via Appia. Q 234 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. And thus the world believed the tale he told. And rev'renced law so given, and sacred rite ; Through thee the gods with man might converse hold, KeveaUng all their will to thing so bright. Yes, Numa sought the bowery trysting-place. Thinking of heaven and love each starry night ; The dream he dreamt, while gazing on thy face. Was hailed as some liigh truth, not fancy's flight ; He kept thy beauty, like a star, behind Its mystic cloud, and thus he swayed mankind. Oh ! lo^•el y, delicate, undying shade ! Wearing the bloom of youth through countless years, Long shall the pilgrim tread the haunted glade. Thy gentle story to the heart endears ; Long shall he seek the foot of that green mount, Where, slumbering child-like, Xemi's lake appears, Cull the bright flowers that fringe thy mossy fount, And on its waveless crystal drop his tears ; Sweet bride of Numa 1 hill, lake, rock and tree. Glow with love's magic hues, and breathe of thee. Our dream must change ! a cloud wraps woman's mind ; Virtue, and gentle grace, awhile farewell ! Fair oft the casket where the heart is shrined, While lurks within a blackness none may toll. Lovely was Tullia ;* on her white, smooth brow Did majesty, and lofty boldness, dwell ; Her lustrous eyes made fond beholders bow. But paled their cheeks, when angry glances fell : • Tullia was the dauiiliter of Serrius Tullius, sixth King of Hume, whose reign commenced 578 B.C. PART II.J TULLIA. 235 You view'd half oharm'd, half aVd, her bright proud form, As those who gaze on lightning in a storm. Its dews of balm no gentle virtue shed On Tullia's heart — a stony, barren hill ; The spirit followed where the passions led, Slave to the fierce indomitable wiU. Whate'er she sighed for, hers that thing must be, Though danger intervened, and woe and ill ; A calm, stern hardihood, we rarely see Mark woman's nature, seemed her breast to fill. Crime's god, ye might believe, had sent her here. To shame her sex, and work some deed of fear. She loved, but not her lord; her guilty dreams (91) Embraced another ; Tullia longed to break The nuptial tie, and wove a thousand schemes ; A path to power Ambition, too, would seek. 'Twas evening ; in her palace silence reigned, The slanting golden sunbeam dyed her cheek ; Soft from afar the darkening Tiber plained, But lingering fire still crowned Soracte's peak ; Eome's vales, now cultured, drank the fragrant balm. And heaven seemed nearer earth, in that deep calm. She sat in thought; her eye was downward bent, Her white hand buried in her raven hair ; At times an anxious glance around was sent, Dark passions, dreams of evU, mirrored there. The glowing hour, the charm of earth and sky, The scene so wildly gorgeous, purely fair. Might well bid gloom, and harsher feelings fly. But Nature's bUss her spirit could not share ; 236 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. While soft on all things peace and beauty fell, Her thoughts were tumult, and her breast was hell ! " Is there,'' she whispered low, " as poets say, A land of spring beyond the wintry grave ? A world where souls, escaped their cumbering clay, Shall evermore death's icy terrors brave ? Where bliss shall crown the good with palms and flowers, In sun-bright fields beyond the Stygian wave. But Crime, for ever banished joy's sweet bowers. In gloom, and lakes of fire, must wail and rave, Vain all repentance, fruitless prayers and tears. To soothe the torture of eternal years ? " Away the visions of the Greek ! the dreams Of Bactria, Egypt ! I renounce them all ! I dare to hold frail man the thing he seems. The tree must perish, where ordained to fall : No thought, no dread, no pain, attend that sleep. No hope to thrill, no terror to appal ; Ormuzd, Osiris, Jove, no thunders keep To laxmch at spirits in Death's empty hall ; Then crime is nought, since man has nought to fear. His hopes on earth — his joys all centred here. "Yes, I wiU quaif the nectar'd cup of bliss. Though it bring madness ; why an hour delay ? 'Tis but to plunge one being down th' abyss. And close a little earlier life's brief day. — Tarquin, my hand shall soon be thine, as now My heart clings to thee — see ! that flashing ray ! 'Tis from the crown I place upon thy brow ; Hail love ! hail power ! ye only I obey ; PART II.] "PULLIA. 237 Pity ! weak thing, avaunt ! black Ate ! lead !* Bear up my soul, and nerve me to this deed ! " She glided softly to the shaded room, ^V^le^e, by the chase fatigued, her lord was lying' ; He slumbered calmly ; vines and flowers will bloom Near the volcano's edge, the fires defying : His soul was ever gentle, and his love Was pure yet warm, as airs now round him sighing ; TuUia, intently watching, bent above The sleeper's face, as eve's last beam was dying, Her hair flung back, her cheek all deadly white, Her breathings quick, her eye with fierceness bright. She stood, a fell Medea, bent on blood, And lovely as that sorceress of old days ; Where wert thou, Guardian Spirit of the good ? Hadst thou no pitying shield that hour to raise / The dagger trembled in her snowy hand, Bared to the hilt, bright glanced its fatal rays ; Yet once — once more she viewed those features bland. Where now a smile of sweetness met her gaze. As if some dream, in hues Elysian drest. Of home or love, his happy slumber blest. And Aruns murmured what the spirit felt. Faint as leaves whisper, yet her quick ear heard ; His thoughts on early years and TuUia dwelt, And warm afiection gushed in every word. * Ate, the goddess of all evil, cast down from heaven to cjirth by Jupiter. -■^'^ SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. A moment paused the guilty ynie — a pang, A searching agony her bosom stirred ; Low on her breast that head was seen to hang, Nature awoke, and Pity prayers preferr'd ; The past, with all its memories, joy and pain, Burst in that hour, like sunlight, on her brain. She thought of girlhood's innocence, the day When, Aruns' happy bride, she deemed her heart Would never from her first love falsely stray. Swearing no chance, no woe, their lots should part. With fondly-trusting faith, he loved her still. To soothe, to please her, tried each tender art. Smiled wrhen she smiled, nor checked her headlong will, And only, when she grieved, felt sorrow's smart ; Thus sadly pondering on their past career, And Aruns' truth, the Murderess dropped a tear. Oh ! \'irtuous feeling, to the evil given. Is like that light which pitying angels throw. From silvery wings, along the verge of heaven, When sweeping near the gloomy gulf of woe ; The air is painted by the beauteous ray, But ah ! too fi-ail the hues ; brief moments flow. And all which charmed the vision melts away ; Thus virtue lights and flies lost hearts below ; And Guilt, that for the time repentant bowed. Resumes its sway, and spreads a blacker cloud. The thoughtful sorrow passed from Tullia's soul. Nature was felt, and conscience heard no more ; Her maddening passion claimed its old control. The bark of good must wreck on error's shore. PART II.] TULLIA. 239 Her beckoning lover rose to fancy's view, And crowns were seen — one sttoke — ^'twould all be o'er ; More near the slumberer's couch she softly drew, A firmer, sterner look, her features wore ; Bright from her eyelids sparkles seemed to fly. Her form bent back, her arm was raised on high. Thou gentle moon ! let clouds obscure thy beam, Nor view the murderous deed by woman done ! That hour will haunt red GuUt, a frightful dream. The last of peace, the first of woe begun ! — Does TuUia hope to gain, by deed like this. Her heart's desire ? wiU some rich prize be won 1 Oh ! direful path to reach the shrine of bliss, E'en if aU ended here, life's journey run! Thought's nevor-dying worm shall give no rest, Thought — that worst hell within the murderer's breast. Stealing on tiptoe, Tullia left the room. Her robes disordered, streaming loose her hair ; Her white form glided ghostly through the gloom ; The moan had ceased, death's fearful silence there ; Her hand, late stainless, bore a bright red streak — The blood of him who once had bless'd the air Her own lips breathed — her heart, O ! do not seek To lay that chamel-vault of horror bare ! Yet pride soon checked her feelings, calmed her mien. And, braving heaven and men, she looked serene. And Tullia wedded Tarquin ; could they love ? Crime hath its unions ; mutual passions bind Soul unto soul ; the angels, from above Hurled to perdition, stUl unite in mind. 240 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK 111. Fjend acts with fiend to crush the good and fair ; Some bond of fellowship in all we find ; No heart an utter loneliness may bear, A love of something in each breast is shrined : TulKa and Tarquin, lost as both might be, Felt joined in guilt, and linked by destiny. "Away ! the hour is come !" bold Tullia cried ; " Mount Eome's proud throne ! I burn to call thee king: Servius my sire may be, but not my guide. And age above him spreads its numbing wing ; His joys are few, the lamp of life burns low. For such, methinks, the grave its calm should bring ; But power to us were rapture, youth's warm glow Still in our veins ; up ! scruples from thee fling ! Life is too brief to wait a future — ^rise ! Dread not the gods — on ! on ! and seize the prize !" Tarquin obeyed that voice ; he had not spared His first sweet bride, but quenched young Beauty's ray; Another murder now the culprit dared ; Low on the Palatine pierced Servius lay :* See ! Tullia's chariot comes ! her eye beams bright ; To hail her lord she hurries on her way. But bleeding there lies one with locks of white ; To soothe his dying torture, daughter, stay ! Th' avenging gods thou surely now wilt fear. And moxirn thy slaughtered sire, and drop one tear ? * The place where the tragic event occurred bore ever after the name of Vicus Sceleratus. PART H.] TULLIA. 241 No ; swift her chariot dashes o'er the plain, With Servius' blood its whirring wheels are red ; (92) Ambition calls, and Nature pleads in vain ; No tear on day like this her eye must shed. That daring form, majestically bold, Ascends the curia's* steps, by Tarquin led ; Breathless suspense each heart appears to hold, The timid mute, the bravest chilled by dread : But now on Tarquin's brow the crown is seen. They own him king, and hail his Tullia queen ! Not always on the guilty here below. Meet punishment, and fiery vengeance fall — Proof of a future hour of bliss and woe, When Heaven's great justice shall be plain to all : And yet their meed the evil oft receive. Bow to the dust, and drink their cup of gall ; Her schemes awhile did prosperous Tullia weave. Smiles lit her face, mirth shook her royal hall ; But ruin came, wrath's lingering bolt was cast. And Tullia from power's height was hurled at last. Far south of Eome, where swept a dreary plain. And marshes spread, and barren hills arose, Two pilgrims journeyed slow, in want and pain, And oft'they looked behind, as dreading foes. Night's shades were falling 'round, no cot was nigh. The breeze wailed past, as mourning daylight's close ; From neighbouring mountains came the wolfs deep cry ; Fit hour for wandering' guilt, and hopeless woes. The chiUy winds the travellers' gray hair stirred. But heedless on they moved, and spoke no word. * Senate-house. 242 SPIEITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. Could these be Tarquin, Tullia? — fated pair! A king and queen — alas ! how fallen now ! Driven from their home, an exile's lot to bear, With shame and misery branded on each brow ; Vain all their efforts to regain their throne. No more would friendship aid or flattery bow ; In fear, in hopelessness, they roamed alone, Memory a load that would no rest allow, Ending in woe the day that woe began. Cursing their fortune, cursing heaven and man. (93) Night closed around them dark as their own fate, No friendly moon above, or guiding star ; As e'en the elements would vent their hate, A storm began, faint muttering from afar ; And soon the clouds shot forth their shafts of flame, And rode the thunder on his rattUng car. And mixed with fire, to earth the torrents came ; The daring fiends afud Nature were at war. Floods, swelKng, down the hills were heard to dash, Trees, lightning-shivered, fell with sudden crash. Dragging their weary footsteps to a cave. The wanderers shelter sought, and Tarquin there Sat with the owls ; his soul had ceased to brave Fate and the gods, and cowered in mute despair. TuUia, the haughty mocker of the sky. Stood at the cavern's mouth, with dauntless air ; Though desolate her fortunes, proud her eye. As still a royal crown 'twas hers to wear ; She watched half-pleased, and half in fretful ire, The opening cloud, and falling bolt of fire. T>A.RT II.] TULLIA. 243 Her hair, rain-drenched, streamed backwards from her brow, And still she gazed on heaven and shook her hand ; E'en to Omnipotence she would not bow, Though thus proclaimed in thunder, dread as grand. " Come blackest doom ! come never-dying pain ! Or dreamless silence in death's shadowy land ! I shrink not now, and though I've schemed in vain, And spilt some blood, unchanged I fall or stand ; No weak repentance shall unnerve my soul ; Roll on, ye thunders ! I defy ye, roll !" She stretched her arm towards a volumed cloud. Which, black and massive, rose against the blast. Nursing its terrors — death within a shroud ! Sudden its fiery wrath was downward cast ; The air seemed flame, the wild crags spires of light. The cave a furnace, as that fire-ball pass'd ; Then rattling, echoing far from height to height, Burst thunders, as earth's doom were come at last. Tarquin, within the cavern, veiled his eyes. Awed by the flashing of those raging skies. A long, wild shriek, unlike each sound of earth, Unnatural in its horror, thrilled the ear , Such in the realms of darkness might have birth — The spirit's cry that froze the blood with fear. Look ! what lies yonder ? by the last blue ray. Ye see a form — a tall tree shivered near — Prone on the sand is stretched the blackened clay. The murderess-queen ! — is this proud Tullia here ? She whom no virtue bless'd, no grace adorned. Withered to ashes by the heaven she scorned? 244 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. Crime fixed its brand on Tarquin's evil race ; Ere Brutus laid his royal splendour low, And Tullia fell, pale history weeps to t^ace, Sextus !* thy deed, that wrought fair woman woe. A sad, sweet vision glides before the sight. Lovely in desolation ; cj'es' soft glow Bent upon earth, while tears, like drops of light. Wet, as they fall, dark hair and bosom's snow ; The hopeless look, the deep convulsive sigh, Speak virtue's wrong, and ruin's agony. A summer insect, bright with tints of gold. Caught in rude hands that brush those tints away ; A rose whose musk-leaves morning saw unfold. But chiU winds strew on earth, at close of day ; A bird to meet the sun that blithely flew, Now sinking with pierced breast, the fowler's prey; A soft-eyed star which gemmed Heaven's tender blue, Quenched quickly by some cloud that wraps its ray; A broken Ijrre, its tones of witchery o'er. Melting the soul, and charming taste no more. And such is woman wronged, and marked by shame. Weeping within her desolated bower. No light to gild again her darkened name. No hope of balm or bliss at future hour ; The victim, willing or unwilling, falls. Her fate alike, when gone pure virtue's dower ; Vain for redress and justice Pity calls. The bloom, once lost, will ne'er repaint the flower ; * Sextus, the eldest son of Tarquin. PAKT II.] LUCRETIA. 245 Where shall she hide her grief, or whither flee ? She turns, but wrongly turns, O Death ! to thee. Lucretia sat alone, but made no wail, Anguish like hers too deep for tears or sighs ; Her cheek late roses — ah ! how deadly pale ! Fled was the light from those once joyous eyes : Their wild, strained glances only mirrored woe. As if each agony, beneath the skies, Were centred burning there ; her head drooped low. Like a flower crushed to earth, no more to rise — Drooped lower, lower, tUl her locks spread o'er Her fragile, trembling knees, and swept the floor.* Oh ! hateful sun ! his gay, arising beam, So welcome once, she dared no longer face ; Black night, and solitude, more meet would seem, To shroud the misery of her deep disgrace. Her bridal day, the flowers that virtue wove, Her happy bosom's purity to grace, A parent's pride, a husband's honoured love. The cherub chUd that sought her fond embrace — The thought of these was torture — all had past. Like iris-hues, too bright, too sweet to last. Come then, Oblivion I with your dunnest paU, And veU gone hours in pity from her soul ; Come Madness ! for the maniac joy can call From Fancy's depths, while Eeason's knell may toll. • Lucretia is represented as living on terms of the utmost affection with her husband Collatinus; the violence of Sextus is rendered more atrocious, inasmuch as he was the professed friend of Collatinus, and had claimed hospitality at the iiouse of Lucretia, during the absence of her husband. 246 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. 'Twere mercy from such breast to sweep away The crushing sense of woe ; the years that roll Would then glide stingless, till the victim's clay Reach the calm grave — life's weary, welcome goal, And there, till judgment-hour, the heart of woes Might stUl its throbs, and find unscorned repose. But not to her oblivion, madness came. Clear memory's stream, untouched the brooding brain ; All sensitive to wrong, and ruined fame, Lucretia felt, and writhed beneath her pain. From that bowed posture now the mourner starts, Mo-s-es back her hair, and stri\es calm thought to gain ; Slowly her stUl, sad, helplessness departs; Some strong resolve she forms, since woe is vain ; Yes, she wUl meet her sire, her lord, once more. Ere the fates call, and love and life be o'er. They heard the tale, the husband, father, friend. And rage and anguish in each bosom burned ; But soon the parent's pitying arms extend ; Such guiltless victim Justice ne\'er spurned ; The luisband too — " No — no !" Lucretia cried. As, sluiddering, from his dear, loved arms she turned ; " Thine ne\or more, but dark pollution's bride ! In woe a bitter lesson have I learned : Shun me — thy honour bids it — from thee tling The wronged, undone, the hopeless, ruined thing ! " But while the lost one thou wilt love no more. Think not ray first pure love less warm for thee; A 11 the fond faith, the rapturous dreams of yore. More strong, more bright, are rushing now on me; PART n.J LUCRETIA. 247 Yes, as the shipwrecked man, when dim appear His native hills, far-gleaming o'er the sea, Sighs at the sight, and feels them doubly dear, Since there again his foot must never be — So do I mourn and bless thee ; so I bear A tenfold love for this my dark despair. " Oh ! that wild grief could cancel what is past ! That tears could wash away my fatal stain ! But grief were fruitless, ages could it last. And tears, though tears of blood, would flow in vain. What then the shadow from my soul shall chase. And bid the heart its purity regain ? Earth has no power this blackness to efface ; Beyond the grave once more shall honour reign ; Death can but make thy star, dimmed Virtue ! shine, Annul the past — remove a brand like mine. " And say when I have left, dear love, thy side. Thou wilt not scorn my memory, loathe my name, But, kindly-pitying, think of her who died. Preferring death to humbling, crushing shame. Oh ! what is life when lost what makes life dear? Spurn ye the woman who'd sur\dve her fame ! Behold my anguish, see my gushing tear ! Let these my love of wtue, faith proclaim ; And let this day, through future years, declare What Roman wives, when wronged like me, could dare !" Luoretia turned — her eyes once glanced to heaven, Her robes of mourning loosely 'round her fell ; Gleamed the white arm, and, quick as thought, was given The fatal blow — dishonour ! life! farewell ! 248 SPIBITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. Ere hand could stay, the steel had pierced the breast Where spotless love and truth alone could dwell ; The bubbling blood, that stained the snow-white vest, Might sure possess a sweet atoning spell ; Ne'er gentler, purer, flowed — kind Mercy ! hide The lost one's sin! forgive the Suicide! She tottered tow'rds her lord — she did not now Shrmk in her deep abasement from his arms, But there reclined with drooping marble brow, Death's languor darkening, while it stilled her charms. Oh ! let her snatch one moment's priceless bliss, Wliile life her fond, despairing bosom warms ! To think of happier hours — ^to weep like this — Such rapture death of half its fear disarms ; Love's beamings through the mists of suffering break. The spirit strengthening as the frame grows weak. " Farewell ! though ruined, I am guiltless — ^here. Nestling in these loved arms, my last I'll sigh ! I thank thee for thy kind, thy pitying tear ; Oh ! will my blood wash out pollution's dye ? I mourn to leave thee, but my heart is calm ; The blissful scenes, looks, words of days gone bv, Crowd memory now, and hope imparts its balm ; I go to bowers whose bloom shall never die ; There shalt thou claim me where no woe can dwell, Tliine — tliine, all pure again — dear love, farewell !" As fade insensibly the hues of eve, From golden, gorgeous clouds that bathe the west ; You scarce can teU the moment that they leave. Or which soft tint grows fainter than the rest ; PART II.] LtrCRETIA. 249 Yet slowly day departs, and night draws near, And gathering stillness hushes Nature's breast, And as, more deeply purple, skies appear. Star follows star, till shades all earth invest ; So died in those sweet eyes the lustrous ray, So Ufe departed from that beauteous clay» Then Brutus, the feigned madman, sternly slow Grasping the dagger, raised it high in air, And swore to sacrifice, to shades below, All that a Tarquin's guilty name might bear ; To trample, exile, curse the hated race ; Alas ! could vengeance raise the dead one there? Or wake one smUe on beauty's hueless face. So calmly passionless, and coldly fair? She rather asked the shroud, and earth's lone bed ; Oh ! deem not vengeance ever soothed the dead. Visions of loveliness, and truth, and worth — Daughters of Eome — -are shining on our dreams, Some lowly born, some boasting noble birth, Some blest, some mourning life's defeated schemes : Their names are echoed to us sadly sweet. Like murmurs made by whispering leaves and streams ; And, 'mid Rome's ruins, fancy still will greet Their white-drap'd forms,beneath the moon's pale beams; Their memories leave upon the waste of years A fresh green track, yet watered oft by tears, A halo circles sWeet Virginia's name. And yet no mental triumph, no high deed, Exalt her history, or prolong her fame, Charms, too, as bright to others were decfeed ; R 250 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. 'Tis the fierce, blood-stained act a loving sire Achieved to save Us child, who stood to bleed. And smiled in death ; 'tis this the minstrel's lyre Hath sounded forth ; the Stoic wins his meed ; Centuries have passed, but bards, and actors' skill, Call up that scene, which melts and thrills us still. A form sits lonely on Misenum's steep, Age by no wrinkle marked, august, severe ; She watc-liies ocean's foam-tipped billows sweep. Her bosom hath no sob, her eye no tear ; Sorrow, in stone, looks not more still, more cold ; She knows no present hope, or coming fear, But memory burns, and fancy can behold The scenes that charmed, the treasures that were dear ; She hoards the golden past ; her miser heart Hugs close that wealth, and with it will not part. The Mother of the Gracchi — well did Eome The grateful statue to Cornelia raise : And now she muses, by blue Ocean's foam. On sons long lost, the hope of prouder days. Her Caius, her Tiberius, live once more ; She points to fame, and animates with praise ; Alas ! their star went down, ere power could soar. Or patriot ardour pluck the Statesman's bays ; This crushed her high ambition, yet subKme She bears her fate, her heart in by-gone time. (94) See Beauty's lifted arm, and flashing eyes ! Hortensia's lips their eloquence distU ; Men wonder, and draw back in mute surprise. But plaudits soon the pillar'd forum fill. (95) I'ART II.] PORTIA, AND FDLVIA. 251 How strives fair Portia Brutus' soul to read ! Why hide from her his counsels or his will ? Can woman guard no secret ? a fraU reed Bowed by each wind ? — a sun-flash on a rill ? Changeful, unworthy trust ?— stern Brutus ! no- Portia is true in joy, and firm in woe. (96) Be there a pang that woman feels more deep Than common grief — a pang which madness brings, 'Tis jealousy that gnaws, and will not sleep, A deadly venom poisoning life's pure springs : And this felt she who saw her lord* depart. Borne to old Egypt's shore on passion's wings ; Siie sat with gushing eye, and breaking heart. But joy was his 'mid love's gay revellings, His soul all mirth by Cleopatra's side. While slighted Fulvia bowed her head and died. (97) That tale of Rome's triumvir, and the charms Of her, the dark-eyed Circe of the Nile, Hatli oft been told — enslaving, fatal arms ! Power, glory, faith, the sport of Beauty's wile. On pictures less familiar would we gaze. Hung in the gall'ries of Time's ancient pile ; We point to those renowned in othsr days, Whose fading memories now but dimly smile; Ah ! Lethe rolls o'er many a noble name, The best, the wisest, oft forgot by fame. * Marc Antony. 252 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. The sun shines warmly on Calabrian seas, Kissing each pouting billow into rest ; To waft perfume too idle is the breeze ; The hovering sea-bird, and the rock's tail crest, Each in the glass-wave ye distinctly trace ; The clouds, too, seem below smooth ocean's breast ; The nautilus, bright-glittering, skims its face, But, tiny pirate, fresh airs loving best. Puts out his oar, and spreads his silvery saU, Impatient of hot skies, and sleeping gale. Slow tow'rd Brundusium's coast a dark trireme Ploughs the blue surge, and as the long oars dip. Then rise against the sun, the flashing beam Turns into pearls the drops that from them drip. 'Sow on the azure air soft music swells ; 'Mid harmony doth float that haunted ship ? Do Tritons 'round her sound their spiry shells ? — Music from plaintive pipe, and mournful lip, Whose solemn sadness thrills the heart's deep core. Like memory of sweet hours to come no more. No awning, gaudy-hued, the bark displays, Sable the streamer floating from the mast ; Where the high gilded beak was wont to blaze. Low pendant cypress-boughs their shadows cast. In dark attire the Tyrian captives row ; Mysians, their arms athwart their bosoms passed. Droop the sad eye, and chant their song of woe. And ever plains o'er all the trumpet-blast ; Boys in white robes, and maids with unbound hair, Stand in long rows, and burning censers bear. PART II.J AGRIPPINA. 2oS Thus the dark vessel glides, its mournful show Strangely contrasting with that sunny sea; But who, in silence sunk, is bending low, Stately in grief, and proud in misery ? Now tow'rd the rising shore her glance is sent ; Kocks myrtle-crowned, hills gay with flower and tree, And inland plains with smiling towns besprent, Form a rich landscape Taste might glow to see ; But cold, uncharmed, she soon withdraws her eye. To gaze upon an urn, and muse, and sigh. An urn — yes, all the wife had once adored, Her heart of hearts, her life of life, is here ; The head that planned, the arm that waved the sword, The dauntless breast that never knew a fear, Shrined in this little space, are present still, To view — to touch — oh ! relics passing dear ! Death cannot take away, or whoUy kill, These ashes l«ft to treasure, and revere. AU-purifying fire ! rites doubly bless'd ! The heart, of what it lost, thus half possess'd. And Agrippina comes from Eastern land. Where died her lord by poison ;* o'er the main She bears his dust to loved Italia's strand — Home he had fought for long, nor fought in vain ; * Germanicas, the greatest general of his time, died while at Antioch, A.D. 19, at the early age of 34 years ; his wife Agrip- pina, accompanied by her children, conveyed his ashes by sea to Brundiisium, and thence to Rome, where she deposited the urn in the sepulchre of her grandfather, the Emperor Augustus. 'J'li SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. The bark hath landed now its sacred freight ; Slow moves for solemn Rome that solemn train ; Men mourn the widow's lot, the warrior's fate ; Augustus' royal tomb at length they gain ; Softly they tread, the torch-light dimly thrown On waiting niche, and arching roof of stone. Away ! thou curious gazer ! let no eye Scan the last sorrow of a wife's torn heart ; Here shall her treasured urn in safety lie, 'Mid vaults that life from death so calmly part ; Bending in holy quiet, grief may feel, In spot like this, less keen bereavement's dart. And softened thought upon the spirit steal ; iSo does she muse, but, musing, tear-drops start ; So does she pray, but, praying, memories rise. Till o'er that urn bursts all her soul in sighs. The widowed one before Rome's senate stands, Xerved by her wrongs, her sorrow checked by pride ; Imploringly tow'rd heaven she spreads her hands. And craves that justice heartless men denied. Who murdered her loved lord ? yon caitiif there. Smiling- as gods and vengeance were defied. With bland unruffled brow, and reckless air. Seeking beneath that mask his guilt to hide ; Plso, the simpering savage, wretch abhorr'd, Who smote by poison, not the honest sword. (98) Still Piso softly smiles, for none may dare To brand with crime Tiberius' trusty slave ; And Agrippina, stifling her despair, Strives her own fate and callous foes to brave ; P.VRT II.] AaitlPPINA. 255 But when at home her orphans meet her eye, Or when she seeks that urn wliere yew-trees wave, Then bursts the wife's deep pent-up agony, Then will her courage sink, her pale lip rave — A heroine in the world, and firm of mood, But aU the woman in calm solitude. iSo years stole on ; her fate is linked with him Who wrung unnatural joy from human woe, To whose dark spirit earth seemed drear and dim, Virtue but mockery, truth a lying show : And yet, 'midst cynic gloom, he fiercely sought All that enslaves, and charms the sense below. As if, in following vice, he'd fly from thought, And drown his soul's despair in pleasure's slough ; Tiberius through thy mazes. Luxury, ran. E'en while he hated life, and trampled man. Hot noon had passed, and Evening's mellowing rays On rock-bound Caprese lovingly were sleeping ; (99) That Island like a gem, in those far days. Shone in the sea, all worthy Neptune's keeping : The waves, so musical, that Icissed the beach. Swelled like a lyre some ocean-god was sweeping ; It looked a spot that care could never reach, Meant for love's sigh, and not for woe's sad weeping; Where the pure Virtues might the Graces kiss, And souls, harsh thoughts forgetting, feed on bliss. How gloriously around that summer Isle, Nature and man their blended works had spread ! The sea was dimpling — one bright, rosy smile. Rivalling the glowing skies that laughed o'erhead. 256 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. Eastward Surrentum's rocks beat l>ack the spray. And Pjestum's shrines a far, faint lustre shed ; Misenum's villas fringed the Western bay, Their marbles in the sunset flaming red ; Gaurus' tall mount shot heavenward like a spire ; The distant woods of Cumas seemed on fire. Parthenope,* the glittering home of love, Her whitening head far North was seen to rear, A city dowered with beauty from above, For gods to lodge in, when descending here. Pompeii, too, not yet 'neath lava laid, Eesting unconscious on her bed of fear, Her Attic porches, graceful shrines displayed. Gleamed, through the shadowy distance, softly clear, Vesuvius, with green sides, and smoke-wreathed crown, Like some tremendous giant, gazing down. Within the Island, loveliness was found Nestling more closely, rocks its guardian towers ; Those milk-white shores by Beauty's zone were bound — Zone wove from sky-tints by the laughing Hours. Shrubs on the sloping hills cast grateful gloom. Dells, sprinkled thick with gold and crimson flowers, Looked like pomegranates cleft, so rich their bloom ; EUls hymning ran, through moss and blossom'd bowers; Vines clung in Nature's love to every tree, And blew his horn the honey-hunter bee, * Naples. PART II.] TIBERinS AT CAPRBJE. 257 Then roses, rivalling those on Psestum's shore,* Clothed every sunny bed, and velvet knoll. So that when winds, hill, vale, came panting o'er, They stopped and toyed, enchained by Odour's soul : And nightingales flew there to gaze and sing. Because their hearts those lovely roses stole ; Fruit-yielding Summer, or delicious Spring, In those green haunts for ever held control. Health on the hills, balm, music on the air. The Poet's happy Leuc6 sure was there.f Such was the spot an Emperor made his home ; But ah ! the favoured scene, the bless'd retreat. Schooled not to virtue the proud lord of Rome, Wlio wrung but poison from the pure and sweet. Poetic dreams, thought soaring or refined, AU that should glow in Nature's choicest seat, Tiberius knew not ; cruel, selfish, blind, He chased the hours, though flagging passion's heat. To each base impulse gave a loosened rein, Brute-like enjoyment all he sought to gain. His palace, glittering on the Eastern steep, | Blushed now upon the blushing sunset sea ; The rich-bronzed front, the columns' airy sweep. Blent taste with show, and grace with majesty. ♦ The roses of Psestum have been celebrated by ancient poets, especially Ovid; they were small but of extreme beauty. t Leiic^, an island In the Black Sea, fabled, like the islands in the far Atlantic, to be an abode set apart for the reception of the sonls of just and brave men. { Remains of this palace are still seen, situated on an elevated point of land on the Eastern side of the island. 258 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK lU. Hark ! as you climb the myrtle-shaded way, Peals out loud music, mixed with sounds of glee; The festive hour begins, the dying day The birth of joy ; all thoughts of sadness, flee ! Man's woes, the outward world, forget awhile ! Wine ! drown the conscience ! Kiot ! shake the pile ! He leant within his Atrium ; blazed around The gems of Art, the spoils of Grecia's shore ; The Bacchic ivy each tall pillar bound, Soft showers of fragrance cooled the painted floor : Statues of every form in niches shone, But chiefly those that Love's warm impress bore, For here Licentiousness had reared a throne. And hideous Vice her heavenliest features wore ; AU aimed to melt the soul, and ravish sight. And lap the baser senses in delight. Tiberius feasted ; smiled bland flattery's crew ; Li flower-wreathed cups the Chian wine was flowing; Music the gorgeous Atrium sounded through. The very air with passion's soul was glowing : See in yon peristyle that breaking light ! Rosier than lamp-beams, richer, brighter growing ; Now waves an arm, an eye now sparkles bright. Now fluttering robes small sandall'd feet are showing ; Then forms flit round and round, as borne on wings, Wliile through the pUlars sUvery laughter rings. They come — that band of young and graceful maids. The pride of many a shore for beauty famed, Here with their locks far-floating, there with braids Twining fair heads that sculptor's art had shamed ; PART II.] TIBERIUS AT CAPRE^E. 259 They dance in mazes, like white clouds that fly Threading the thick-sown stars ; no curb hath tamed Their bounding hearts ; joy lights each flashing eye ; Of earth's dull elements scarce seem they framed — Young goddesses just glided from above, Their motions poetry, their glances love. Anon they part, as swans are scattered wide By sudden fear ; then ranged in glittering rows. Hushed, motionless they line the Atrium's side. As there by magic flower-crowned statues rose : Away ! they start to life, with airy bound Treading the floors, all light as falling snows ; Now where Tiberius leans they sweep around. And narrower yet their shining circle grows, TiE at his feet they bow, with close-wreathed arms ; Lord of the world ! gaze on — confess their charms ! That man of cruelty, and pride, and gloom, Softened a moment, but his sated eye Soon turned from that fair scene, his heart a tomb. Where only feeling's corpse appeared to lie : Debauchery long had deadened e'en love's fire. The harsher passions only might not die; One sight his fiendly nature could not tire — 'Twas Virtue's tears, his fellow's misery. Tiberius waved his hand — the maids had flown. He and his evil heart remained alone. Not long that chaser of Joy's mocking shade, Pleasure's most wretched votary pondered there. When up the hall, in mourning garb arrayed, A woman walked, august yet sad her air. (100) 260 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOH. III. Tiberius started — well that form he knew, Wliich called up thoughts his spirit ill could bear ; On her wan face a glance of rage he threw. Meeting her noble eye with savage stare ; He loathed her for her perished husband's fame, He loathed her for her own high, virtuous name. Unmoved she stood, her bearing, firm and proud. Caused e'en Tiberius' iron heart to quail ; She spoke, her words not passionate or loud. Her brow was flushed with scorn, her cheek was pale : " Monarch ! I've pierced thy foul and slave-girt den,* Eeckless of life — for what doth life avail ? — To tell thee all thou art, who sweepest men To bloody graves, and mak'st a nation wail. Trample my frame in dust, thou man accurs'd ! But Jove hath thunder — thou shalt hear me first. " My murdered husband ealleth from the tomb; Tremble, Tiberius ! for his shade is here ; My gentle children, 'neath the cypress-gloom. Are slumbering toof — thou man of slaughter ! fear ! Have not these victims quenched thy tliirst for blood 1 Must I and mine yield more ? — thy altar rear. Myself must suffer next ; thy royal mood May then grow calm, and gods and justice hear ; * Tiberius, during his retirement at Caprese, was for the most part inaccessible, and they who endeavoured to enter his palace, without an order or pass from his minister Sejanus, did it at the peril of their lives. t Agrippina's two sons, Drusus and Nero, were put to death by order of Tiberius. One of them is said to have been starved in prison. PART II. J AGEIPPINA. 261 Poisona have failed to kill* — behold me nigh, To unbosom half I feel, and then to die. " Goddess of vengeance If hear a mortal's prayer ! One reft of husband, children, calls on thee ! Come with thy plagues, thy scorpion-whips prepare — Why should one soul spread aU this agony ? But weak earth's punishment — where boUs the wave Of Phlegethon for guilt, by Jove's decree, Monarch ! for ever shalt thou toss and rave. Thy crimes brood o'er, and all thy murders see ; While for a crown dire flames shall wreath thy brow ; Oh ! call thy slaves, and bid me perish now ! " " No !" cried Tiberius, white with passion, " No ! Too much I hate thee, thus to see thee die ; Thine shall be living pangs, and tortures slow, Rocks, waves alone shall hear thy dying cry." The monarch stamped his foot ; his guards appeared ; E'en they bowed down, and quaked before his eye, And yet they loathed, despised him, wliile they feared. By terror urged to deeds of blackest dye. " Slaves ! to our ' Isle of woe' this woman bear ; Power shall not aid, nor mercy reach her there !' The cheerless winds swept broad Campania's sea, Wild broke the surf on Pandataria's shore ; No shepherd's pipe, no sound of vUlage glee, Rung from those rocks that sorrow's aspect wore ; * Tiberius, it has been stated, attempted about this time, through Sejanus, to remove Agrippina by poison, t The goddess Nemesis. 262 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. The lonely sea-birds seemed more hoarse to shriek, Deeper and sadder ocean's waves to roar, In sympathy with those whose hearts might break, Pent hopeless in that Isle for evermore, Doomed to view nought but rocks and whitening spray, And sigh in vain for wings, to flee away. Here Rome her felons held— the men whose crimes Asked lingering torture ; dungeons dark and deep Were hewn in those lone cliffs, though modern times Deem them but caves in wliich wild billows sweep. Here sighs were breathed, and fruitless prayers arose, Drops fell from eyes now sealed in dreamless sleep ; How dark, how sad a list of human woes. The mournful genii of these ca\erns keep ! — Woes pUed by man on man, through weary years. Writ by the pen of grief, with ink of tears ! Still Agrippina sat, her cell of stone No sunbeam entered, but the lamp's pale ray Revealed the massive walls, through which the moan Of waves, though near, swdled faint, as far away : The sea-mew's shriek, too, like a spirit's cry, Mingled with that wild dash of salt sea-spray : They placed the scanty food, her sole supply. The water-jar to serve her day by day ; TUl both should faU, and then the fluttering breath Would fail like them, and close in pangs of death. Oh ! who may tell in such an hour, how thought Absorbs existence ? how lost memories rise, G-hosts from the graves of years ? past scenes are brought, Dazzling and fair, before the spirit's eyes. PART II.] AGRIPPINA. 263 The fond wife lived again with him she loved, Breathed on his heart her warm deUghted sighs ; On Tiber's banks at shadowy eve they roved, And deemed none bless'd as they beneath the skies ; Oh ! happy dream that soothes the captive's woes. Till smiles beam soft, and joy's bright fount o'erflows. But soon the dreadful truth scares fancy's train ; No hope, no egress from her living tomb ; Here must she sink, and here in death remain, No friend to close her eyes, or mourn her doom. To Hermes' statue low the victim bends ; She prays to him whose hand across the gloom Guides waiting souls, till heaven's bright realm extends ; Asks she for crowns of gold, or bowers of bloom ? No, she but sighs her long-lost lord to see ; Where'er his soul, there, there her heaven would be ! Another weary day, and dreadful night ; Her last crust gone, her emptied pitcher dry, Thirst, hunger came ; the lamp's exhausted Hght, Her sole poor solace, flickering, soon would die : Vain was her prayer for pity, none could hear, The rock-hewn walls unpierced by suffering's cry ; And faint and fainter, in that place of fear, Her meanings rose, and dimmer grew her eye ; Whispering one name, she bowed upon the floor. And high-souled Agrippina's woes were o'er. (101) Why dwell on pictures that make sad the mind ? Yet, musing o'er our fellows' grief or pain, The spirit oft a strange delight shall find — So vibrates sympathy's electric chain. 264 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. We mourn, and yet we feel a pleasing thriU, To speak of heart-throbs, tears that feU in vain ; We hear e'en tales of murder, wrong, and ill. With breathless interest, and with tingling vein ; Not that mere harrowing scenes a rapture bring. From flne-toned pity tragic pleasures spring. We need not fly to fiction's baseless dreams, In search of sorrows, dressed with flowers of art ; Life and earth's records offer countless themes ; And more than fancy, truth shall touch the heart. Oh ! when we call to mind the wrongs and woes That myriads have endured — ^the venomed dart Man launch'd at man — chain'd Nations' anguish-throes — How idle seems the fabler's proudest part ! Enough to muse on truths of other times. Men's real deeds, their virtues, and their crimes. A demon oncp would bring from hell to earth The morrl Vpas-tree of sin and shame. And took a Nero's form in hideous mirth ; Yet very vices win enduring fame ; Yes, Nero lives, while Virtue dies unknown, Blackness and darkness resting on his name, His memory echoed by a Nation's groan, Buffoon and murderer, bidding cities flame, Actor, musician, lord where riot reigns. Torturer of Christians, revelling in their pains. Among fell Nero's victims. Genius sighs For tuneful Lucan — gay, aspiring bard ! Just as his outstretched hand would grasp the prize, To fall in youth and hope — ^his fate was hard ; PART ii.j ldcan's polla. 265 Just as applause began to greet his ear,* And jealous Fame her golden gates unbarred, And woman waved him on with love's sweet cheer,! To see his visions crushed, his projects marred — Oh ! sad such lot — thrice sad thus doomed to die ! On scene so bright, so fair, to close his eye ! The mandate came — the piercing shriek that broke From faithful PoUa, sinking on his breast. Pained, agonised him more than death's near stroke ; Her gentle love his calm pursuits had blest; She spurred his genius, shared his labours too, Still by his side, a sweet inspirer, pressed, Bent o'er the veUum-sheet the long night through. Inscribing there his thoughts, nor asking rest ; The ideal Muse, on cold Parnassian height, Was here embodied, living, warm, and bright. Fond lovers, close-knit spirits, husband, wife ! Your parting comes, your lips must breathe farewell ; Nero commands — the bard must yield his life, The tree of golden fruit the axe must fell ; What recks he Polla's anguish ? — mirth to him ; What recks he Lucan's lyre, no more to swell 1 Happy he feels the light of mind to dim. Envy, not taste, in such black heart can dwell; So Lucan perished, torn from Polla's side. His master-work unfinished,J when he died. * Lucan, when condemned to death by Nero, was only in his twenty-seventh year. t Polla Argentaria. J ThsPharsalia. S 266 SPIEITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK. III. Unfinished — it was this bade PoUa live, Vowed to her Lucan's fame ; her task would be The classic statue higher glow to give, And make all fair, where taste a stain might see. Thrice holy toU ! while thus absorbed her mind, Sad hours appeared with lighter wing to flee ; Studying that page, sweet solace could she find. Her tears grew less, her heart from sighs more free ; Lucan's bright thoughts did here embodied shine, Lucan's own lips seemed speaking from each line. Warm fancy sees the gifted one, alone Beside her lamp, at midnight's pensive hour ; From that young cheek health's ruddy hue has flown, And gay-eyed Joy deserts her silent bower : Streams down her snowy neck the cloud-Hke hair, Dark as the darkness 'round Niglit's starless tower ; Her eye is mournful, deep thought brooding there, And still her head bends low, like dew-charged flower ; She dreams — and liglit illumes her lovely brow — Her dear, lost Lucan smiles upon her now. " He sighed for fame," she whispered ; " Glory's wreath Ho toiled, he panted for ; the flowers had shed Some fragrance for his heart, ere hushed by death ; But not with life his treasured hope is fled. Dear shade ! this verse, that fills mine eyes with tears. Shall live when Eome's strong tyrants all are dead ; Ay, when dark Euin on her site appears, These lines by happier Nations shall be read ; Fear not, an honest world thy judge shall be, Forget the tyrant, but remember thee ! PABT II. I ldcan's polla. 267 " Eemember thee ? — and will one kindly heart, In future ages, link my name with thine. And thank me for my toil, my humbler part? — The thought shall soothe this woe-worn breast of mine; Let him too say, in life I loved thee well, Nor, when thou wert in dust, did love resign, Hoarding thy words, thy looks, as misers dwell On worshipped gold, thy memory half divine ; Oh ! what surpassing joy in that bright dream — To float with thee down time's far-glittering stream !" Poor faithful one ! her hope is granted ; still Lives through the blight of years the minstrel's fame, And while Pharsalia's terrors bid us thrill, We think of Lucan's fate, sigh PoUa's name. That picture of the wife — the bard no more — With pen and scroll, beside her taper's flame. Adding a grace where rudeness seemed before. Shall haunt our dreams, our warmest feelings claim. And place sweet PoUa 'mid that radiant throng Of past good spirits, earth remembers long. (102) Another victim crushed by Nero's hand, Lo ! Seneca, great moralist and sage ! Whose wisdom taught, whose genius charmed the land. Favourite of Fortune, envied of his age : Like Lucan too, on him beamed woman's smile. Her love could chase each care, each grief assuage, Soften the rigid creed, and lend awhile Gay, happy thoughts, that flashed upon his page : As bloomy vines embrace the oak's rough side, Paulina's love entwined the Stoic's pride. 268 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK. III. The scholar In his garden pensive leant,* Paulina lingering near; around, below, Spread marble Rome in all her vast extent, Column, arch, palace, shrine — a glorious show ! Riches were his, and lands, and friends, and power, (103) All that th' unthinking deem will banish woe ; There luxury, and here love, for still a flower Paulina shone, with half-oped buds to blow ;! Was Seneca then bless'd ? his brow betrayed Not philosophic ease, but sorrow's shade. Oh ! 'tis not gold and splendour that give balm To grief's slow wound, or heal disease of mind ; They gild the waves of life, but cannot calm ; The soul grieves most, when most it leaves behind. Learn'd Seneca had clung for lengthened years To Zeno's creed, and hoped true bliss to find, (104) Strove to curb passion, banish cares and fears, Stern, rigid to himself — to others kind. Virtuous for virtue's sake, a foe alone To Vice in rags, or seated on a throne. Zeno had said — what gods may give, enjoy. Mourn not to live thy time, nor grieve to die ; Let no regrets arise, no cares annoy. Part with the world and friends without a sigh ; • The gardens attached to Seneca's mansion were very cele- brated, and Juvenal alludes to their beauty. f Paulina, as Dion Cassius and other writers inform us, was considerably younger than Seneca, but entertained for him the deepest affection. PABT II.] Seneca's paulina. 269 The Eternal Spirit knows, and governs best ; Thy soul may mount, or low in Hades lie. Or e'en of other forms be doomed the guest,* Yet bow resigned, and bless the powers on high ; The Stoic, child of fate, has nought to crave. Calm in tliis world, and calm beyond the grave. Such was the faith of Seneca ; he taught His youthful spouse the like submissive creed ; Yet oft he harboured doubts, and anxious thought ; Was man this icy thing by heaven decreed ? Zeno might err, for soft emotions please. Wild bliss, too, waits on bold ambitious deed ; His lands, his wife — oh ! yes, to part with these. The soul would sigh, his heart would inly bleed : Warm human Nature warred 'gainst frigid rule. And half the sage renounced, and loathed his school. Paulina marked with grief his saddened mood, ■Gazed in his thoughtful face, and pressed his hand ; But Seneca his bitter dream pursued, Till woke by Love's soft kiss, and words as bland. " Forgive me, dear one, but reflection's train WiU force its way ; for thee bright hopes expand. Youth smiling still, but age, decay, and pain, Await me soon; life's glass exhausts its sand; I'm thinking, love, my Stoic dreams wiU flee. My faith grow weak, when called to part with thee !" • The Stoics embraced the doctrine of Metempsychosis with some modifications; but they believed the perfectly virtuous would, after death, be translated at once to the calm happy region beyond the stars. 270 SPIEITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK HI. " We shall not part — thyself hast taught me this ; When Hope, and guardian angels heavenward fly. And Sorrow mourns above the tomb of Bliss, The Stoic's lofty duty — is to die. Should fate, then, call thee hence, all joy for me Would close below, with thy dear closing eye. For sighs and tears my sole employ would be ; I could not leave thee lonely in the sky ; The hour thou mount'st from earth, I quit it too ; Then never need we — will we — say adieu !" Paulina thus, by specious reasonings swayed, Drank deep the Stoic spirit, leaving all To time and heav'n ; and now still Evening's shade. Calm as their minds, on earth began to fall ; She gazed with Seneca on Nature's face. O'er palace, shrine, beyond Rome's bounding wall ; Tiber's green windings dimly could they trace, Far mountains looked in haze more huge and tall ; The last faint flush forsook Soracte's peak. As fades life's hue from wan Consumption's cheek. The hum of thousands floated on the air. Yet soft as Nereid's voice in Ocean's shell ; Paulina watched that scene sublime yet fair. And felt her thoughts expand, her bosom swell ; She clung more closely to her husband's side, He, too, owned deeply Nature's beauty-spell ; 'Twere bettor at that moment they had died. Ere the black storm of wrong and suffering fell, Passing from earth all silently away. Like the calm-vanishing, expiring day. PART II.] Seneca's paulina. 271 Man, conscience-seared, and red with Christian blood, Could'st thou not spare Philosophy's meek son ? What crowds through thee had passed the Stygian flood ! The lost below thy presence e'en might shun ; K history err not, Pluto's fiercest fire Burns for thy guilty soul ; thy crimes, begun, Seemed daily strength and blackness to acquire ; The prize for evil sure by thee was won : But Socrates once died — so hate decreed — A Nero willed, and Seneca must bleed. " He lingers long ;" Paulina softly said. Stealing across the chamber's painted floor — Eetreat, where happy studious hours had fled, And Seneca hived learning's choicest store.* There, penned by Zeno's self, was many a scroU ; The Samian's mysteries, and the Bactrian's lore,t With Plato's godlike dreamings, fired the soul; Though dead, spoke there the mighty hearts of yore — Men who have raised their kind — stars few but bright, Grand beacons blazing through time's dreary night. He came — Paulina kissed his cheek, and smiled, And placed his tablets, drew the wonted chair. And love and study noon's soft hour beguUed, Content, peace, bUss, the hovering genii there. But who, unbidden, entered now that room. With suUen brow, and stern mysterious air ? Paulina cowered beneath his look of gloom. Feeling e'en then forebodings and despair : * The room in a Roman gentleman's house appropriated to study was termed the Tablinum, being usually situated behind the Atrium. ■\ Pythagoras and Zoroaster. 272 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK. III. He told his message in half whispered breath — Nero accused — condemned the sage to death !* No change came o'er the Stoic's placid mood, Calm was his eye, and dignified his mien ; Th' ascetic praying in his solitude. The sleep- wrapped babe, are scarcely more serene. Death to pure spirits only seems the hand Eaising the veil two mystic worlds between ; Soon should he join the bright illustrious band — Each great and virtuous soul that earth had seen. Learn all he panted for through mortal years, No more the heir of fraUty, slave of fears. But ah! his calmness was not shared by her. Who strove in vain like spirit to display ; Yes, deeper feelings woman's bosom stir. Less meant to conquer Nature than obey; She cannot still the biUows of her heart. Or charm by Ethic rules her warmth away; Impulse, afiection, passion, form a part E'en of her being, despots in their sway : Oh ! Zeno's maxims melted frail as snow. Before Paulina's love, and whelming woe. • Seneca, we are told by Tacitus, had returned from an ex- cursion in Campania on the day when Nero sent to accuse him of having taken part in Piso's conspiracy. Silvanus, a tribune of the Pratorian cohort, found him at his liouse near Rome, although the tribune does not appear, until his second visit, to have conveyed Nero's positive order for Seneca " to put himself to death." PART 11.] Seneca's paulina. 273 " What is his crime, ye cruel men, declare ? No traitor is he well doth Nero know, Mean hate but fills his breast ; and will he dare To crush the good, lay worth and honour low ? But nay, my lord, thou wilt not, shalt not die, While virtue fires one honest heart below ; Is Eome so sunk, no freeman, patriot nigh, To strike for justice, Seneca, a blow ? A woman calls — her wrongs, her pleadings hear ! Up ! and defend a life to Eome so dear !" None answer to that wild and sad appeal. Fruitless all sobs and tears, for Nero's slaves Must work his blackest wiU; to hearts of steel Affection lifts her hands, and vainly raves ; Vainly the wife, if Nero must destroy, Offers her own warm blood, and suffering craves ; To buy his life with hers would yield her joy ; So the doomed seaman, toss'd on wrecking waves, Casts all his freight, his treasure in the main, To save his foundering bark, but toils in vain. " Then I wiU perish with thee ! nought shall shake The fixed, unwavering purpose of my soul ;* My last, sad. Stoic lesson let me take ; Long I've obeyed thee, owned thy dear control, But now ag-ainst thy mandate I rebel. Die when thou bid'st me live ; earth, heav'n, the whole Of fair seen Nature has my glad farewell, So, joined by thee, I reach th' eternal goal, * That Paulina's veins were opened in compliance with her own ardent desire, in order that she might die with her husband, appears sufficiently plain from the statement of Tacitus, (xv. 63.) 274: SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. And tow'rd yon skies, or far Elysium glide. Not one brief moment parted from thy side." He leant upon his couch ; his opened veins Poured slowly forth frail life's mysterious stream; Musing and still, regardless of his pains, He looked absorbed in philosophic dream ; Arrayed as for a banquet, not the grave, Gems from his costly sandals shed a g'leam, A garland, on his head, its freshness gave ; Not gay or madly dsCring, did he seem ; But, bowing to the fates with latest breath, Calm and collectedly, he waited death. His eye was fixed on Plato's lofty page ; The Greek's transcendent soul inspired his own ; Those thoughts sublime might weU his heart engage. Soaring where thought before had never flown. And now he spoke, his scribe with ready pen Tracing his words which, like the thunder's tone, Would reach, when mute his tongue, the hearts of men — A voice from his cold urn, and ivied stone ;* Once only, when he met Paulina's look, His brow grew sad, his frame with tremors shook. She lay like him, sweet sharer of his fate. Bleeding in silence, and no pang confess'd ; She should not now be lone and desolate. Left like a bird whose mate hath flown its nest ; * Seneca, while slowly bleeding to death, read passages in his favourite authors, and is said to have dictated an eloquent discourse to his secretary. PABT II.] Seneca's paulina. 275 But they who loved together, still would be Together wretched, or together bless'd. Both spirits launched upon the unknown sea, To reach at once the Isles of joy and rest. She watched with fond, but oh ! with anxious eye. And only feared that he — the first might die ! " My brave ! my second soul ! dear suffering frame ! Not worthy am I this high act of thine ; But die not thus — repress the noble flame — A pure and g'enerous ardour, passing mine : Man can repay thee not, kind heaven alone Win grant reward, when such great virtues shine ; Tet oh ! through earth thy bravery should be known. And Truth for thee her choicest chaplet twine ; For thy dear sake the Stoic yet would live. His last fond sigh the gods may well forgive." Faint, bleeding, tottering, heart too full to speak, Tow'rd her expiring lord Paulina crept. Around him threw her arms, so wan and weak. And hid her face upon his breast, and wept. Her pale lips murmured thanks for words so kind ; How strong the feelings o'er her soul that swept. But ah ! how frail the body ! active mind Woidd rise like flame, while cold the senses slept ; Feeble, and few, and slow, her words were heard. And scarce the hushed calm air these whispers stirr'd. " If first I go, dear love, I'U waiting be On that dark shore, beside the Stygian stream ; I could not cross its waters without thee, Though full in sight Elysium's bowers might gleam ; 276 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. Thou too wilt wait, if there before I come ; Oh ! happy land ! oh ! more than poet's dream ! We're only, love, poor pilgrims wandering home, Soon will life's sun go down with tranquil beam ; Our toilsome journey done, our sorrows past, The smiling gods will welcome us at last." She fainted — sank on earth, though not in death,* And while her eyes were sealed, the suffering sage. Whom poison could not lull, they plunged beneath A bath's hot wave his anguish to assuag'e : Then bled his wounds all freshly, then the life Gushed at each vein ; no more could Nature wage Unequal conflict ; ceased the mortal strife. And the filmed eye could see not Plato's page ; Though dark his dreams, by error led aside. Oh ! say that calm-souled Stoic greatly died. Paulina's faintness passed ; no more she bled, For pitying friends her wounded limbs had bound ; But when the fond wife knew her lord was dead, How agonised the glance she cast around 1 What ! gone without her to the shadowy land? The first — the first to tread Elysium's ground. Or lingering, waiting on the Stygian strand. And she still here — amidst the living found ? She loathed the boon that anxious love would give, For oh ! 'twere bliss to die, but woe to live. * Paulina swooned during the operation — a circumstance to which probably she owed her life; Seneca suffered much agony; his relative, Statius Annseus, gave him poison, but it had little effect, owing to the exhausted state of his vital powers; he was at last placed into a hot bath, and this producing great hemorr- hage, speedily carried him off. PART II.] Seneca's patjlina. 277 She raised her form, and tore the bands away, Till streamed anew life's fast-exhausting tide ; What now was earth to her ? what joy's fair ray ? Hope set in night when he, the loved one, died. And yet, though nigh that land of shades and fear, The invisible to which she long-ed to glide, Youth, Nature triumphed; friendship's pleading tear. And gentle force, turned hovering death aside ; Her heart, reluctant, still life's load must bear, Love's future union wait, and brave despair. Angel of Pity ! through all ages winging; From heaven to earth, with mercy-beaming; eyes, Balm to the lost and broken-hearted bringing. And sitting by the grave where Virtue lies ! Lucan and Seneca, and those they loved. For wrong's and sorrows, claim thy tenderest sighs ; PoUa all truth, and deep devotion, proved, Paulina death's pale terrors dared despise. Both noble spirits, worthy of the fame That wreaths their urns, and guards each gentle name. (105) END OF PABT II. SPIRITS OF THE PAST. BOOK III. CELEBRATED WOMEN. Pabt III. Beauty ! mysterious thing, which bounteous Heaven So richly showered upon the worid below, But only hath to man perception given, A spirit to admire, a heart to glow ; The brute enjoys existence, scours the vale, And seeks his food where fruit and herbage grow. Drinks the stream's nectar, snuifs the balmy gale ; From outward sense alone his pleasures flow ; Grace, colour, glory's forms enchant not him, To Beauty's magic world his eye is dim. Yes, sliines for man alone the scene around — The pomp, the loveliness, in earth and air ; To charm his fancy thousand shapes abound. For him was beauty born — was Nature fan- : To please his vision. Colour from her urn Pours gold and pearls — the hues each flower must bear; Hills gently sweU, and vales their windings learn ; For him the trees must fresh green livery wear ; Because most lovely, ocean's tint is blue. Because most soft, skies spread in azure too. PART III.J DANTE's BEATRICE. 279 The velvet plain, the woody watered dell, The gold-lined cloud, the silvery orbs of night, AH, all where Beauty's hand hath cast its speU, Enchant his eye, and yield his heart delight : Nor can we think the soul, when freed from clay, WiU view unmoved, unravished, scenes so bright, That angels, cleaving ether, do not stay On lingering pinion, wondering at the sight ; 'Tween Grod and earth, though floats a cloud of ill. His smiles break through, and make a glory still. If shape and hue, in Nature, thus can please The fancy-governed and impassioned mind. What marvel man such charm in beauty sees. When in the living form of woman shrined ? What marvel that the law is doubly strong, Bright intellect with faultless grace combined? When cheeks to which Morn's rosy tints belong, Eyes that the stars in lustre leave behind. Sweetness and witchery breathing from the whole. Are linked to virtue, and a glowing soul ? Oh ! ne'er in woman's history, did her power Make of illustrious men more lowly slaves. Than they who sprang where soft Campania's flower* Woos southern gales, and Arno roUs his waves ; f * Tasso, born at Sorrento, in ancient Campania. t Dante, bom at Florence, and Petrarch at Arezzo, the former town being on the Arno, and the latter at a short distance from it. 280 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK. III. Those bards, abandoned to their hopeless love, Forgot their manhood ; hark ! how sorrow raves ! Wretched they dragged through life, but soared above Each sensuous aim, each object that depraves, Inspired by beauty, poured their deathless strain. And made immortal those they loved in vain. A maiden once, dark-eyed and glossy-haired,* Lived in gay Florence with an aged sire ; To shine amid the famed no deed she dared, No genius lit for her its heavenly fire ; The soft deep languish of a southern eye, A hand well skilled to wake the dulcet wire, A bosom chaste as hermit's dying sigh, A heart whose prayers did morn and eve aspire — These were her own, but what were these to save Her sweet, good mem'ry from oblivion's grave ? Yet shall that maid's renown endure for ever ; To her is raised a monument more strong Than Egypt's pyramid, its granite never To wear or fail, as ages sweep along — A monument of all-enduring mind, An adamantine sepulchre of song ! And there her name embalmed the world shall find, When kings have mouldered, empires perished long ; Dante hath reared the pile so grandly fair, And Beatrice rests in glory there. • The hair of Beatrice, as she is described in Dante's poem called "The Portrait," was light, her eyes being black; her figure was beyond the ordinary height. PART III.] DANTe's BEATRICE. 281 'Twas she inspired the solemn, daring verse Of Paradise and Hell ; to place her high Above the wrecks of time, and earth's dark curse, He sought the realms where nothing more can die. Ay, had she never lived, we well believe No wondrous " Ehyme" would wake a thrill or sigh ; The bard those fancies had not thought to weave ; The gold had lain concealed from every eye : 'Twas woman's love that bade the minstrel soar, And made the world her debtor evermore. (106) But Dante's passion was not such as glows In common hearts, a transient fire awaking. Like that the bounding, youthful bosom knows, Steeping all things in light, an Eden making ; It was to him " new life,"* a thing intense. Boot in his wild, hard nature deeply taking. Absorbing inward thought, and outward sense, A blast the strong oak of his spirit shaking, A love above all grosser loves below. With warmth of fire, yet purity of snow. And Beatrice loved him, though a smile Bare lit that thoughtful, melancholy brow ; And though his words were few, nor might beguile Hearts to more sprightly language wont to bow : * Dante has called the commencement of his attachment to Beatrice Portinari his "new life;" and the "Vita Nuoya" is the title of a collection of poems and prose pieces, in which he frequently alludes to his early love — a love as enduring and extraordinary, as it proved of value to the literature of his country. T 282 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK IIF. Dearer to her his sadness, than the joy- Sparkling in other eyes, his low-breathed vow, Than bursts of passion which so oft decoy The female breast, and rare repulse allow ; His very sternness, and his iron pride, Seemed to exalt, and bind him to her side. Slie died in youth and beauty's sunny hour, (107) The fates unwilling slow and dark decay Should waste her form's bright bloom ; the sweetest flower 'Twere best to cull, ere fade its leaves away. The loveliest things thus swiftest pass from earth ; How soon dissolves the iris' matchless ray ! The Aurora dies while flashing into birth ; The gorgeous insect shines one summer day; The sun most glorious that brief time appears. Just as he sets, and leaves the eye to tears. She died, but not so died in Dante's breast His passion for the perished ; purged from all That might be earthy, stiU that love possessed O'er fervid brain and heart its former thrall. Oh ! weak the love, unworthy of the name. Bound to the few fraU years which life we call. That never looks beyond ; the one true flame Shall burn undimmed, whate'er our dust befall ; Love, like the fabled bird which ne'er expires. Shall riso, fresh-plumed, o'er Time's extinguished fires. 'Twas Dante's saddened bliss in thought to dwell On Beatrio6, mourning happier days ; Like a chaste nun she lived in Memory's cell, And ever on her charms he seemed to gaze : PART m.] DANTE'S BEATRICE, 283 Pure and e'en holy had affection grown, Yet warm the while its sweet ethereal rays ; He bent not sorrowing o'er her bed of stone, His lost on earth was where Heaven's glories blaze ; And thus his constant spirit turned above, Nor linked with aught below his early love. The picture of the world of souls became, By ceaseless dreaming, glassed upon his brain, Fancy now hovering o'er the gulf of flame, Where Gruilt was plunged, and wailed eternal Pain ; Now listening to the sighs of those he deemed Bound for awhile by Purgatorial chain. Weeping in penitence, though softly gleamed Hope's angel-eye, their sorrows not in vain ; Ay, fancy oUmbed heaven's height on lightning- wings, Seeking the fount whence God's own glory springs. But not in Pluto's city,* or that hell Near the earth's heart, where doom'd ones ever groaned, And Lucifer, in splendour horrible, Causing and sharing torture, sat enthroned ;t Not on the mountain 'midst the roaring sea, Gruarded by Cherubs armed, and lightning-zoned. Where joy-shouts rang as chastened souls, set free, Winged to the skies — souls love and mercy owned ; Not there the adored, the beautiful he saw. But upward still he gazed, with speechless awe. * For the description of the city oCPlnto, see Inferno, Canto IX. t Lucifer's kingdom is represented as being in the centre of the globe ; the regions of Purgatory are round about an immense mountain in the ocean, and its avenues are guarded by angels. 28i SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK UI. He fixed his eyes on noon's resplendent sun, And fancy mounted on a burning ray ;* The gulf was passed, Heaven's jasper gates were won, The unpierced infinite before liim laj^ : Hark ! from the stars ten thousand lyres are ringing. Seraphs, gold-plumed, are flashing on their way, The palm-cro^vned blest their rapturo-song are singing, Grod's smile makes there a never-ending day ; Joy fills all space, and clouds of glory roll — Chariots of heaven, to waft the ravished soul. She comes, 'mid sister angels hovering round. Whose wings shed fragrance, and a silvery light. Her lofty head with fadeless amaranths bound ; Flower-clouds her radiant limbs conceal from sight ; She looks as once she looked, though haply now More spiritually pure, and chastely bright; Sweet majesty sits throned upon her brow. And her eyes' cloudless day shall know no night ; She speaks, and each soft word in music flows, Gently upbraids, yet cheers, and soothes his woes.f Splendour and mysteries, mortal may not name. Crowd on his soul ; but ah ! the di-eam is o'er. She quits his side, is lost in glory's flame. And the rapt minstrel sinks to earth once more. * Dante is supposed to te transported from the summit of the Purgatorial mountain to Heaven, by raising his eyes to the sun, and by the strength of his " spiritual aspirations." t Beatrice in the Paradise, among other admonitions and mild censures, reproaches Dante for having slighted her memory, and in this the poet is thought to allude to his ill-starred mar- riage with Gemma Donati. Beatrice had now been dead ten years. PART III.] DANTb's BEATRICE. 285 Too daring Dante ! thus thy strain must end, (108) Sublimely beautiful ; 'twas thine to soar Where other wing ne'er dared its course to bend, And fathom depths that bard ne'er pierced before; Thy soul was scarce terrestrial, but a thing Destined to some high sphere, not earth, to cling. The truth in thee was shown that minds, which tower Gigantic o'er their kind, the frost must feel Of icy disappointment ; he whose power Only in spirit lies, his breast must steel ; The world wUl own him not ; he walks his way Unloved if crowned with fame ; a vain appeal He makes to men the sordid, or the gay ; And yet though scorn on all his heart may deal, Such isolation brings him misery here, A shunned and lonely thing, to no one dear. But Dante, in his stern abstracted mood. Mingled with men, and struggled in the crowd. Yet ever seemed in saddest solitude ; He could not cringe to power, or court the proud ; For fame he bartered happiness ; on woe His heart for long years fed ; he never bowed To Florence though he loved her, to and fro Wandering like some sad ghost in sorrow's shroud : And so he died, and Florence mourned too late Her own harsh judgment, and her poet's fate. (109) But peace to him ! his woes were for an hour, His fame for endless years ! and she who swayed That gifted mind with more than despot's power, Queens at her cloud-wrought footstool prostrate laid, 286 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. Sits high upon her shining throne — renown, A deedless, gentle, meek and spotless maid ; And calmly on the world her soul looks down, Homage through ages to her beauty paid : 'Twas Love that placed her there, while Genius gave The sparkling wreath to bloom beyond the grave. Follower of Dante, eloquent as he, And warm of soul, but oh ! how far behind In depth, and grandeur, and sublimity, A bard was born where Arno's waters wind ; The Aonian sisters o'er his cradle bent ; Soft Melody was there, and Taste refined ; His lip was touched by pensive Sentiment, And Fancy with rich dreamings filled his mind ; Philosophy stood by with lifted gaze, And Passion on him shed his burning rays. Petrarch ! that name doth swell like some sweet strain. Up the long gallery of departed ages, And youth enchanted listens ; 'tis in vain Frown icy cynics, moralise stern sages ; To them Ins Laura a mere phantom seems. His love a vision where hot frenzy rages ; But oh ! so long as maidens cherish dreams Of warm romance, and love youth's heart engages, Their names to taste and fancy shall be dear. And call up golden thoughts, and claim a tear. Passion's sweet subtile spirit fondly keeps Watch o'er each haunt of Laura's lover still ; Where, by gay Avignon, Eh6ne's crystal sweeps, That spirit's whispers seem the air to fill ; PART III.J LAtJRA. 287 He floats in silvery mists, at morning hour, O'er lone Vaucluse, and Sorga's lilied rill, Sighs from the grot, and melts within the bower ; We meet him south on Eome's Imperial hiU ;* At Arqua, e'en he breathes in that perfume. Sent up by flowers, around the Poet's tomb. The Tuscan's life was passed in love and song ; Child of extremes, now hope, and now despair. Swayed his fond soul ; he clung to nothing long, Save that dear burden which his heart must bear. To-day a sage, a patriot next he stands. And now, a churchman, breathes a holy prayer. Then pores, a scribe, o'er tomes of classic lands, And bright for this the wreath his brow shall wear. His thoughts o'er earth went forth, like Noah's dove, But found no rest, and still returned to love. Heroes recall the day they fought some fight. The racer, scholar, when they won some prize. But Petrarch cherished, until death's dark night. The hour he first beheld sweet Laura's eyes.f Morn flashed on Avignon ; the bells were ringing To Matin prayer ; soft April cooled the skies ; Swift to the waking flower the bee was winging. To drink the nectar of its first-breathed sighs ; Like a vast rose-leaf Rh6ne's flushed waters spread. And clouds of amber crowned high Ventoux' head.J * The Capitol, where Petrarch received the laurel crown, on Easter-daj', 1341. t It was on the sixth of April, 1327, at six o'clock in the morning, that Petrarch first saw Laura de Sade in the church of St. Clara at Avignon. J Mont Ventoux, the mountain of the winds. 288 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. She knelt in meekness at her early prayer, As streamed the ray through Clara's pUlar'd aisle. Like some calm saint angelically fair. Or vision born the senses to beguile ; Madonna-like, her thoughtful beauty shone, Yet not less witching, bright, and warm the while ; Back from her head her snowy veil was thrown, Eevealing cheek's fresh tint, and lip's sweet smUe, The dimpled chin by love's soft signet press'd. The living marble of her spotless breast. From what rich cloud of glory-tinting eve. Did Laura steal those looks of softest gold ? Sure in the night those braids did fairies weave, Suchmasses down her pale green robes wereroUed. (110) From what unspotted space of purest sky. Did those chaste orbs — high feeling's mystic hold — Drink dark and liquid blue ? there seemed to lie Within their depths thought, sweetness, love untold ; From what bright visitor of heavenly race. Did Laura win her smUe, and borrow grace ? Her lip breathed low her matins, and her gaze Fell on th' illumined missal ; now her soul Was borne above, as swelled the song of praise, And surging music round was heard to roll ; Her knees were bent, her eyes with tears were dim. Ecstatic tears, heart-gems, that downward stole — Such would not stain the cheeks of Cherubim, Thrilled and entranced by music's blest control ; Pure from a heart to meek devotion given. Can prayers arise, nor reach the gate of heaven ? PABT III.] LAURA. 289 Oil ! youth and beauty ! what deep spells are found Withm your radiant, cabalistic ring ! Philosophy may heave the sigh profound, And point to Winter following youth's sweet Spring, Mourn that love's rosy hue so soon must fade, Time to the eye's dear sunshine darkness bring ; Still by your smiles a paradise is made ; E'en when the beauteous bird hath taken wing. And hushed the music. Memory hoards the past, Calls up young days, and charms us to the last. But little dreamt the lovely one, who bent Wrapped in devotion, that another's eye Was fixed upon her there, and glances sent Which well might spread o'er cheeks the crimson dye ; That passing moment sealed the gazer's fate. Bade Petrarch for a life lament and sigh. And gave to Laura more than wealth or state — The dawning of a fame that ne'er would die ; She turned — ^beheld — ^the veil her face dropt o'er. And peace one vanquished heart would know no more. So he the scholar, bard, grave Wisdom's son. Tutoring his age, could school not his own mind, But passion half o'er reason victory won. His soul, while seeking truth, to dreams resigned. Then feeling, fount-like, gushed in lucid song — Such flower-decked channel love's bright wave will find ; Softly-melodious, Sorrow swept along, Parnassian bay with Cyprian myrtle twined ; Child of the storm-cloud, shines the aerial bow. So sprang his verse — 'twas born of tears and woe. 290 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. There are who hide their passion's fruitless flame, Deep smothered in their bosom's secret cell ; But Petrarch blazoned, and would crown with fame All that he felt, though weak were words to tell. Misplaced affection ! verging e'en on crime, Yet for its truth, those strains where sorceries dwell — ■ Heart-harmony to charm each age and clime — We half forgive, and censure's frown repel. Blind to the moral, all the beauty see. Won by that dream — Platonic purity ! (Ill) But Petrarch strove by reason, study, flight. To chase her image from his spirit's glass ; He saw that image by his lamp's pale light ; In distant lands 'twould still before him pass. Nature and soul waged fierce and ceaseless war. Ay, mind would rise to heaven, but soon, alas ! Sink hke rash Phaeton from the Day-god's car ; Resolves would melt like dew from morning's grass, His spirit countless feelings doomed to share, Now strong, now weak, in joy and now despair. He dreamt at last seclusion's silent shade Would cool the fire, consuming life away. And yield him strength, and bring reflection's aid, Love's light absorbed by pure religion's ray : Vain thought ! the heart in solitude will feed Oft on itself, its own tame, yielding prey ; There calm and beauty thousand visions breed. Softness unnerves, and mocks at reason's sway ; Tranquil the hours may glide, and free from strife. But passion gains e'en strength in lonely life. PAKT III.] VAUOLTTSE. 291 Guarded by hills, and picturesque with rocks, Renowned as Tempe, spreads Yauclusia's vale ; The far-oiF cascade's dash, the bleat of flocks. The leaves' soft harpings to the wooing gale ; The plaint of Sorga's* stream that shines and glides, Mirroring the crimson rose, and lily pale ; The gushing song of some lone bird, that hides 'Mid blossomed boughs, to chant his amorous tale — Such only are the sounds that lull the ear. Of him who, flying cities, wanders here. Pause, nor with lightness tread this haunted place ; To all around undying memories cling ; They bathe in light, and clothe with nameless grace The mossy crag, wild steep, and limpid spring ; Love hath immortal made the wave, the grot. And colours still each fair or rugged thing ; Genius hath thrown his mantle o'er the spot, Sighs from liis cave, and wakes his warbling string ; Eevolving years but deeper charms impart To Petrarch's home — this valley of the heart ! Come, and behold the vine-impurpled hill. His footstep scaled to greet the rising morn ; Enter the sparry bower cool, grateful still, Where his love-lays, his golden thoughts were born ; • The Sorga or Sorgue takes its rise at the great fountain ot Vaucluse, and, flowing through the T:illey, after a course of some miles, falls into the Ehdne near Avignon. Though the scenery for the most part is very sterile, there are plots i>f much fertility bordering the stream, while vines iire cultivated on the high grounds. 292 SPIRITS or THE PAST. [BOOK. III. Doubt not yon ruin held him once a guest — Walls owlets haunt, and ivy- wreaths adorn ;* Then on the bank, his ancient garden, rest, Here had he plied the tasks that proud men scorn, Trained his young trees, and watched his flowrets blow. Forgetting life awhile, and half his woe.f But chief we see him where yon fountain gushes. Bright from the cave, that yawns so dark and deep ; The water like a maddened spirit rushes. But soon in shining glass the wavelets creep : Unchanged the rocks, the basin, all things here, Wliere Petrarch wont to lean, and vigil keep, TOl Love, thought dead, revived from Sorrow's bier. And pride e'en blushed that manhood's ej'e could weep ; O'er his soul's light its mists frail passion threw, And all his old wounds, opening, bled anew. Romantic vale ! the hard and worldly feel No interest here, their hearts confess no glow; In vain to them bright fancy, love, appeal. In vain for them harmonious numbers flow ; Nought reck they Petrarch's glen ; the rocks, the liiU, His muse immortalised, the stream below. The tree, perchance he planted, blooming still — No charm on these do vanished years bestow ; * Situated on aliigh rock not far from the fountain, are seen at this day the remains of the Bisliop of Cavaillon's castle, wliere Petrarch was a frequent visitor ; his own house was farther down the valley. t Petrarch, by his own account, had two gardens, one near the fountain which he dedicated to Apollo, and the other, form- ing a small island in the river near his cottage, sacred to Bacchus. PABT III.] VAUCLUSE. 293 Nature's tame, present face they only see ; The past is nought, their " all" the hours to be. O Time ! our heart make sad, our locks turn gray, Do all but quench warm feeling's sacred fire ! Do all but darken fancy's starry ray ! The grave may claim its dust when these expire. For us the haunt of genius, home of love. Though ages twine their ivy 'round the lyre. Attract, delight the spirit far above What they, the scorners of the past, admire ; Who ne'er have loved, the passion will despise. As souls close-wed to earth contemn the skies. Vaucluse ! when he who pens this line shall sleep Calm in his dusty bed, to dream no more, No Up to breathe his name, no eye to weep, Oblivion's shade his urn fast falling o'er, Thou to thy stream so bright, and rocks so old, Shalt still draw feet from many a distant shore ; For all on this dull earth will not wax cold. But honour genius, laud the great of yore : While Sorga glides, and tower thy cliffs in air, Petrarch's proud fame shall cast a glory there. (112) Did Laura love ? or feign love's power to feel. Bidding for anxious years her captive bow ? Did vanity alone — her heart all steel — The Tuscan poet's amorous dream allow ? Dim light upon the truth do records cast, Yet well we know she broke not Hymen's vow, But cherished white-souled virtue to the last, In times when few could raise a spotless brow ; 294: SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. E'en when she softly smiled, her woman's pride Dashed rock-like back temptation's wildest tide. And learn we, too, though well her soul could veil Its inmost thoughts, she proved no sculptured stone, (113) Cold in its dazzling beauty, but a tale Of love's warm life to trusted friends was known. Her feelings, hasty rebels, oft would rise In arms against the mind ; a treasured tone Of Petrarch's voice could prompt her secret sighs, Though ne'er was weakness in his presence shown ; Harsh, when she longed to yield his sorrow balm, Her breast was tumult, while her mien was calm. A star that gleams behind an ebon cloud. Yet not less bright because obscured its ray. Was Laura's love ; serene amidst the crowd. Conscious of rectitude, she walked her way ; But in lone hours, humility and shame Oppressed her sold, that softness thus should sway A heart another claimed ; the hidden flame Burned slowly on ; a blight upon her lay ; Her lot seemed famed and brilliant, but her years Were passed in mental strife, and fruitless tears. He stood before her now to say farewell,* He who had sung her praise, and loved so long ; His passion time, religion, nought could queU, Deeper the current grew, and poured more strong : * The last interview of Petrarch with Laura took place at Avignon, previously to his departure for Italy in the year 1347, about a twelve-month before her death. PART lit.] LAURA. 205 A word of kindness still could brim with joy The heart which 'gainst her honour dared no wrong, And stUl her frown was torture ; hopes that buoy, Fears that depress, a whirlwind swept along ; Love had grown being's essence, was the breath Of second life ; to love no more — were death. And Laui'a sat in silence; e'en that hour When fate would part their lots, joy's dreamings o'er. Swayed by high honour, she possessed a power To hide love's secret in her heart's deep core : Save that her eyes glanced down, face paler grew, And snowy brow a thoughtful sadness wore, She looked unmoved, reserve so darkly threw Round her the shade its arts had thrown before ; Her sigh was prisoned in her bosom's cell. And if tears sprang, she checked them ere they feU. Yet with this firm, mind-governed, tranquil air, If prying eye had pierced the close-drawn screen. And laid the world within — that bosom bare, Piteous and fearful had appeared the scene ; There love and virtue in wUd contest stood, Fruitless compassion, joined to anguish keen, And broken peace that sighs for solitude. And vainly-nursed regrets for what had been, And oh ! that burning to disclose the whole. Pent up, Hke some tomb-lamp, within the soul. Partings in this dark world oft make Us feel The hard and bitter wish we ne'er had met ; Or deep, unhallowed cravings on us steal. For Lethe's draught, to teach us to forget ; 296 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. But duty hath its claim ; 'tis ours to bear ; We may not stifle grief, or hush regret, But we may liope, and, hoping, chase despair ; A second happier meeting waits us yet, Spirit with radiant spirit linked above. And earlier joys renewed, and all our love. Perchance such hope nerved Laura at that hour. She gave one glance, and slowly turned away ; And Petrarch watched her ; lips had lost the power To shape in words what anguished mind would say : He gazed, as one who views with mournful eyes The setting sun withdraw his beauteous ray ; Sadder, and dimmer grow the late bright skies. And now a gleam but gUds the bier of day ; Laura, like that sunk orb, had pass'd from sight. And fell on Petrarch's spirit darkest night. They met no more ; the bolt that vengeance hurled To punish man for crime, and scatter woe- Mysterious will of Him who rules the world — Laid too the gentle and the guiltless low. The demon of the Plague was loosed from hoL, (114) With poison-breath, and eyes of fiery glow. To weave with Death his desolating spell. And make a tomb of loveliest scenes below ; Wliere'er his blasting pinions fanned the air. Terror, dismay were born, and stalked despair. Nought checked th' Avenger's course ; the rolling sea, The flowery vale, the breezy mountain's side. Alike he sought ; man vainly hoped to flee, The shaft o'ertook him, and he writhed and died ; PART in.] THE PLAGUE OF AVIGNON. 297 That Plague spared not the fresh-lipped, rosy child, Gay, boisterous youth, or hardy manhood's pride, Nor did he pause where witching Beauty smiled, E'en favour to the saint his scourge denied. A cry went up to heaven of fear and pain, But demons laughed below — it rose in vain. The Plague-fiend stood by olive-bordered Eh6ne, And there prepared his deadliest darts to fling ; As his red eye viewed stately Avignon, With fell delight he flapped his vampire-wing : His work begins ; deep silence reigns around. For fears to mind and body torpor bring ; But winds soon bear a dull and wailing sound, As victims fall, and priests their requiems sing ; And now from many a tower, the heavy bell Booms sullen out — the dead man's funeral kneU. Friend turns from friend ; dissolved are social ties ; Ye know not now the master from his slaves ; The palace, dead its guests, deserted lies ; Men scarce are found to dig for others graves. His gold the flying miser leaves behind. Commerce no longer stems Rh6ne's silent waves ; With cross and image sad processions wind ; The orphan weeps, the new-made widow raves ; The warrior cowers, the sage's cheek is pale, While still the death-knells load the dismal gale. Yet strange, surrounded thus by death and fear, Some yield to fiery mirth, and mock at woe ; As if, because eternity were near, They'd snatch from life all life can still bestow ; U 2 98 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. As if a burst of madness, raised by dread And coming doom, laid virtue, reason low ; Thus storm-tossed seamen, when all hope hath fled, Shout, and carouse, and bid the wine-cup flow. Till the bark whelmed, and foundering far from shore, They sink 'mid ocean's depths for evermore. Enter yon gorgeous hall — ^the feast is crowned ; Eyes flash delight, none here heed woe or wailing, The goblet sparkles, gleesome voices sound. Music her sister Pleasure softly hailing ; Gush perfumed founts that cool the sultry air ; Maids weave the dance, not yet their light feet failing ; A wild and desperate rapture rages there. Before king Death no hardy spirit quailing ; Come Plague's foul blast, or Purgatory's fire, 'Mid joy they'll sink, 'mid odours they'll expiire ! The day wears on ; behold the Bacchic crowd ! Grim Death, exulting, claims his victims now ; Gone are their smiles of glee, their laughter loud, The fatal plague-spot stamp'd on many a brow. Some in their dazzling festive-garments lie. Listless and fainting ; some o'er fountains bow To cool their lips, but while they drink they die ; Some Lrave their fate, and scorn of heaven avow ; But none repent, as crime with double power Swayed the lost, ruined soul that awful hour. Yet in doomed Avignon was other scene, Where death a calm, a beauteous aspect wore, And Kesignation bowed her head serene, As plants droop meek their leaves, when day is o'er. PART III.] THE PLAGUE OP AVIGNON. 299 Hushed was the room, the moon's white slanting ray, Creeping through oriel windows, kissed the floor, Showed mirror, vase with flowers no longer gay. And unstrung harp whose tones would wake no more. For ah ! the hand, that once the chords could thrill With music's soul, would soon be cold and still. There Laura leant, her form as "marble pale, Down her loose robes her locks in masses streaming. Her neck's soft snow beneath the floating veil. Her lifted eyes with fever's brightness gleaming ; Her beauty like the radiance of a sun Descending west, the clouds in sorrow seeming To wrap its splendour, ere its course be run, But still through mists the rays of purple beaming, More tender, touching, lovely to the sight. Than when the orb at noon poured dazzling light. She feared not death, but waited its advance ; Could hero more who falls on glory's plain ? The rush of steeds, the flash of sword and lance. The rattling cannon, drown the sense of pain ; But here death comes in calm ; no passions wake; And still reflection brings its brooding train ; Here can the soul with self last commune take. Think of its schemes, its visions nursed in vain, And crowd the memory of life's varying years, In that one closing hour of hopes and fears. Chill lay the moonlight on her brow as cold ; She said farewell to those who mourned around ; Her hand put back a straggling tress of gold. Her pale lip, quivering, moved, but breathed no sound. 300 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK TII. Prayed she for one who, absent, nothing knew Of this her fate ? whom fruitless love had bound Close to her heart? oh ! yes, her fancy flew To Petrarch's side, to love's forbidden ground ;* She mourned her weakness, o'er his sorrows sighed, Now bowed to love, and now love's power defied. Her life had been one struggle to repress The«heart's affection, and to guard her name From slander's blight, yet loved she not the less. Though all unseen that inward smouldering flame : He deemed her cold — 'twas well — for had he known Her locked-up secret, haply sin and shame Had whelmed them both; now virtue all her own. Her end was peace, and none could taunt or blame ; Calm as some stream that shines and meets the sea, Her soul would melt into eternity. " Farewell !" she sighed ; " from thee may mercy turn The poison-shaft that sends me to the tomb ! Not yet shall weeping Genius deck thine urn. Not yet for thee the cypress casts its g-loom : My crime hath been to love too fond and well. And Heaven for this decrees an early doom ; Why rise, vain hopes ? why, Nature, thus rebel 1 The mind its nobler gifts shall still assume ; Yet the weak, doating heart how hard to guide ! How soon afiection melts the ice of pride ! * Petrarch at this time was at Verona. PART III.] LAURA. 301 " Descend, Eeligion ! with thy hallowing power, All earthly feelings purge, and chase away, Beams of celestial truth upon me shower ! Fond love ! I break thy spell, renounce thy sway ! Why stand between me and my God ? — Oh ! fair. And glorious scene my dazzled eyes survey ; Hark ! music, softly ringing, fills the air ; I gain a glimpse of bright immortal day ; Come, sister angels ! from yon opening sky. Lap me in bliss, and waft my soul on high !" Just then soft morn, from eastern mountains, threw Within that room its pale uncertain light ;* The stars went out, and stiU a rosier hue Fell on her changing cheek — deceptive sight ; It looked as mercy softened coming Death, And beautified with smiles his blank cold night ; Fancy might deem, to catch her gentle breath. Seraphs had glided from their heavenly height. And that rich tint their golden wings had cast ; So Laura whispered, smiled, and breathed her last. Rest, beautiful and famed ! Provincla's flower ! No soul that love, or flattery's nectar'd line. E'er urged to wrong, more firmly stood their power, Was humbler, gentler, or more pure than thine ; The Eh6ne in crystal near thy grave still flows, Not clearer than thy name ! young hands still twine. Not sweeter than thy story, Gallia's rose; The fairies dream of thee at day's decline ; * Petrarch states on the leaf of his Virgil, now in the Ambro- sian library at Milan, that Laura died early on the morning of the sixth of April, 1348. 302 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. Petrarch o'er wild Yaucluse his spells hath thrown, WhUe thy sweet spirit haunts the banks of Rhone. (115) One more of soft Ausonia's poet-kings, Who owed to woman all their joy and woe, Eises upon our visions ; genius flings On Dante's, Petrarch's names, a radiant glow. But not less Kglit on him, Sorrento's pride. Who sang of Solyma, whose numbers flow Soft as the purl of Jordan's lapsing tide. Now wild as storms 'round Lebanon that blow ; Poet of war ! the Homer of the West ! Of all his beauty, half his fire possessed. Yet what made Tasso 'midst his glorious dreams, His sky-wove fancies, soul-enthralling strain, A sorrow-stricken man, fame's brightest beams Gilding his hours, and honoured path in vain ? Drove him an outcast from each friend to roam, The mark of insult, and the sport of pain. Without a resting-place, a hope, a home. Tin frenzy touched his finely-tempered brain ? 'Twas too aspiring love, that dream which burned His heart to ashes, though no fair one spurned.* Love came to Tasso, not a frolic boy, With painted wings, and jocund, laughing eye. His arrow steeped in honied dews of joy, Hope in his smile, and rapture in his sigh ; * Little liglit lias been thro^ii by the researches of biographers on the real sentiments entertained by the princess Leonora d' Este for Tasso, bnt whatever they might have been, we on no occasion find that she harshly treated her illustrious admirer. PART HI.] TASSO'S LEONORA. 303 But like an evil G-enius, whose dark wand Bade every form of peace and pleasure fly, And raised instead a haunting fiendly band — Wrath, jealousy, suspicion ne'er to die. Till from their temple — his own soul — he shrank. And to the bitter dregs woe's chalice drank. Yet half his misery self-inflicted seemed, The great he humbly courted, loathed in turn; The eyes of Este's Beauty kindly beamed, But Tasso's heart for more than smiles would burn : His morbid fancy thought each friend a foe. He lacked supporting pride to shun or spurn Dullness in power, high Vice, and tinsel show ; The sage's nobler part he ne'er could learn. But stooped to idle flattery, courtly wiles, And hung most abjectly on royal smiles. (116) He paid his folly's penalty in tears. And want and scorn ; the small tyrannic kings That swayed Italia' s sod, whose names few years Have sepulchred 'neath black Oblivion's wings, Knew not the hidden wealth of Tasso's soul. Bead not the genius that, high-vaulting, springs O'er the dull plodding present tow'rds a goal — Fame which its light on distant ages flings ; Thus Tasso's heart no sympathy could find. Blooming 'raid wastes the oasis of his mind. Where power in gray Ferrara low is laid, And Este's banner flaunts no more the skies, Do we not meet, each step, wronged Tasso's shade ? The very air hangs heavy with his sighs ; 304 SPIBITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. The Po, dark-gliding, whispers of his grief ; Pause we where Anna's dungeon crumbling lies ; The heart in cursing tyrants finds relief. But soon the pitying tear-drop fills our eyes ; In misery there was Grenius doomed to dwell, Drag on long years, and feel on earth a hell. (117) And yet on Tasso beamed some sunny hours. Ere tyranny and sorrow quenched their light, When Hope tripped jocund, Pleasure scattered flowers. And high-born Leonora charmed his sight. — Day lit Ferrara's palace, rich the room, With statues glowing, and with mirrors bright. Save where huge draperies made voluptuous gloom ; Odours went up from floor to ceiling's height ; Lute, harp, flowers, tomes, in sweet confusion lay. Taste rivalling wealth in that august display. And there sat she, the genius of the place. The beauteous sorceress of the haunted cell ; Yet hers was not a Hebe's, Juno's grace, No lofty form, no breast where Cupids dwell ; Ho who had seen that slim and fragile frame. That foot which scarce might crush the heather-bell. That pale sad eye which shot no spirit-flame. That hueless cheek where sickness' shadow fell,* Might ne'er believe such charms had force to bind, With tlireads of fire, a Tasso's soaring mind. * Leonora is said to have suffered from habitual ill healtli, having been weak and fragilely delicate in her best days. PART III.] TASSO'S LEONORA. 305 And yet her very weakness proved her power ; Th' ethereal beauty of the heaven-set bow, All delicate and dying in an hour, Outshines the earth-born jewel's gaudiest glow ; The frailty, pallor of that airy form. Those accents sad, and musically low. The glances of those eyes more sweet than warm, The ready tear that fell for others' woe, Sweet types of purity, to her were given, Linked her to angels in his fancy's heaven. The maiden gazed on Tasso, bending near, Reading his tale of Salem,* yet unknown To that wide world, which soon its fame would hear, Like music, or the thunder's spreading tone : As Leonora listened, beat her heart With sweet pulsations ; wonder oft was shown Lighting her azure eye, her lips apart. Her ringlets from her forehead backward thrown, Her figure motionless, her breatliings hushed, Her cheek with mind's emotions softly flushed. His tale might well enchant fond woman's breast, Or melt it into love ; the noble knight. The darkened East fierce struggling with the West, Tancred the warm of soul, the bold in fight ; * Tasso, after his introduction to Alfonso's court by Cardinal Luigi, was in the habit of reading the Cantos of his Gerusalemme, as he composed them, to Leonora and her sister Lucrezia ; he was at this time about twenty-two years of age, Leonora being nine years his senior. 306 SPIEITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. Olindo's hapless passion* — hosts of hell — Armida, like an angel Eden-bright, Ensnaring warriors by her fatal spell. In bowers of roses, and in grots of light ; And oh ! Clorinda's anguish, doomed to feel In her own faithful heart her lover's steel : AU charmed the beauteous listener — dangerous hour For Tasso and for her ! his tones that crept Through those fair ears, with sweet attractive power, Eeached the heart's depths where feeling's currents swept ; She spoke not, but she sighed, and turned her head; Emotions strange, and thoughts that long had slept. Sprang into life ; his verse Hke fuel fed Some secret flame; she knew not why, but wept. Strove against weakness, drew her mantle o'er Her pale, sweet face — ^looked up — but wept the more. And Tasso's voice grew fainter as he read ; And oft he paused, a furtive glance to throw On her who these warm tears of feeling shed ; Then would he draw more nigh, and bend more low; The scroll, his task forgotten, dropp'd at last, His eyes but saw that face, where soon would glow The peach-like blush — such modest morn mil cast. Rising from Night's starred bed, on hills below : And still they paused and gazed, but nought confessed ; Love oft in silence tells his secret best. * Olindo, enamoured of Sofronia, as described in Canto II. of the Gerusalemme, is evidently meant by Tasso as the repre- sentation of himself aspiring in vain to the hand of the princess Leonora. PART III.] TASSO'S LEONORA. 307 Oh ! happy, halcyon hours of youth and hope ! The only golden moments Tasso knew, Ere doomed with bitter fate, and foes to cope ; Bliss, too, on Leonora sunshine threw; They dreamt, but soon, alas ! their dream must fly ; No mate for that poor bard was one who drew Her blood from Princes ; fruitless Tasso's sigh ; The Magian loves the star in Heaven's deep blue, But may not hope its far-off bowers to gain ; So heart-struck Tasso gazed, adored in vain. (118) Dark was the fate of Royalty's fair child, Her thoughts, her struggles, and her love unknown ; If on her head were threats and curses piled, For favour to a landless minstrel shown. Or proud Alfonso broke her blighted heart, Torquato wronged, his cherished dreams o'erthrowu. We only know she lived, and pined apart, Sad, pale as she whom sorrow turned to stone ;* None claimed her hand ; life's dim and weary hour Wore coldly on, her path without a flower."!" But Tasso's love which took too high a flight. While filling his warm soul with visions fair, Upraised his spirit to a dizzy height ; Though oft cast down, he still would rashly dare; * Niobe. t Leonora was imbued with deep religious feeling, and was very famous for acts of charity and benevolence; yet a shadow of melancholy invests her whole history, and we feel that there was something more to be told than the world knew of. 308 sriEiTS OF THE PAST. [book III. Ardent and sensitive, his haughty mind Spurned at each check, nor ills could firmly bear ; His mental wounds kind Pity failed to bind ; Then, too, ideal miseries brought despair; He deemed th' Almighty's curse upon him lay, While fiery vengeance tracked his hopeless way.* A ruin, lost the glory once it wore. Its rampart shattered, grass o'ergrown its tower. The courts which rang with festive songs of yore. The hooting owlet's melancholy bower ; All savage loneliness its former pride, Wildness, repulsive gloom, its mournful dower ; A place where ghosts of other years might glide. Chilling the traveller e'en at mid-day hour ; Where joy can never more a harbour find — A ruin like to this was Tasso's mind. Yet see ! at times soft sunbeams from the West, In purple lines, on broken bastions fall, Paint richly Heraldry's long -faded crest. And warm the cold and ivy-mantled wall ; So gorgeous fancies played 'round Tasso stiU, Making all lovely Reason's ruined hall ; And while his very madness hearts would chill, Grenius flashed out, and held its ancient thrall, And beautified the wreck, till phrenzy seemed A hallowed thing beneath the light that beamed. * Taaso, among other imaginary evils, believed himself under the ban of the church, and suiJering from the displeasure of lieaven, for certain theological doctrines which he held. PAUT III.] TASSO'S LEONORA. 309 For this, and love's fond tale too plainly told, Was Tasso doomed to Anna's dreary cell ; Forgetting justice, mercy, days of old, Wrath now had made Alfonso's heart a hell : Proud slave ! who deemed the bard should bend the knee To him and his, that threats his soul could quell, Who rather than the high-born maiden see Torquato's bride, had heard her funeral knell ; Poor insect of an hour ! scorned Tasso gives His meanness life, through him the tyrant lives. (119) He sat within the prison ; Evening's ray Crept slanting through the bars ; so still, so bright, Shone that last messenger of parting day. It seemed to whisper peace, and smile — good night ! No frenzy now disturbed the poet's eye, Which only mirrored sadness; with that light His dying love was summoned to the sky — One spirit more to join the infinite ! Hark ! from the towers around that solemn toll, Ringing from earth to heaven a parted soul ! The ethereal, and the beautiful had flown. Her love untold, her sorrow unrevealed ; And Tasso in his cell bowed sad and lone ; For him no pleasure now wide earth could yield ; Eeason or madness, freedom, chains, the same — He saw in life but one dull flowerless field, TJnrecked dark tjrranny, unvalued fame, To all, save memory's charm, his bosom steeled; One blissful thought, that still he might be dear To her above, would chase the captive's tear. 310 SPIRITS or THE PAST. [bOOK III. Ay, let the hapless victim woo that dream ; Fancy's fair forms, and genius active still, Made e'en liis prison glorious, for the beam Of thought's bright sun can darkest dungeon fill : Ages have spread their mists, but, sparkling through, His radiant star crowns fame's immortal hill, And near, a paler planet meets our view — A soul that charmed him once, yet brought him ill — A soul that, lowlier born, had soothed to rest His burning, wayward heart, and made him blest. Land ! where Yesuvius breathes its wrath in fire, And Arno through a leafy Eden sweeps, Where seas hymn music — Nature's untaug'ht choir — And only priest-rid man degraded sleeps ; Where Taste o'er wrecks of art doth sigh and burn, And beauty hallows Euin, while he keeps His funeral watch by Glory's mouldering urn. And Power on desolate columns sits and weeps — Land ! fare thee well ! thy gray and classic shore Must prompt our dreams, and warm our heart no more. Climes of the great in soul ! a long adieu ! The conquering Roman, and the godlike Greek, The \-ision-lapped Ionian, he who threw All passions in the marble, strong or weak, Ennoble ye no more, for men's dull eyes Only the clay they tread on darkly seek ; Their hearts are cold, their spirits may not rise, For them no Platos write, no Tullys speak : Mind's sun goes down, we hear dead Genius' knell ; Climes of departed light ! once more farewell ! PABT III.] ENGLAND. 311 The South and East have proved, for circling ages, The cradle-place of wisdom and of power ; There mighty empires rose, there priests and sages Formed creeds sublime, and taught their destined hour. The balance moves ; a change comes o'er earth's face ; The Greek, the Persian, Eoman, now must cower, And yield their glories to a loftier race ; The once mean hut hath grown a bannered tower : Art, Science, Learning, northward turn their wings. The Celt and Teuton now are lords and kings. That blended race advances, patient, slow ; Its sons earth's workers seem, no deed too great. Too arduous for their daring ; oceans flow To spread their empire, and exalt their state; Their science bows stern Nature to their will ; Fancy and Genius, handmaids, on them wait ; What ancients knew they hoard ; their passing sldll Doth all but vanquish death, and baffle fate ; They feel their streng'th, and march with flag unfurl' d. The humanising conquerors of the world ! Land of this wondrous race ! thrice favoured Isle ! When Egypt blazed in glory, all unknown, How has the Celto-Teuton, scorned erewhile By vaunting Eome, in thee gigantic grown ! (120) His energies an earthquake, and his mind Spreading its powers like fire ; from zone to zone. His equal in all gifts we shall not find ; Britannia ! north or south, where stands thy throne ? 'Tis as a mountain rooted deep and fast, Whose mighty shade o'er half the globe is cast ! 312 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. Go, tread Canadian wilds, and track the land Thence sweeping northward to the ice-bound pole ; Skim the hot seas by spicy breezes fanned. Till Austral waves on far, far Zealand roU ; Vast India roam, where superstition's cloud Hath wrapped, since Noah's flood, the human soul ; Stretch to Cathay,* whose plains such millions crowd, Ne'erreach'dby Greece— that mock'd atKome's control; There Celto-Teutons see ! their art, their skill, Far Britain honoured, feared — the watchword still I Oh thou, while writes this fraU and trembling hand. That sittest on a throne — thy people's hearts ! What countries, races, own one fair command — Lands, whence th' unsetting day-god ne'er departs ! What power is thine ! — thy gentle finger raise. An armament to shake the world upstarts ; Tow'rd thee a million eyes, their pole-star, gaze ; A spell to sway all souls thy name imparts ; And yet they love, while bending low the knee. The graces smUing, virtues met in thee. The great of old, how small their realms to thine ! Zenobia with her proud and martial mien, And she, the mightiest of the Chaldee line,| Moved but as puppets of a narrow scene. Reign, in thy glory, reign ! peace, wisdom, love. Hang thy bright throne with flowers ! the skies that lean In sapphire o'er our Isle, the stars above, Shower each sweet influence on thee, Britain's queen ! Thine empire gladdening while it lights the West, Thy rich prerogative — to make men blest ! * Cathay— China. f Semiramis. PABT III. J ENGLAND. 313 He who on England's annals casts his eye, Shall read of brilliant names a long array, That not in vain with Grecian lights shall vie ; Their beams, reflected, gild our modern day : Valour with Freedom's sword — calm Learning clad In Virtue's stole — ^Wit flashing keen and gay — Philosophy nor light, nor sternly sad — Art stealing colour from the rainbow's ray — Sweet Poesy, the lyre within her hand — All here were born, fair natives of this land. And woman, too, stands forth in honour's train ; Bright shines for her the new ascending star ; Learning's high, misty steep she now may gain. Mind-culture breaking down her prison-bar ; For noblest gifts and powers in woman shown. O'er all the Orient boasts exalted far. Her influence softening Discord's harshest tone. And casting Rudeness from his ancient car; For Beauty's higher charms that mind enthral, England no rival owns save polished Gaul. But 'tis not ours for England's great to twine The humblest wreath of tributary song. Soft on their graves the stars of glory shine, And fame's loud trump their names shall echo long. Defying Rome, th' Iceni's car-borne queen,* Wise Alfred framing laws, and stemming wrong, Spencer, with soul-lit eye, and brow serene, Avonia's bard, the Titan of the throng, * Boadicea. 314 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. And Newton, reader of yon starry frame, Sit on their well-earned thrones of earthly fame. Yet is there one — her image rising here — On whose sad story sorrow fain would dwell ; Not through a daring mind, or bold career. She won the praise of men, who loved her well ; 'Twas admiration for the pure and good, 'Twas sympathy that bade their bosoms swell : Live none, with hearts however cold or rude, That shall not warm the tender tale to tell ; And beams no eye, where mercy's light hath smiled. That shall not drop a tear for Suffolk's child. A gentle thing of youth, and love, and grace. Drinking at earUest hour of learning's spring, (121) An angel's sweetness stamped upon her face. An angel's form without its golden wing. She fills our dreams, her beauty mirrored clear In that bright glass the stainless virtues bring ; And all we paint of lovely, chaste, and dear. Sweet light around her memory seems to fling ; And half we think that crime had cast no shade On one, in this dark world, so spotless made. We see her 'neath the old ancestral trees, Whore her sire's mansion graced the verdant hill ;* The gamb'ling deer, the blossom-rifling breeze. The blackbird's mellow note, the hymning riU, Broadgate, the Duke of Suffolk's seat, in Leicestershire. PART III.J LADY JANE GREY. 315 Disturb not her bright dream, where rapture lies ; Her soul is with the past ; warm fancies fill Her spirit- world; around her gathering rise The great of eld, though dead immortal stiU — High Plato, mystic Dante, all whose lore Hath woke her soul to joys unknown before. The world, its honours, and its pageants yield No bliss like knowledge; oh ! she hopes for years To reap Philosophy's wide fruitful field. And rich with promise-flowers life's path appears. Her eye now seeks the slowly purpling West, Where cloud on cloud its crimson glory rears, And as poetic musings fire her breast. Her heart o'erflows, her cheek is wet with tears ; The lovely dreamer in yon radiant skies Sees seraph-ranks, and bowers of paradise. Thus lapped in bright imaginings, the soul Leaves life and low ambitions far behind. As if already, spurning earth's control. The exile strove its native heaven to find : white-winged hours of life's ecstatic prime ! The heart all freshness, energy the mind, Such dreams ne'er come to bless our after time. The spirit to a harsher law resigned ; And yet, as drawing nearer to the tomb. Thought should grow brighter, feeling fairer bloom. A sound of joy was heard in Dudley's halls ; Beauty and youth had met, and rank and pride ; Alive with music seemed the pictured walls. And light-heeled dancers swam from side to side ; 316 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. Each lip gave greetings, and each eye beamed gladness, The palace-lamps far shone o'er Thames' old tide ; Chase ye grim Care, and place a mask on sadness. Hail the gay bridegroom, bless the blushing bride ! The Lady Jane e'en smiles, while pleasure swells Her young coy heart, and love his secret tells.* Thus the fair student a fond wife became, Though short the summer of her love below ; Intrigue, ambition, like a blasting flame. Withered joy's bud before the rose could blow : Humble herself, false friends would place her high. Hoping all powerful, through her power, to grow ; A crown she took with dark foreboding sigh. And still the sceptre from her hand would throw, Felt deepest grief when forced to claim a throne, And prayed to live unhonoured and unknown. Brief royalty ! nine times the sun arose. And set on Dudley's bride as Britain's queen. Then did the pomp in gloom and terror close, A sanguine planet in th' ascendant seen ; Thou cruel daughter of a tyrant sire ! With soul as sombre as thy sullen mien,"!" Whose name is traced in blood, and writ in fire. Thy heart was like thine axe, cold, hard, and keen ; Youth, innocence, thou couldst not spare, for they Made thy hate bitterer by their sweet display. » In May, 1553, Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, in fur- therance of his ambitious projects, celebrated the nuptials of his fourth son, Lord Guilford Dudley, and the Lady Jane Grey, with great pomp at his palace (Durham House) in the Strand. t Queen Mary. PART III.] LADY JANE GKET. 317 Eve's shades were gathering 'round, and dull, and slow, Thames, like a huge black serpent, crept along ; No bannered barge did gay-dressed meniab row. Covering the banks was seen no shouting throng ; Boomed ou the air no cannon's loud salute, Proclaiming royalty ; the boatman's song Unheeded died away, and all was mute. Save shrill winds whistling corded masts among, Or rush of waters pouring blackly through The long, arched bridge — dim waves that ne'er were blue. She, late a sovereign, now a felon, leant In that dark gaUey stealing through the shade ; (122) Success, and thousands at her nod had bent ; Failure alone the branded traitress made ! She spoke no word, but meekly drooped her eyes. Submissive to her fate ; though law arrayed With thunder on her burst, still smile the slues Of sunny conscience, where no cloud hath strayed, But innocence makes clear, and brightens all, Victim of others' guilt her doom to fall. And Dudley, her young lord, sat mutely by, Condemned like her to death ; how sadly stole Tow'rds him at times the wife's despairing eye ! Her bursting grief her heart could scarce control ; Home-dreams, and gentle cares, the mother's bliss, The countless things that charm fond woman's soul, Were nothing now ; in death's unknown abyss. Dark clouds o'er her and hers must ever roll ; The husband and the bride, in life's warm bloom, Must fill a blood-stained, a dishonoured tomb. 318 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. Mournful and ominous, the galley passed ; Bridge, mansion, on its course appeared to lower; But now the rowers paused— it reached at last The fatal " gate "* of London's hoary Tower. — Dark walls ! within their round, in other years, What deeds were done by harsh tyrannic power ! What moans were breathed unheard ! what bitter tears Flowed in those cells— Despair's strong iron bower ! Here murdered infants sleep, here patriots died. Queens, beauties, wits, laid headless side by side. The lovely freight was landed at the stair; She climbed with feeble step the cold wet stone ; Down her black mantle streamed her golden hair, The pallid moon on paler features shone : Poor feet, that never more shall bounding tread The hill's green side, with flowers of summer strown ; Poor ears, that never more shall catch o'erhead, At matin prime, the lark's melodious tone ; Nature, adieu ! — sweet visions ! flee away ! Dark gate, unclose ! receive your trembling prey ! The hard, grim warders near the portal stood. And guards their spears in front were seen to bring. As if it tasked a warlike multitude, To hold and watch that fragile, gentle thing : No face showed pity, habit, duty long. Mind's wintry winds, had frozen Nature's spring ; Their eyes but marked the captive steal along ; The gate was closed with hollow-eolioing ring ; * The Traitor's Gate, opening upon the water, and through which state'Criminals were usually received into the Tower. PART III.] LADY JANE GREY. 319 Harsh on the victim's ear its gratings fell, Shutting out hope, like Dante's door of hell.* Stone were her prison-walls, the floor was oak, Faint streamed through iron grates the sicklied light ; Sad dragged the heavy hours when morning woke, But oh ! more sad when fell the dreary night ; Then thoughts of coming doom appalled her heart ; E'en when she slept, the visions, softly-bright, Of home and girlhood's hours, would soon depart. Like those false streams which charm the traveller's sight,t Lure his parched lip, then mocking melt in air, Deepening his pangs, and heightening his despair. Who, stalking in, confronts the prisoner now ? His robes of black a blacker bosom hide. His hand is lifted, scowls his haughty brow. Hot passion struggling with his icy pride. The Lady Jane condemns the Papist's creed,| Rejects his grace ; the churchman, thus defied. Speaks the anathema by Eome decreed — Her soul must long in penal fires abide. Each torture know, her loved lord never see. No felon, dyed in blood, so lost as she ! • Inscribed above the dark portal giving access to the " city of woe," Dante read the words — " All hope abandon, ye who enter here !" •(■ The mirage of the desert. I Fecknam, the Catholic Dean of St. Paul's, was sent by Queen Mary to Lady Jane in prison, with a view to reclaim her from the errors of the Protestant faith: the arguments of this accomplished woman, and her reasonings with her bigotted tor- mentor, evince an intellect of high order. 320 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. Proud man, dispenser of the wrath of Heaven ! As if thy own mean soul were sure of bliss, To thee and Rome, God's favour only given ; Who made thee judge in world so vast as this ? Know she, thou dost condemn, in light will rise, While thou shalt sink in torture's black abyss ; Her angel form will enter paradise ; The curser, not the cursed, Heaven's gate will miss; The heretic is bless'd, while he below. Once hailed a saint or prophet, wails in woe. 'Twas dead of night; the Thames with slumbrous sound Washed the long walls without ; the guard's dull tread Foil on the ear, as slow he paced his round ; The moon on tower and stream cold lustre shed : Stillness was hushing London's mighty heart. The reveller had gone home. Toil sought his bed. Want dreamt of plenty, sad Love soothed his smart. Through happy scenes by sky-born fancy led ; All heaven appeared to smile, and earth to rest. Nor heed the anguish of one hopeless breast. Within those walls she sat, that tranquil night. Her last on earth ! — how shrinks the soul to know The moment fixed, when doomed to wing its flight From all it sees, admires, and loves below ! Yet soon the captive stilled her troubled air. Her shiverings ceased, her lip regained its glow, And, placid as a nun, you saw her there. Her white hands clasped, her fair head bending low ; While conscious innocence brought soothing balm, And resignation lent her bosom calm. PART m.j LADY JAXE GEET. 321 Her maids bowed near her, yielding to wild grief, And kissed her hands, and wet her robes with tears ; They marked her placid smile, but felt how brief Its light would be — their spirits shrank with fears : But soft her voice was heard ; it chid their sorrow, Her finger pointing to heaven's shining spheres ; There would her happy soul ascend to-morrow. And time be merged in everlasting years ; Why mourn life's woes and trials early past ? E'en to the oldest death must come at last. " Think not," she cried, " I go, this lovely earth,. And all that fills yon sky, to see no more ; Heaven hath not called the universe to birth Only for man, till life's brief dream is o'er : ShaU I not, though unbodied, still behold Earth's very liills, and hear wild ocean roar ? And trace the stars along their orbits rolled ? The sun wiH blaze in glory as before : Oh! wrong to deem, though raised more pure, more high, We're severed from creation when we die." So spoke that youthful thinker, and her creed Was pleasing, beautiful, and haply true ; When the soul's destinies we strive to read, And pierce with prying eye yon depths of blue, Perchance too low we hold created things, Deeming the mighty globes we faintly view. Unworthy subtile spirit, which upsprings. And asks some home where seraph never flew ; No, worlds, more bright and blest than ours, may be The heaven ordained by bounteous Deity. 322 SPIRITS or the past. [book hi. But morning dawns — the time of death is near — Calm waits the prisoner in that gloomy tower ; She dares not meet her lord, though loved so dear, Lest her heart fail her at the trying hour : Dark preparations stir the courts below. Here whisper groups, there brows are seen to lower; Some cautious creep, some hurry to and fro ; All speak the tale of fell remorseless power ; While the dull hammer rings — harsh sounds of fear — As busy hands the fatal scaffold rear. Hark ! that low shriek — she saw her husband borne (123) To cruel death ; her fair hand gave a sign To cheer his sinking soul ; her heart was torn By dread suspense, till back, in mournful line. They brought the "unsouled" man, the headless trunk — That noble form where g-races wont to shine ; Then sobbing, fainting, on the floor she sunk. As spirit would at last its strength resign. Covering her face, while many a bursting sigh Spoke the full force of struggling agony. 'Twas o'er — that weakness passed — she calmly rose, Her turn had come — away ! unworthy tears ! Guilt may cower down, and tremble at life's close. But Innocence looks up, renouncing fears. Dress'd in black robe, a veil around her head. Slow through the lane of halberds, pikos, and spears, The victim moved, unchilled, unbowed by dread. Aged in courage, though so young in years ! All eyes were bent on one, who soon would be From wrong released, from woe and suffering free. PART III.J LADY JANE GREY. 323 She stood upon the scaffold ; pale her face, Yet ruffled by no passion ; ne'er before Looked she so beautiful ; a saintly grace Seemed, halo-like, her figure shining o'er : One hand upon her heart was meekly pressed ; In lines of gold, far down the robes she wore, Fell her rich auburn hair ; her loving breast Heaved gently as a wave on summer's shore ; Her eye as infancy's was clear and blue. And 'round a glance of sweet forgiveness threw. The headsman on the platform stood aside. Leaning upon his axe ; his callous soul Seemed moved by what he saw ; each voice had died. And notliing sounded but the death-bell's toll : A cloud passed o'er the sun, as Nature mourned That piteous scene, and deeper shadows stole, Darkening pale anxious faces upward turned ; Men scarce their secret feelings could control, And evermore that picture would remain, Haunting the heart, and imaged on the brain. She spoke in softest accents, yet her words Eeached in that solemn hush each eager ear, Thrilling in many a breast warm Nature's chords, Calling to many an eye the pitying tear. To know her innocent, and see her there. Placed on that platform, soon to be her bier. In mind so gifted and in form so fair. To close in blood her young and high career, Suffering for deeds in which she bore no part — Ah ! well a pang might pierce the gazer's heart ! 324 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. The headsman now drew near ; with steady hand He grasped his axe, and measured with his eye The distance to the block ; the sprinkled sand Would soon disclose the fatal sanguine dye : The man of death the lovely victim viewed ; Her neck, now bare, with taintless snow might vie, And could he strike ? — those curls that falling wooed The rounded shoulders — must he thrust them by ? dark and murderous task ! to take away Such life by law, such thing of beauty slay ! Hold ! yet a moment — dropping on her knees, She raised her face, and clasped her hands in prayer ; She bless'd heaven's will, and bless'd her enemies. And felt no pang to leave a world of care : To One all great and wise her soul would go, Eternal calm with him she loved to share. In realms beyond sin's taint, and wrong and woe, No second death to cause sad partings there, Mind o'er unthinking matter raised supreme. And basking endless years in rapture's beam. Still in that kneeling posture she remained, And tied the bandage 'round her own sweet eyes;* Her strength some mourning angel sure sustained ; Her head bowed down — look. Pity ! from the skies ! Weep, Mercy ! for the blood-stained acts of man — A flash — 'twas done ! — then burst forth sobs and sighs ; That hour for her eternity began, The last of time, and human agonies. Her spirit from a scaffold borne above, By hands unseen, and soothed by smiles of love. (124) * Historicallj' true. PART III.] CONCLUSION. 325 And here, as mounts that soul, we close our strain, For all too long we've lingered on our theme, Evoking spirits that may speak in vain, Though once in life — not phantoms of a dream. Ye who find joy alone in present hours, On whom tlie gay world smiles, bright fortunes beam. Know nought of that deep rapture which devours The ardent heart, half frenzy though it seem. Holding its fancied commune with the dead. Calling from night's still tomb the ages fled. « The future is a blank, yet worldly eyes Turn only there ; a cloud in truth is cast. Though gathering splendour from Time's sunset-skios — A gorgeous cloud upon the far-off past : There would we Kve, nor forward seek to gaze. But backward still, enamoured of the vast Yet peopled desert of departed days ; The grand survey methinks a life might last ; The future gives no lesson, all we know Comes from gone hours, as streams from fountains flow. Our vision dies ; we've summoned on the scene The evil and the good, the great, the fair, A moment on them glanced, their eyes serene. Or joy's bright ray, or sorrow's tear-drop there; Stamped with humanity's distinctive seal. They've passed us by, life's changes doomed to share ; And now they fade ; dim mists around them steal — Sepulchral shapes slow-vanishing in air — Fame's favoured sons that charmed so long our lay ; We gaze again, and all have passed away. 326 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. Oh ! whither passed ? what gulf, what unpierced space, Hold their once active spirits ? never more They glad or grieve us here ; we cannot trace The depths they fathom, or the heights they soar, Ejiow if they glide in awe by sun or star. Or haunt the scenes they loved on earth before ; Enough, they are immortal, near or far ; The secret will be solved, the mystery o'er, When Death for us the knell of Time will toll. And only virtue shall avail the soul. END OF PART III. BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTOEICAL NOTES. BOOK I. SCEIPTUKE CHAEACTEES. Part I. (1) Page 19. The Pyramids stood forth in cheerful light. We are inclined to believe, with several eminent arcliseologists, that the stone pyrannids of Gizeh were not built previously to the time of the captivity of the Hebrews, but were the work of the Hyslcos, or shepherd kings, at a later period — about B.C. 14.50, when a second irruption of those strangers appears to have taken place. Some arguments, in support of this assumption, we ven- tured to put forth in a former publication, "Euins of Many Lands." The brick pyramids, however, at Faioum, Dashour, and Saccara, there can be little doubt, are of more ancient date, and, in the erection of them, we have strong grounds for concluding the Pharaohs employed the children of Israel, their own people superintending the work. (2) Page 21. Hell mocking boastful man as Pharaoh died. The exode of the Hebrews took place B.C. 1491, after a resi- dence in Egypt — reckoning from the arrival of Joseph — of 328 years. Wilkinson has been very successful in showing that Thothmes HI., who commenced his reign about B.C. 1495, was the Pharaoh that pursued them and perished in the Red Sea. The likeness of tiiis king is found engraved within the usual cartouche, or oval ring, on one of the walls of the great Karnac Temple at Thebes ; and a portrait more interesting than this, however rudely done, we can scarcely conceive exists in the world. 328 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK I. (3) Page 25. None knew his grave, but angels, hovering o'er The hallowed spot, would guard it evermore. Josephus says, that Moses did not die, having been carried away in a cloud ; but we are distinctly informed in sacred writ that he died on Mount Nebo, " and no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day." Nevertheless the supposed tomb of the Hebrew legislator is pointed out by the Arabs in the neigh- bourhood of Mount Attarous, and so credulous are the un- tutored children of the desert, that they may be strictly honest in the belief they appear to entertain. (4) Page 31. In eyes, where soul late beamed, expires the light, And charm by charm departs — now all is night. If we are to be guided by the statement in the Hebrew Scrip- ture, and the plain narrative of Josephus, we shall not hesitate in admitting the fact that the Jewish leader, Jephthah, did actually, in performance of his solemn vow, sacrifice his daughter on the altar. Some commentators, however, unwilling to allow the truth of this unnatural and cruel deed, have supposed that Jephthah may have devoted his daughter to perpetual celibacy — ■ a state of reproach, and regarded as a peculiar misfortune among the Hebrews, for she who bore the greatest number of children was held in the highest esteem and honour. But it needs, we think, little study of the question to be compelled to adopt the harsher opinion. Jephthah is described as tenderly loving his only daughter, but he was a rough militai-y leader, and possessed more than the ordinary stubbornness of his race; we can there- fore well believe that a vow made by such a man, ho« evtr its execution might haiTow his natural feelings, would be strictly and unflinchingly kept. If the ancient Hebrews had not been firmly convinced that Jephthah's daughter was immolated on the altar, they would never, as was the case, have set apart four days aanually, on which young virgins were called upon to cele- brate her virtues, and lament her tragic end. (5) Page 35. 77(6 wand-armed sorcerer spoke his spell of might. His circle drew, and called on fiends of night. Prom the earliest periods with which history makes us acquainted, and among barbarous as well as civilised races, the mind of man has been imbued with a restless desire of knowing the future, and especially those coming events which may affect his individual destiny. Countless have been the means to which men have resorted with a view of acquiring this knowledge. The PART I.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 329 Chaldseans, who may be'termed Nature-prophets, consulted the stars, most blindly supposing that the planets in their coui-ses sympathised with the affairs of our world, and that by certain appearances, which the initiated only could understand, they foreshadowed the destinies of its inhabitants. Astrological sci- ence was afterwards ardently cultivated by the Arabians, and, being introduced into Europe, flourished in full force during the middle ages. Next to the astrologers, the celebrated oracles, instituted by the Greeks, exercised power over the minds of the ancients. He who desired to know the future would, by a suit- able gift to the god, obtain a response to his questions, whether at Dodona, Delphi, the cave of Trophonius, or at the shrine of Jupiter Ammon in the Libyan desert. The popular faith in the Greek Oracles existed for a space of time little short of a thou- sand years ; true, the learned among the Greeks and Romans began to hold them in derision as early as the Christian era, yet we find they were occasionally consulted as far down as the fourth century, when the Emperor Theodosius entirely sup- pressed them. The famous Sibyls were prophetic women of the mythical, and earlier historical eras, of Greece and Rome ; Varro mentions ten, of whom Demo of Cumte in Italy was the most renowned; but, unlike the astrologers, they could not trans- mit their art, which perished with them. Palmistry, or the science of predicting events connected with individual fortunes, by consulting certain marks or lines on the human hand, is of high antiquity ; it was practised by the Egyp- tian soothsayers, but the extraordinaiy tribes (in England called gipsies) who emigrated from Northern India on the invasion of that country by Timur at the commencement of the fifteenth century, are, as far as we apprehend, the only existing cultiva- tors of the art. Among all those, however, who have arrogated to themselves the power of unfolding futurity, necromancers and wizards hold the most prominent position ; .it the same time they are the most important members of the dark family, inasmuch as their doctrines are still widely diffused amongst the ignorant classes, and materially affect the superstitions of the present day. The witch of Endor practised necromancy, or the raising of departed spirits, one of the highest branches of the dark science ; indeed, as she is the most celebrated among those who, in ancient days, formed treaties with the powers of darkness, so is she the great prototype or head of her class, and her history, there can be no doubt, had an immense effect among the early Christians in giving rise to other professors of the mystic art. Witchcraft attained its height in Christian Europe during the fifteenth cen- tury, but when the science began to be considered criminal, and many of the unhappy adepts were burnt aUve, the number of the sisterhood rapidly decreased. Y 330 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK. I. (6) Page 36. Her cheerless home a cavern in the rock. Near the remains of Endor the witch's grotto is still shown, being an excaration in the rock ; it is not, however, reasonable to imagine that the identity of a private habitation should be preserved for so long a period; nevertheless, though it is stated she dwelt in a house, the tradition may be correct in supposing that house to have been a cavern at a short distance from Endor, for even in the present day, many of the inhabitants are found occupying recesses hewn in the rocks, and on the sides of the hills, in this part of Palestine. See Buckingham's Travels. (7) Page 41. Save Endor^s sorceress in her mystic ring, And that dark, hopeless man, the Hebrew king. The story of the witch of Endor has occasioned much discus- sion among divines; some contend that the soul of Samuel did not actually appear to the summons of the necromancer ; that the woman was merely a cunning impostor, and played on the credulity of Saul, being well acquainted with his peculiar posi- tion and the state of his affairs, while the voice of Samuel might possibly have been imitated, or have seemed to proceed from the ground through the power of ventriloquism. On the other hand, many learned commentators are of opinion that Samuel really made himself visible to the Hebrew monarch, the woman either, through her powerful arts, evoking his spirit, or the spirit being permitted by heaven to appear for an especial purpose to Saul, at once pronouncing his doom as a punishment for his crimes, and proving to the heathen world the Immortality of the soul. Josephus maintains the belief that the prophet arose from Hades; Dr. Hales, in his "New Analysis of Chronology," writes in favour of the real appearance, and is supported by the ancient Jewish Church; indeed, the passage in Scripture seems most cer- tainly to warrant such a view of the subject. (8) Page 43. And God, not mortals, Judge that man of woes. Saul, to escape the insvUts of his enemies, fell upon his sword on Mount Gilboa. The act of self-slaughter is rarely recorded in Scripture history; the oriental spirit in all ages has shown itself averse to the doctrine that man's life is his own, and that he has a right to dispose of it as he may judge proper, without offence to his Maker. Among the ancient Egyptians suicide was very uncommon, although we have one royal example in the per- son of Rameses the Great, (the Sesostris of the Greeks,) who, after his splendid victories over so many nations, on feeling the PART II.J BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 331 approach of old age and becoming blind, is said to hare put an end to his life at Thebes. It is only among western nations that the practice of self-murder has been, and unhappily continues to be, so common. Yet suicide was condemned by the Eoman law, and some of the greatest men of antiquity, among whom we may name Socrates, Plato, and Cicero, protested against it, while Virgil in his uSlneid represents suicides as suffering punishment in the shades ; nevertheless the doctrines of the Stoics, who mis- took pusillanimity for firmness, produced an immense effect, as regards the crime under consideration ; and the philosophy which taught that precisely when the evil in life counterbalances or exceeds the good, man acts the part of wisdom to quit the scene, had numerous disciples in the Greek and Roman schools: yet we think both Cato and Brutus would have proved themselves greater and braver men, had they lived to stem the current of adverse events, and boldly grapple with evil and misfortune. The suicide of Saul, it must be confessed, was attended with many palliating circumstances, for he felt himself badly wounded, perhaps mortally, and his armour-bearer had refused to do the office which, it is evident from the narrative, he reluctantly per- formed. There is a melancholy interest attached to the whole career of this celebrated monarch, and in the peculiarity of his position, in his crimes and his sorrows, he stands alone in Hebrew story. Josephus is very warm in praise of Saul's valour ; his life affords a grand moral lesson, and his history is, if we may so express ourselves, an epic poem of a high and solemn description. SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS. Part II. (9) Page 53. And Tadmor rises, gorgeous as a dream. Solomon ascended the throne 1015 B.C., being in his twenty- first year. A profound peace had succeeded to the wars which his father David waged, and the Hebrew kingdom now embraced an extent of territory never before equalled, and never, after the reign of Solomon, again attained to. Idumea from the Asphal- tic Lake to the Red Sea, with its capital city the famous Petra, owned the sovereignty of the Hebrew monarch ; many tribes of the wild Ishmaelites in the Arabian peninsula paid him tribute ; from the confines of Egypt to Hamath and Damascus in the north; and from the Mediterranean, exclusive of the slip of 332 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. coast occupied by the Phoenicians, to the river Euphrates, King Solomon was undisputed lord. That he built several towns on the Elanitic gulf, and in the Syrian desert, for purposes of com- meree, is well known, and among the latter was the famous Tadmor, or City of Palms, which became a grand halting-place for the caravans. No vestige, however, of Solomon's erections in Tadmor remains at this day, for all the ruined temples, columns, and mausolea, astonishing by their magnificence the modern traveller, are either Greek or Koman. It has been sup- posed that Baalath, mentioned also as having been built by the Hebrew king, was the renowned Baalbec; but we think the con- jecture rests on no foundation beyond the slight similitude occur- ring in the names of the two places, for Baalbec had certainly a Phoenician origin. (10) Page 54. To meet in Araby his destined bride. The marriage of Solomon with the daughter of one of the Pharaohs took place a short time after his accession to the throne ; the exact year has not been fixed by chronologists, nor are we acquainted with the Egyptian monarch's name; we only know that he was of the twenty-first Dynasty. In most Oriental countries, the bride is carried to the house of the bridegroom, much ceremony being observed ; and in royal alliances, when tlie parties ai-e natives of different lands, the lady is usually con- ducted with a great retinue to the country of her destined hus- band. We are not informed where the ceremony of Solomon's marriage took place ; and according to the eastern custom, the bride may have been brought to the bridegroom, and yet it is not unreasonable to suppose that Solomon, to do honour to a Monarch so much more powerful than himself, may have left his capital to meet at least half way his future queen. (11) Page 58. Till the whole Temple blazes on the sight, Rich as morn's cloud — like one vast cJirysoUte. Notwithstanding the long and minute account given of the building of Solomon's Temple in the Book of Kings, .and by Josephus, it must be confessed that the reader gathers but a confused idea of the stately and gorgeous edifice. Great dis- crepancy prevails in the several plans offered by those who have attempted to give a general architectural view of the fabric. They Avho imagine that the Temple had anything in common with Greek models, are doubtlessly in error. The style which we term classic, was unknown at the time Solomon lived, for the PART II.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 333 oldest order, the Doric, in which the Greeks wedded, as it were, the massy Egyptian style to the more elegant ideal embodied in their own creations, did not originate at an earlier period than six centuries before Christ. The rude, heavy architectural designs, called by us Cyclopean and Pelasgian, a fine example of which is preserved in the gate of Lions at Mycenae, are the only remains in Europe of buildings which we presume to have been co-existent with Solomon's edifice. The architectural genius, then, of the Hellenic race not having been developed, the ancestors of the builders of the Parthenon, and the sump- tuous Passtan temples, could have offered no assistance to the Phoenicians, whom the Hebrews employed as their architects. The Jews had no style of their own, and do not appear at any period of their history to hare cultivated the fine arts. Man has been found in all ages to have been imitative, and especially as regards matters of taste. In the year 1000 B.C. Egypt, even beyond Assyria, was the great polished nation of the world, and other lands looked up to her as the parent of all that was valu- able and beautiful; she impressed her learning, many of her religious superstitions, and her august style of architecture, on the surrounding nations. Thus we may infer that Solomon's temple was built on the square massive plan prevailing in Egypt, and had its counterparts in the splendid erections on the banks of the Nile. A fiat roof supported by pillars, low in proportion to their diameter — an adytum or holy place, screened off from the body of the building— a pronaos adorned in front not with obelisks, but the brass columns, called Jachinand Boaz, the whole edifice, with its courts, being surrounded bj' high walls flanked with colonnades — such we conceive were the general features. Within the pronaos was Solomon's hall of Judgment containing his famous ivory throne, and beyond, in the body of the temple itself, were all those splendid appendages described in Scripture. Around the temple were open courts, one of which contained the " Molten sea," or colossal fountain, a beautiful imitation of which exists in the old Moorish palace of the Alhambra in Spain, but the latter has lions ranged around the bason, instead of oxen. The value of the gold, silver, and precious stones, cover- ing every available part of the interior of the building, we have no means of ascertaining; we only know it must have been immense, and in this re^pect the Hebrew temple surpassed every other shrine of antiquity, if perhaps we except that of Belns at Babylon. Solomon's gorgeous pile retained its original splen- dour for little more than forty years, since Shishak, king of Egypt, carried off a great portion of its treasures. Its final destruction took place by the Chaldzeans, 588 B.C., it having stood 417 years. On the return of the Hebrews after the seventy years' captivity, the temple was rebuilt on the original site, but with far less magnificence j and this edifice remained tiU within 334 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK I. a short time of the birth of Christ, when Herod the Great, to gratify the national pride, resolved to re-erect the pile on a scale even more extensive and grand than that which had been carried out by Solomon. In nine years he accomplished his undertaking, but Herod's temple had a shorter existence than either of the previous edifices, falling, as all know, never to rise again, before the victorious Titus, A.D. 70, when the eagle_ of Kome flew from the summit of Mount Moriah, over the smoking ruins of the city of the chosen people of God. (12) Page 59. The land, past days forgetting, well might seem, Lost in her pomp, and lapped in one bright dream. Solomon knew that in trade lies the grand secret of wealth ; he also knew that peace is conducive to commerce, and there- fore manifested his policy in cultivating friendly relations with all the neighbouring states. Independently of the caravan trade from Assyria, Egypt, and the ports on the Mediterranean, he was deeply engaged in maritime enterprise. Much discussion has taken place regarding the voyages made by his fleets, and especially the locality of Ophir, whence they brought such an abundance of gold. The voyage to Ophir was made from Ezion- Geber on the Red Sea, but where the land of gold really was situated is very uncertain. We cannot think with some writers that Ophir was in Arabia; neither gold, sandal-wood, nor pea- cocks, are found there; moreover, Arabia was, comparatively speaking, at home, while all the allusions to Ophir represent it as a distant place, three years having been occupied in the voyage thither and back. D'Anville and Robertson place Ophir on the eastern coast of Africa at Sofala, and others think it was on the Persian Gulf. Josephus (Antiq. viii. 6 — 4) says it was in India, and it is rather extraordinary that the ancient Egyp- tian name of India was Soppir. The last named assumption has had some supporters, and when the products mentioned are con- sidered, we think it is not unreasonable to believe that the bold Phasniciau mariners, who manned Solomon's fleet, may have proceeded as far south as the Indian continent, or the Island of Ceylon, and that Ophir consequently was situated in this dis- tant region. The commerce of Solomon, it must be confessed, was based on a narrow principle, and little calculated to benefit the Hebrews as a nation. The king was the only merchant, the great monopolist; the masses had no participation in foreign traffic; hence, when he died, if his successor were not com- mercially inclined, the nation having no independent traders, commerce ceased, and the great source of wealth was at once dried up. PART II.] BIOaSAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 336 (13) Page 60. He on his lion-decked and ivory throne. The famous ivory throne of Solomon, in after ages imitated by the Persian king Khosru, was situated in the porch of Judg- ment, being the pronaos of the temple, on a dais or platform ; the ascent was by six steps flanked on each side by golden lions, and the throne was surmounted by a gorgeous canopy. The porch in every respect seems to have been a splendid hall sup- ported by pillars, and here were hung the golden shields or bucklers, enumerated among the king's treasures. In this porch Solomon administered justice, and received foreign ambassadors. (U) Page 61. Charming our eyes, a beauteous, dreamlike thing. The queen of Sheba, or Saba, is stated by Josephus to have come from Ethiopia, but it is now generally admitted that she was the queen of the Sabsei, a people of Arabia Felix, her dominions having been included in the modern Yemen. Saba was the name of her capital, and the country was famous for its rich natural productions, especially the balsam-plant, which the queen is said to have taken with her to Judsea, presenting it with other presents to Solomon, and thus introducing that valuable plant into his dominions. (1.^) Page 63. Sigh your farewell, and weep upon your chains. Though Jerusalem had been captured, and the temple de- spoiled of its golden treasures by Nebuchadnezzar, 606 B.C., the final destruction did not take place until eighteen years afterwards, when, exasperated by the revolt of the Hebrews and their alliance with the Egyptian king Apries, he again stormed the city, reduced the temple and principal houses to ashes, and levelled the walls. All the inhabitants of the better class, who had escaped the sword, were then led into captivity, none re- maining behind except a few vine-dressers and husbandmen. (16) Page 66. Have errless reckoning kept a thousand years. That the Chaldasans commenced astronomical calculations very early in the world's history, cannot be doubted. Calistheues, a philosopher in the train of Alexander the Great, found at Babylon observations written on bricks, and they extended back, he conceived, for 1,900 years, which duration of time, dating from that period, (three centuries before Christ,) would fix the commencement of those reckonings about the epoch generally ascribed to the foundation of the city of Babylon. 336 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK I. (17) Page 70. Such gilded chains, hut pity and despise. Daniel's high oiEce in the state (chief ruler) was more ex- traordinary and brilliant, perhaps, as devolving on a captive and a foreigner, than his scientific appointment ; the last was that of Archimagus, or Master of the Magi, a learned and religious body among the Babylonians, although it is doubtful whether their doctrines were those of the genuine Magi of Media and Persia. (18) Page 70. Last of his line, Belshazzar reigneth now. Some difficulty exists in establishing the right succession of Babylonian monarehs, from Nebuchadnezzar to the taking of the city by the Persians and Medes, 537 B.C., and confusion also occurs in chronological dates. Dr. Hales, in his " Analysis," maintains that Belshazzar was not the king at whose death the Persians became masters of Babylon, nor did they enter the city, he asserts, on the night of the memorable banquet; but Jose- phus, (on the authority of Berosus,) Herodotus, and others, make the contrary statement ; and we do not see sufficient reason for disturbing the dates and reigns generally acknowledged, by supposing Neriglissar to have been the Belshazzar, and a rebel governor to have usurped the throne when Cyrus took the city. We think the following succession consistent with the general tenor of history: Nebuchadnezzar, who took Jerusalem hefore he was proclaimed king, commenced his reign . . . B.C. 604 Evil-Merodach his son, husband of the famous Nitoeris of Media „ 5GI Neriglissar, brother-in-law of Evil-Merodach, fell in battle against Cyrus „ 559 Laborosoarchod, the youthful son of Neriglissar, on the throne only nine months, having been assassinated by two nobles „ 555 Belshazzar, the Labynetus of Herodotus, son of Evil- Merodach . , . . . „ 554 This king was slain, and the city taken by Cyrus, 537. (19) Page 75. So Daniel lived — again his star rose high, The foes that plotted, doomed themselves to die. Daniel is said to have been consigned to the lions' den by king Darius ; the frequent confounding in history of the names of Darius and Cyrus, arises from the fact that the Persian hero asso- ciated his uncle Darius with him in the government ; thus while Babylon was taken by Cyrus the Persian, we find at the same period Darius the Mede, styled king of Babylon and Media. Cyrus, it appears, brought his uncle, now an old man, out of PART II.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 337 Media, and placed him in the palace at Babylon. Viewing the circumstance in this light, we shall perceive that the Scripture account harmonises with other narratives, and we may infer that the incident of the lions took place about two years after the taking of the city. It is a rather singular fact that a small block of marble has been discovered near the alleged tomb of Daniel, at the foot of the great mound of Sus, representing in rude relief the figure of a man, girt with a sash, and wearing the Persian cap ; his hands are bound behind liim, and two lions in a sitting posture appear above, each having a paw on the man's head : this remarkable stone has been described by Sir R. K. Porter, but whether it really refers to the fate of Daniel, or merely represents a culprit condemned to a punishment sometimes awarded to criminals by the ancient Persians, it would be hazar- dous to offer a conjecture. Rich found a larger block, some- what similarly sculptured, at Babylon, near the ruin called the Kasr. Daniel is said by Josephus to have built a palace at Ecbatana, the summer residence of the Persian kings; but at Susa the closing portion of his life was passed, for he never returned with his people to Jerusalem. Daniel is supposed to have died about B.C. 534, in the ninetieth year of his age. (20) Page 79. And strive by youth's sweet grace the palm to gain, Mordecai, it will be remembered, had adopted Esther, whose parents were dead, and " she was to him as a daughter." Which of the Persian monarchs Ahasnerus, in the narrative of Esther, represents is uncertain ; Artaxerxes has been named by some commentators, but if, as Archbishop Usher concludes, Darius Hystaspes be the king, his queen Vashti will have been divorced about the year B.C. 517. The gathering together of the most beautiful females, from whom a queen was to be chosen in Vashti's stead, is another proof that those oriental despots little studied in their alliances birth or royal extraction, but sought rather the lower gratification of the senses. (21) Page 84. There sat the monarch, there Hamdn was seen^ The only guests of Persia's lovely queen, Athenseus has left us a very interesting description of what was called in Media and Persia a " royal banquet of wine," and which is alluded to in the Book of Esther. At these " banquets of wine," the hall or summer pavilion, wherein they were usually held, was hung with curtains in front that separated the King from his intended guests, the latter feasting without, for royalty " eat alone." The chief of the eunuchs, when the King's more sub- stantial repast was finished, summoned the guests ; they sat on 338 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK. I. carpets, the Monarch being elevated on a, couch adorned with golden feet. Thoagh they drank wine together, the King's wine ^^•as supposed to be of a more excellent quality than that sup- plied the company. The Median crown, worn on these occasions, was a high cap set with precious stones, and sometimes bound at the bottom with a costly shawl; blue and white were the royal colours, as regarded the King's apparel. (22) Page 86. But launch their curse on Agag's murcCrous son. The feast of Purim, or the lots, is very strictly kept by the Jews; it takes place on the 14th and 15th of the month Adar, (our February,) and is a time of great rejoicing. The book of Esther is then read in all the synagogues, and whenever the name of Haman occurs, it is usual for the hearers to express their indignation, and hatred of his character, by loud hisses and execrations. (23) Page 87. Daughter of Israel ! dost thou slumber here. Thine ashes treasured in this ancient cellf The alleged tomb of Esther and Mordecai is at Hamadan, the ancient Ecbatana, and the spot indicated may in reality be the genuine place of their interment. The Jews for many ages have abounded in this region, and have preserved the tradition with extreme care. The building, which is rather dilapidated, stands on an elevation in the midst of the town ; it has a bell- shaped dome, on the summit of which the stork (that esteemed bird in the East) is permitted to build its nest ; a few palms and flowers some time since were cultivated within the enclosure of the pile. The visitor enters by a stone door, the key of which is kept by the chief rabbi ; in the antechamber several Jews of distinc- tion are interred ; a second door leads to the tomb-chamber and here stand the two sarcophagi of Esther and Mordecai; they are formed of dark hard wood, being richly carved, and bearing Hebrew inscriptions on the upper ledge. This pile is said to occupy the site of one more sumptuous, destroyed by Timur, A.B. 1400. There is an inscription on the roof which states that the first building was raised by two Hebrews, Elias and Samuel, in the 4474th year from the creation of the world, which would answer, according to the computation of the Eas- tern Jews, to about the year 250 of our era. PART I.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 339 BOOK II. MILITARY HEROES. Pakt I. (24) Page 90. Such is the scene — thy boast, too glorious War. The Greek campaign of Xerxes ranks among the most remarkable expeditions recorded in history. The invasion of Em-ope had been projected by his father Darius, and after that monarch's decease, the immense preparations occupied the son four years. Herodotus has given a list of the numerous nations which, then owning the Persian sway, sent troops to join the mighty array. The naval and land forces, with the camp-follow- ers, have been computed at five millions two hundred and eighty thousand ; this may be an exaggeration, and yet the several accounts left us bear the semblance of truth, inasmuch as careful statements are given of each body composing the force. Without a doubt the army of Xerxes formed the largest mass of human beings ever gathered together for the purpose of military opera- tions, and the hosts of the old Assyrian monarchs, of the Egyp- tian kings, and the hordes led by Alaric and Timur, when compared with the array of this oriental despot, dwindle into insignificance. Yet the Persian force, in a military point of view, was exceedingly weak, being an army of slaves without discipline, with no love of country and no passion for glory to inspire it ; the soldiers were urged foiTVards by the lash, and the ofiBcers for the slightest offences suffered decapitation ; the result of the campaign was therefore, in every respect, what might have been expected. (25) Page 92. Shall ring that watchword — red Thermopylae. The celebrated strait of Thermopylse is a narrow defile in the lofty chain of Mount CEta, between Thessaly and Phocis, and through which an invading army from the north would of neces- sity proceed, in order to reach the plains of Achaia; the gulf of Malia (now Zeitouni) lies to the north east, but the country has undergone such physical change through the increase of the marshes, and the receding of the sea, th at the strait of Thermopylse will not be readily recognised by the modern traveller, if he seeks it by a reference to the ancient description of the place. The hot springs, however, which giive a name to the strait, still flow from a rock at the foot of Mount CEta. 340 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. (26) Page 93. What shall thy doom be, vile hetraying slave. Leonidas, with 4200 men and some Phocians, defended the pass for two wliole days against the entire invading army. The Medes first charged the Greeks, bat were speedily repulsed with great slaughter ; the celebrated Persian Immortal band, consisting of 10,000 men, followed, but shared the same fate. A deserter or inhabitant of the country, named Ephialtes, effected the ruin of the Greek cause, by discovering to the Persians a secret path over Mount CEta, by which means the latter were enabled to avail themselves of their immense multi- tude, and to attack the Greeks on every side. (27) Page 93. The Spartan chief bade faithful friends withdraw. Leonidas, when he found his position turned by the enemy, and all hope of successful resistance was at an end, dismissed the allies, except some Thebans and Thespians, amounting to about 700 men; he and his own troops, the famous three hun- dred Spartans, cheerfully remained to certain death ; the brave Thespians joined them, but the Thebans asked quarter of the Persians, and obtained it. (28) Page 101. That hero's doom a blot upon thy fame. It was not long after the famous battle of Marathon, the name of which must ever be associated with that of Miltiades, that a cloud gathered over the bright fortunes of this celebrated com- mander. Not one of the least evils inseparable from democra- cies, is perhaps that tendency among the masses to consider as an enemy to the state any individual who, either by military skill, or superior statesmanship, may attain to a distinguished position ; against such an one, factions will soon be formed, and the chances are that, exposed to the ceaseless attacks of envy and hatred, he will not long maintain his ground: eminent examples of this truth occur in Greek history, and among the most prominent may be cited Aristides, Themistocles, and Mil- tiades. The enemies of the last obtained their triumph very signally. Miltiades was condemned unheard for taking a bribe from the Persians, and the Athenians, forgetful of the great actions of their general, sentenced him to be thrown into the barathrum (a pit designed for the execution of the lowest male- factors). The punishment was afterwards commuted into a heavy fine, which Miltiades being unable to pay, he was cast into prison, where he shortly died of his wounds. PART I.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 34:1 (29) Page 101. In that dread pause of fate — of life and death. The tactics practised in the battle of Marathon, it has been remarked, resembled those of modem warfare more than has been exhibited in any other ancient battle on record. The mili- tary skill displayed, and the manoeuvres had recourse to, place Miltiades in the first rank of successful generals, Alexander only surpassing him in the daring promptitude with which he seized on advantages, and in the brilliancy of his charges. (30) Page 109. Valour^ s green bay with honour's lilies blent. Two parties have sat in judgment on Miltiades, and the ver- dicts they have returned have been in opposition. A just esti- mate, perhaps, can only be formed of his character by avoiding on one hand giving a full belief to the calumnies of enemies, and on the other by rejecting the too warm allegation of virtues made by friends. Accustomed in the early part of his life to almost absolute power, in the small territory of the Chersonesus, he was in manner, no doubt, imperious ; the Greeks were proud of him as a general, but a people so jealous of their dai-ling liberties were easily fired into opposition and resentment, at the bare suspicion that he intended to govern them, and probably engraft on the republic a military despotism. It is only to this terror of an invasion of their democratic institutions, that we can ascribe those acts of flagrant ingratitude which the Atheni.ins committed. Miltiades might not have possessed the inflexible integi'ity of an Aristides, but judging from the records left us of his great and patriotic actions, and no real proofs being adduced of his having taken a bribe from the enemies of his country, we are bound in justice to acquit him of the charge, considering it urged only by fear, envy, and malevolence, while we must allow him to occupy his place among the greatest generals, and ablest statesmen of ancient Greece. (31) Page 112. Rival of gods, Achilles slept below. Alexander was only twenty-two years of age, when in the spring of 334 B.C. he started on his famous Asiatic expedition. Shortly after crossing the Hellespont at Sestos, he drew up his army on the plains of Troy in order to do honour to the manes of the Grecian heroes, whose deeds, and particularly those of Achilles, he intended to emulate. 342 SPIRITS or the past. [book ii- (32) Page 113. Each veteran looks a chief — each chief a Icing. After contemplating the immense armies that a century before invaded Europe, we feel surprised to find that the entire force with which Alexander purposed to overrun Asia did not exceed thirty-five thousand men ; but these were troops which his father Philip had disciplined, long accustomed to service, and versed in all the tactics of war. The army has been described as being wholly composed of veterans ; scarcely a man was less than forty years of age, and every private soldier, in case of necessity, was competent to take the command of a troop. If we consider what these men effected, led by Alexander, we shall not doubt their having been the most able soldiers then in the world. Though Macedonians preponderated, the army included about 7000 allied Greeks, and 1 500 Agrian infantry ; the cavalry was very supe- rior, and comprised a fine body of Thessalians. Alexander, like Bonaparte, was fortunate in his generals, and to the brilliant military talents of Parmenio, Coenus, Perdiccas, Ptolemy, Cra- terus, Clitus, and others, he was perhaps as much indebted for his success as to his own personal daring, powers of combina- tion, and extraordinary quickness in seizing opportunity. (33) Page 114. Calm sits Darius in his lofty car, Darius, after his defeat on the Granicus, fell back on the plains of Syria, and the country beyond the Euphrates, and while Alexander was reducing various cities in Asia Minor, he collected again an immense army. Darius was not an inactive prince ; he possessed a certain degree of animal courage, and would not resign his kingdom to a stranger \vithout a struggle. The last of the successors of Cyrus was deserving of better soldiers, and a less unhappy fate. (34) Page 115. But mark, beyond the bright dividing stream. The river Pinarus crossed the plain of Issus, falling into that part of the sea, now called the gulf of Skanderoon. The ground on which the memorable battle of Issus was fought, appears very contracted when we consider the large number of men engaged ; the mountains in some places press close upon the shore, and this circumstance accounts for so many of the troops of Darius having been posted on the heights. (35) Page 117. But gallant Ptolemy's young race is o'er. On no previous occasion did the Persians and their allies fight PART I.j BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 343 with so much resolution and courage, as in the battle of Issus ; the consequence was that Alexander lost many of his best oflBcers and men, and among the former was Ptolemy, the son of Seleu- cus. The loss of the Persians in this battle and the subsequent flight, must have been enormous ; Arrian and Curtius estimate it at one hundred thousand infantry, and ten tliousand horse. (36) Pagb 120. That fortune's child a hero's wreath may gain. The memorable siege of Tyre by Alexander, followed closely the battle of Issus. The desperate efforts at defence, the suf- ferings of the besieged, and their ultimate fate, being in part massacred, and in part sold into slavery, have scarcely a parallel in history, if we except the frightful and cruel events connected with the siege of Jernsalem by Titus. Tyre never afterwards lifted her head ; that blow was the finishing stroke as regarded the commerce of the Venice of the ancient world. The mole raised by Alexander during the siege, and which joined the main- land to the island where the city stood, exists at this day, but covered with sand. A small fishing town, called Sur, now occupies a portion of the site of the once celebrated city of king Hiram. (37) Page 120. And flatteries save her towers from Heathen thrall. Alexander, advancing to destroy Jerusalem, was met by .Jad- dus the high-priest in his pontifical robes, and a long train of priests in sacred vestments, bearing censers and other insignia of their religion. The young conqueror is said to have been so much struck by the sight, that he desisted from his original pur- pose, adored the God of the Hebrews, and attended the sacri- fices in the temple. There the book of Daniel was shown to him, and the prophecy pointed out referring to himself, that "he, the king of Grtecia, should vanquish the king of Persia" — a passage which, as well as elating, greatly aflFected the victorious monarch. This story is told by Josephus, but Arrian, who traces so graphically Alexander's career, is silent on the subject. (38) Page 121. From Jove's great self his blood's celestial flow. That Alexander, inflated with vanity, was desirous of being thought, like the half-fabulous heroes in Homer, of divine origin, admits of no doubt; that he himself believed Jupiter Ammon to be his father is a very different matter. The whole idea, together with his journey to the temple in the Libyan desert, appears to have been merely a stratagem designed to assist him in his conquests. 344 SPIRITS OF THE TAST. [bOOK II. (39) Page 122. To match the bright, and fairy scene below. The oasis, now called Siwah, is situated in the African desert, 160 miles from the coast of the Mediterranean. Its present appearance answers to the description of Pliny; rising in the midst of a frightful waste, it presents a beautiful spectacle of green valleys and undulating hills ; the soil is fruitful, and watered by numerous springs ; groups of date-palms are inter- spersed with every description of fruit-bearing trees, and many kinds of rare flowers are here found. The entire oasis is about twelve miles long, its breadth varying in different places. After the time of the Ptolemies, the Romans possessed this " garden in the wilderness ;" in the middle ages, the Saracens found their way thither, and established Mohammedanism; its present inha- bitants are a quiet race, being Berbers (the representatives of the ancient Libyans), and a few negroes. (40) Page 123. And soothe immortals deigning there to dwell. The temple of Jupiter Ammon, in its architectural arrange- ments, seems to have resembled the Egyptian structures at Thebes and Edfou; its chief celebrity was derived from its famous oracle, which attracted many pilgrims ; and, after the oracle at Delphi, was more esteemed than any other by the superstitious of the ancient world. No priestess attended, as at the Grecian temple; no mysterious vapour or poetic ravings are spoken of; but men soberly gave the responses to those who instituted inquiries at the shrine, and, unless the presents were valuable, the oracle was usually mute. Major Rennell, and other travellers, who hare argued the subject, do not doubt the modern Siwah to have been the Ammonia of antiquity, and the surrounding walls, and some internal portions of the temple, are yet to be seen. (41) Page 124. But, mirroring still the sky, those waters flow. The Fountain of the Sun, described by Herodotus, is still remarkable for certain peculiarities which are attributable to physical causes; it is subject at stated times to an apparent change in its temperature, being warm during the night and cold at midday. The fountain is now surrounded by palm-trees, being situated at some distance from the ruins of the great temple; it resembles a small marsh rather than a spring, being about eighty feet in diameter, but the water is perfectly trans- parent and pure. The ruins of the little temple mentioned by Diodorus, stand close beside the fountain, covered by wild date- trees and other shrubs. PART I.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 345 (42) Page 125. Than live and mourn in vain thy country's doom. Darins, as is well known to all readers of history, flying from Alexander after the battle of Arbela, was basely murdered by Bessus, his own general. Alexander is stated to have felt much on coming up, and finding the corpse of his unfortunate enemy ; he ordered it to he conveyed in the pomp befitting the royal rank of the deceased, to Persepolis, there to be interred in one of the rock-sepulchres of the Persian Kings. This event took place after Alexander's occupation of Babylon, Persepolis, and Susa. Darins, who perished in the year B.C. 330, was the last of the thirteen kings occupying the Persian throne from the great Cyrus, the Persian monarchy having lasted under those kings for rather more than two hundred years. (43) Pagk 126. Roxana hound the lion in soft hours. Eoxana, Alexander's first wife, was the daughter of Oxyartes, a prince of Bactria (the modern Bucharia) ; but this alliance of their king to the family of a barbarian gave mnch offence to the Macedonian nobles. The memory of Alexander has not even yet perished in Bucharia, for the MoUa at stated times reads to the ignorant, from a public pulpit, the wonderful exploits of Iskander who married a princess of their country. (44) Page 127. Through fair Cdbul tK invading squadrons sweep. Alexander, having crossed that part of the Caucasian moun- tains now called Hindoo-Cosh, entered Cabal in the fall of the year 327 B.C. Here he passed the winter, and, forming a road through the country,'advanced in the spring to the Indus, which river he crossed by a bridge of boats a little north, it has been supposed, of the modem town of Attock. This route Timnr took when he advanced from Samarkand to sack the city of Delhi. (45) Page 132. " Alas .' my noble steed !" the hero cried. Bucephalus had accompanied Alexander in all his campaigns, and the king had ridden him in nearly every action ; it was after the battle with Porus that this faithful horse sank, not so mnch through his wounds, as that he was worn out by fatigue and old age. Alexander honoured him with a magnificent funeral, and founded a city near the spot where he died, to be named after him Bucephala. Z 346 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK. II. (46) Page 133. He crossed the eastern plains, and still cried — on ! The Hyphasis, now called the Garra, being the united streams of the Sutlej and the Beas, was the limit of Alexander's ricto- rious progi'ess towards the south; true, in his undiminished enthusiasm, he wished to lead his army to the Ganges, yet no persuasions or even threats could induce the soldiers to cross the first named river; the troops were exhausted by a long series of marches, and by a constant succession of battles ; they had tasted enough of conquest, and began to sigh for repose and their native country. (47) Page 133. 'Twos by the mighty surge, that truth appeared To hijn whom lust of conquest urged to roam. An assertion has been made that Alexander, on reaching the Indian ocean, wept because he had no other worlds to conquer. There is no truth in this, for Alexander could not, possessing common sense, have done such a thing ; he well knew at the very time, to say nothing of the unsubdued Arabian Peninsula and Western Europe, that the powerful tribes of the Gangaridse and the Prasii were in arms to resist his further progress south, and that his soldiers had refused to follow him. He may indeed have wept when the philosopher Onesicritus informed him, that there were other worlds in the infinite abyss besides our own — wept, because thither he could not hope to carry his arms, and there his fame would never be known. (48) Page 135. Was called from life and fame in manhood's prime. Alexander commenced his homeward march from the Indus about September, 325 B.C., more than a year having passed since his advance into the Punjatib. Alexander intended making Babylon the capital of his vast empire, and commenced numerous improvements; he contemplated subjugating Arabia, never yet thoroughly conquered by any general, but death put an end to all his schemes and projects. He died of a fever, in- duced, some historians have asserted, by excessive drinking, though probably it was contracted in the unwholesome marshes near Babylon, where he had been superintending the works. When we consider his age, only thirty- two years and eight months, and the shortness of his reign, twelve and a half years, we are astonished at what he performed, and at the same time cannot forbear speculating on how much more his extraordinary energy might ha\e effected, had he survived to the ordinary term of life allotted to man. PAKT I.j BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 347 (49) Page 136. Oreat Alexander rose, and dazzled earth. To take what may be a correct view of Alexander's character in its moral aspect, will be a difficult task. In him vice and virtue were so mingled, so many antagonistic passions were constantly at work, his heart now open to generous impulses, and now closed np by selfishness ; at one time merciful, and at another evincing almost a savage cruelty, that the attempt to solve the problem which his compound nature offers has nearly in every instance failed. Historians for the most part have represented him, in the early part of his career, temperate, patient, conciliating, full of noble sentiments, and guided in all his actions by justice and honour ; while dating from the battle of Issus, they have described him as haughty, irascible, unjust to his friends, and merciless to his enemies ; in short, all his previous virtues appear to have been merged in the overbearing and uncontrollable viciousness of the tyrant. We ought not, however, to judge Alexander by the standard of ordinary men, for his position was entirely different from that of most generals and princes ; he knew scarcely any thing of life in its social character, all his days having been passed, with little intermission, amidst the stormy scenes and excitement of the camp. Yet we cannot but yield to the con- viction that if his mind were of a very superior ordei', success and flattery would not have succeeded, as they appear to have done, in corroding the finer qualities which he manifested at the commencement of his life: he would have grown liberal, and not have narrowed into the despot ; he would have been lenient to the follies and weaknesses of humanity, andnot have acted the part of a cruel, unforgiving avenger. Alexander then, intellec- tually considered, will be found in no way deserving the epithet of " Great," and was inferior in philosophic depth to Csesar, in self-government to Scipio, and certainly in penetration and expansion of intellect to the conqueror of modern days. Napoleon. Viewing him, however, in the light of a general, we must at once place him in the foremost rank of those distinguished men who, by military skill, promptness in the execution of what genius conceives, perseverance that never flags, and courage un- dismayed by the most formidable obstacles, have won the applause of their fellows, and achieved tasks deemed by ordinary individuals impossible. Charles XII. of Sweden professed to follow in the steps of Alexander, and to make him his model, the royal Swede fighting for glory, and meditating conquests, not to advance the interests of his country, so much as to acquire for himself the renown of a hero. Charles may have been an Alexander on a small scale, hut he who in modem times projected schemes colossal and daring, and succeeded iu them, and who made an impression on 348 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK. II. the world of to-day little inferior to that once made by the son of Philip, was the renowned Corsican. Striking points of simi- litude may, we think, be traced in the characters of the two men, as well as in the military tactics which they adopted, a due allowance being made for the change effected in modern warfare. A feverish desire for incessant action; promptness of decision in matters of difficulty ; a torpor of conscience that permitted them to sacrifice every principle, but apparent honour, to the ends they had in view; an utter recklessness as regarded the waste of human life, their own glory being far dearer to them than that of their respective countries ; ambition that knew no limit, and a lust of conquest that could never be satisfied — such were the leading characteristics of Alexander and Napoleon; they did not live in the hearts of the people at large, yet each general was adored by his army ; the soldier's devotion sup- ported him amidst his toils, and caused him willingly to march to his death ; hence the worn and scarred Macedonian dragged his limbs cheerfully up the Hindoo-Cosh, and the Imperial soldier cried vive V Empereur! -while sinkingon the frozen plainsof Russia. The men, we are of opinion, gave rise to the important events of the period, the events did not, as in most other cases, produce the men ; and their achievements cast around them a light which, glorious or othenvise, has exhibited them to the universe, so that age after age eyes will be fixed upon them, and people occupy themselves in recording their actions, and specu- lating on the effect produced on the world by their extraordinary careers. Alexander, Ceesar, Timur, and Napoleon, have shed undoubtedly more blood than any other conquerors on record ; but while admitting that they possessed respectively more or less virtues, perhaps we shall not err greatly in saying that Alexander was the most daring and vain-glorious, Coesar the most persevering and deep-seeing, Timur the most savagely destructive, and Napoleon the most acute, grasping, and am- bitious, of the four celebrated military heroes. MILITAEY HEKOES. Part H. (50) Page 140. Here Hannibal his startling trumpet blew. Hannibal was twenty-nine years of age when early in the year 218 B.C. he set out from New Carthage in Spain on his famous Italion campaign. Having crossed the Pyrenees and reached the banks of the Rhone, he found his army to consist of 50,000 PART II.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 349 foot, 9,000 horse, and 40 elephants. The design of overthrowing the Republic of the Romans by carrying the war into their own country, was worthy the daring spirit of this most skilful and adventurous commander. Hannibal had to fight his way through Gaul, marching up the east bank of the Rhone, then along the Isfere to the foot of the Pennine Alps; whether he crossed the Little or Great St. Bernard has been a subject of dispute ; pro- bably 'Whittaker's supposition is correct, that writer raaintaiu- ing the passage to have been made, like Napoleon's, over the latter mountain. (51) Page 143. Well might they, Thrasymene, watch o>er you. The lake of Thrasymene', now called the lake of Perugia, is situated in ancient Etruria, between the Tiber and the Cliiana; it is about thirty miles in circumference, contains three islands, and is enclosed by high hills on the north, east, and south. The waters of the lake are very limpid, and abound in fish ; the banks are verdant and well cultivated, and the beautiful picture is enlivened by numerous towns and villages seated at the foot of the hiUs, and in some places ranged close on the shore. (52) Page 145. CannoB and Thrasymene — names the pen Might trace in blood to daunt the hearts of mm. The battle of Thrasymene was the third conflict which the Romans sustained with the Carthaginian invader, and in each instance, rashness, not want of bravery, occasioned their ill fortune. The generalship of Hannibal, his manoeuvres and craft, were not met by any corresponding amount of ability on the part of the Roman leaders. The mistake made by Fla- minins at Thrasymene, in entering the defile leading from the lake, while Hannibal occupied the surrounding heights, mainly contributed to the loss of the battle, and the dreadful carnage that ensued. If cannon had been known in those days, Hanni- bal, from his commanding position, and the impossibility of the enemy's escape, might have easily destroyed the whole Roman force; as it was, above 15,000 fell. But the last and most terrible victory gained by the African leader, was near the village of Cann£e, and here, to render the circumstance more remarkable, the Romans succumbed to an inferior force ; Polybius declares they had 80,000 foot, and 6,000 horse, whereas Hannibal com- manded but 40,000 foot and 10,000 cavalry. Unlike Alexan- der the Great, Hannibal did not win his battles by direct and impetuous attacks upon the centre, but he trusted more to evo- lution, and the breaking up of the enemy's wings, attacking the weaker part, and conquering in detail. Not until Fabius took 350 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK TI. the field, did any general appear capable of successfully opposing the Carthaginian leader, and even then the Roman wearied and distressed, but never beat him. The account of the carnage at Cannae seems to us almost incredible, yet Polybius assures us, that 70,000 Romans fell on the field of battle ; the slaughter at Waterloo on both sides did not nearly amount to this. Hanni- bal, it is stated, sent to Carthage, as a trophy, three bushels of gold rings taken from the fingers of Romans of the Equestrian order, who had perished at Cannse. (53) Page 145. Cannce's dread hero was but soulless clay. Hannibal, without a doubt, takes his place among the greatest generals of antiquity; equal in military acuteness and craft to Philip of Macedon, he was certainly very superior in prudence to his son Alexander ; the latter, however, left the Carthaginian far behind in promptitude of action, daring, and romantic per- sonal courage. Had Alexander won the battle of Cannse, he would in his impetuosity have marched immediately upon Rome ; Hannibal delayed the decisive blow, and wintered at Capua, where his troops became enervated through the luxuries of that licentious city, and never afterwai'ds made head against the Romans. The conclusion of the career of this remarkable m.an, is a melancholy instance of the instability of a soldier's fortunes. Having been recalled to defend his country, and losing the battle of Zama, he eventually fled from Carthage, at that time under Roman influence. He first repaired to Tyre, then to Ephesns; next he wandered into Bithynia, and remained at the court of Prusias about five years, but that king, on being commanded, agreed to deliver him up to the Romans, and Hannibal, knowing what he had to expect from his implacable enemies, ended his days by swallowing poison, B.C. 183. (54) Page 146. Sounty to friends — a river in itsjlow, P. Cornelius Scipio, surnamed Africanus Major, was bom 235 B.C., and to him more good qualities, perhaps, have been ascribed, than to any other military leader of antiquity with whom we are acquainted : his great failing was pride, which engendered in him an undue contempt for some of his contem- poraries, and raised against him many enemies ; nor was he by any means so good a statesman as a soldier. (55) Page 148. A scene too chaste to cloy, too sweet to tire. Scipio, after many years spent in military enterprise, ill-used by his country, retired to his villa at Liternum, on the Campa- PART II.] BIOSRAPHIOAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 351 nian coast, and in this beantifal retreat he ended his days, dying, according to Polybius, in the same year as Hannibal and Philo- pcemen of Greece, 183 B.C. His remains, it is believed, were some time afterwards conveyed to Rome, and interred in the tomb of his family, near the Porta Capena. (56) Page 150. Who smiled a murder in his gentlest mood. It was when Sylla had obtained the mastery in Rome, that one day he ordered 8,000 Romans, confined in the circus, to be massacred, and while the cries of his victims were heard far and near, this Robespierre of an elder prostrated Republic was him- self quietly speaking in the senate-house, saying that the fathers need not disturb themselves, as " he was only punishing a few criminals." (57) Page 151. Your proudest hours were dazzling agony. Marins and Sylla, whose bitter contentions kindled the fires of civil war, and who in turn, as either gained the ascendancy, deluged Rome with blood, died natural deaths at a good old age. Marius, as a general, possessed, even his enemies allowed, extraordinaiy ability, and his numerous victories, especially his defeat of the Cimbri, who invaded Italy, B.C. 101, have ren- dered his name deservedly celebrated. (58) Page 156. Feared by the rich, yet worshipped by the crowd. Csesar's advance to fame was not rapid, yet independently of his military genius, he evinced great capacity as a statesman, and in the several ofBees which he filled, especially those of ^dile and Prsetor, gave much satisfaction to the people. As an orator he was very effective, " speaking," says Quintili.nn, " with the same force with which he fought ;" and, had he devoted himself to the bar, he would probably have proved a formidable rival to Cicero. Csesar in his early life, when exiled by Sylla, wrote poems ; he also composed a work on oratory and criticism, but all his other compositions have been eclipsed by his great and graphic performance — the " Commentaries." (59) Page 156. So like a thunderbolt he burst on Gaul. Csesar had obtained the mature age of forty-two, when he was appointed to the governorship of Cisalpine and Transalpine ■ Gaul, and from this epoch his fame as a military leader com- 352 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK II. mences. The portion of Europe north of the Alps, then subject to Rome, was very limited ; the whole of Western Gaul, and the countiy of the Teutones (Germany), were entirely independent, and against these warlike inhabitants, particularly the Celts, CaBsar directed his arms. The resistance they made was immense, and the slaughter, sometimes on the Roman side, so great, that no general except a Cffisar would have persevered in so arduous an enterprise. In the words of Plutarch, "during his ten years' war in Gaul, he took 800 cities by assault, conquered 300 nations (tribes), and fought, at different times, pitched battles with three millions of men." (60) Page 159. Shouting for "Rome!" the standard-bearer dashes. The first Roman who leaped overboard, was the standard- bearer of the tenth legion, and the Emperor Julian states, that Caisar also sprang into the sea to encourage his men. The legionaries were compelled to fight up to their middle in water, as the Britons boldly advanced to meet them ; but pressing for- wards with their shields, and assisted by the militaiy engines on board the galleys, they shortly gained the beach, and formed in order of battle. (61) Page 160. And Britain* s savage freedom was no more. After the flight and dispersion of the Britons, Caesar made his camp near that part of the coast where he had effected his land- ing. He was in no condition to keep his ground long with so inconsiderable a force, therefore, after remaining twenty-five days, and receiving some hostages, he returned to Gaul. The following year he landed without opposition at the same spot, and his force being very greatly increased, the inhabitants were for the time entirely awed into submission. At Rome much importance appears to have been attached to the conquest of Britain, and CaJsar received more applause for it, than for his Gallic and German victories, being honoured with a " supplica- tion" of twenty days. The Romans had an idea that Britain produced pearls, a belief probably derived from the discovery of the numerous oyster-beds off the coast. Though Coesar scattered the Britons wherever they appeared, he seems to have had no intention of making a'permanent settlement in the Island, for ere winter set in, without even leaving a garrison behind, he once more transported his troops to the continent. Caesar never returned to our Island, and for nearly a century it remained unmolested by the Roman arms. Indeed Britain, we think, c.innot be said to have been subdued, although nominally under the Roman sway ; and Horace and Tibullus speak of the inhabi- PART II.J BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 353 tants as invictos in the time of Augustus. But just 97 years after the departure of Csesar, the Emperor Claudius planned an expedition to the Island with a view to its complete reduction, and this he effected, sending his general Plautius, (A.D. 43,) with 50,000 men. From the above period only, to the final departure of the Romans in the troublous times of Honorius, can Britain be considered as a portion of their vast empire, yet the space of time during which it continued under Roman domination amounted to nearly 400 years. (62) Page 166. Saddening the sons of India e'en this hour. Both the Stoics and Platonists maintained that the soul at last would be absorbed into the Deity, not resigning its immor- tal essence, but its distinct entity. The Greeks, there can be little doubt, derived this doctrine from the Gymnosophists of India; and the belief of final absorption into their god Brahm, is firmly cherished in the present day by the benighted Hindoos. (63) Page 168. ITe struck — a minute, and the soul was free. The lone, dark wanderer of eternity. In considering the character of Cato, the chief elements of which were integrity and virtue approaching to harshness, in- flexibility bordering on obstinacy, and a stern sense of duty making no excuse for the failings of others, we are at a loss whether most to admire or condemn. Cato was a great man, and an honest one, but certainly presents no model for imitation. His austere philosophy would wage one continual war against human nature, and banish all the amenities of social life. He was truly by practice as well as principle a Stoic, and offers an admirable example of his school. It is rather remarkable that Rome at this period should have possessed three eminent living exponents of the doctrines of the three great Greek schools, the Stoic, the Epicurean, and the Academic, in the per- sons of Cato, Atticus, and Cicero. These men, though so opposed in sentiments, were personal friends, while they served as foils to each other. The pleasure-seeking and ease- loving Atticus, pitying Cato's severity, and running into the opposite extreme, saw nothing worth living for but the gratifica- tion" of the senses, and thought the highest aim of man should be to pass his life in an exemption from all care, public and private ; virtue he ought to practise, for virtue conduces to health of body and quietude of conscience. Cicero, the Academic, pursued a middle course, eschewing alike the austerity of Cato, and the soft indolence of Atticus, and placed his chief delight in the culture of the mind and the expansion of the intellect, for 354 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK II. by them we approach nearest to the divinity. Of the three schools, stem justice and rigid morality will adopt the Stoic; amiability and natural passion will lean to the Epicurean ; and wisdom and learning will espouse the Academic. (64) Page 168. Banded by Stygian oaths and bent on Mood. The conspiracy, when we consider the number of men leagued, for it is said that no less than sixty senators joined in it, was kept with surprising secrecy. Brutus, who may be considered the chief mover, had in part espoused the Stoical doctrines of his relative Cato, but he was more rational if less disinterested than that philosopher, for Cato, rather than bow to the conqueror, killed himself, while Brutus resolved on killing the conqueror. (65) Page 173. A few rejoiced, a million mourned his fate. Perhaps the deeds of no general, ancient or modern, have engaged more attention tlian the actions of Csesar ; we read of his exploits in our boyhood, and his name haunts us in our old ap;e. The character of this celebrated man is more clearly understood than that of most other military heroes, and the fact, we think, may be attributed to the natural openness of his disposition, and the straightforwardness which on most occasions marked his conduct. We discover no mean intrigue, no dark and tortuous measures adopted for the attainment of ends ; his whole career seems but a comraentaiy on his own memorable words in describing the result of a battle, — Veni, vidi, vici! Caesar may have possessed a restless and unbounded ambition, and II fierce impatience of rivalry, but amidst all his under- takings, at no time do we find him wantonly slaughtering men, like Alexander the Great, or cruel to his conquered enemies, like Marius and Sylla. He had a heart, and could feel warm attachments, while the general pardon which he granted even to his bitterest maligners, when he made himself master of Rome, and his conduct to Brutus who had fought against him in the battle of Pharsalia, alone prove him to have possessed a forgiving disposition. Caisar was assassinated on the Ides (15th March), 44 B.C., aged 56. His great foible or crime was an insatiate thirst for sovereign power, his philosophy not having instructed him that the highest post rarely confers the highest degree of happiness. In mental and physical energy, in perseverance under difficulty, in personal courage, and calm daring and skill in the field of battle, he has had perhaps a few equals, but certainly never a superior. PART III.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 355 MILITAKY HEEOES. paet in. (66) Page 175. For all the wreck he made, and aU he slew. After the destruction of Jerusalem, Titus and his father, Vespasian, were honoured with a magnificent triumph; in the procession the Jewish spoils were exhibited, with the boolcs of the law, and the golden utensils of the Temple. The famous arch of Titus at Rome was erected shortly after the celebration of the triumph, and we cannot place too high a value on this architectural remain, inasmuch as it presents the only genuine picture extant of the singular objects that once adorned the glorious sanctuary on mount Moriah. (67) Page 177. Making in God's great name the East a tomb. Timur or Tamerlane, of Mongol origin, being descended on the female side from Genghis-Khan, was born at Kesh, near Samarkand, A.D. 1335. He commenced soldier at the early age of twelve years, and perhaps caused a greater number of deaths than any other conqueror renowned in story. With his fiery Tartars he overran and desolated more countries than the Macedonian hero, and won nearly as many battles as Cassar. Syria, Persia, a great part of Russia, and all Northern India submitted to his arms. He added to the zeal and bigotry of the Kalif Omar the cruelty of a Sylla and a Marius, and the blood- thirstiness of a Nero and a Domitian. His favourite method for striking terror into his enemies was the piling of the heads of slaughtered prisoners in the form of pyramids; at Ispahan he raised a hideous trophy of this nature, consisting of 70,000 heads, and at Bagdad another of 90,000. Timur conquered Bajazet in the great battle of Angora, but the story of his carrying about the sultan of the Osmanlis in an iron cage appears to have been an invention of his enemies. This energetic, though savage com- mander, had planned the conquest of China, but he died at the commencement of the campaign, A.T>. 1405, in his 71st year. His colossal empire, like that of Alexander the Great, fell to pieces at his death ; his descendants, however, reigned some time in Persia, and, under the name of the Great Moguls, governed Northern India for above three centuries. Timur was lame, and hence obtained the name of Timur-lank, corrupted by Europeans into Tamerlane. 356 SPIBITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. (68) Page 178. And at Truth's radiant self will scoff and smile, Omar the second Kalif of the Mussulmans, at first a bitter opponent of the Prophet whose life he even attempted, became on his conversion one of the most zealous defenders and propa- gators of Islamism. He was a great warrior, and by his rapid conquests contributed, beyond any other of Mohammed's suc- cessors, to the spread of his doctrines. Syria, Egypt, Palestine, and Persia were successively overrun by his generals, and before he died he had, in the service of the Prophet, taken from the Infidels 36,000 towns and fortresses, destroyed 4,000 Christian churches, and built or endowed 1,400 mosques. On the site of Solomon's temple he raised the magnificent mosque which still bears his name. The career of this Kalif was one of un- interrupted success, and he is held up by Mohammedan writers as a pattern of devotion and humility. Omar was at last assas- sinated by a Persian of the Magian sect, while at prayer in the mosque at Medina, A.D. 644. It was during his Kalifate that the era of the Hegira, or flight of the Prophet from Mecca, was established, and it commenced the 16th July, 622. (69) Page 181. No deadlier boon than thine was given to man. The date of the invention of gunpowder has not been satis- factorily fixed. It is stated that the Arabs were early acquainted with this explosive mixture, having used it at the siege of Mecca A.D. 690, and that it was known long prior to that time in India and China. la the last named country, a mixture, re- sembling gunpowder in its powerful effects, appears to have been employed for blasting rocks, and other purposes, as far back as historic records go; the Chinese, however, do not seem to have used it in metallic tubes for projectiles at an early period. In Europe Bertliold Schwartz, a monk of Cologne, it is generally allowed, discovered the mode of mixing the ingredients about 1335, ten years before the battle of Creey. (70) Page 182. Learning ! Religion 1 weep Byzantium's fall. Cannon, on the authority of Villani, was first used by the English in the battle of Crecy; Froissart, however, makes no allusion to the subject. One hundred years afterwards, gunnery had made considerable progress as an art, and we find at the siege of Constantinople by Mohammed II. a respectable park of artillery, while his immense piece of brass ordnance cast by a Dane, and capable of discharging a stone bullet 600 lbs, in weight, has an historic celebrity. PART in.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 357 (71) Page 182. Resting from all his wars, and all his toil. In the year 1555, Charles V. after a career of immense energy, the beginning of which was brilliant with glory and success; but the close shadowed by reverses and disappointments, resigned, to the astonishment of the world, his crown and his dominions, and retired into private life. It was on landing with his small retinue at Laredo in Biscay that the hero of Pavia and Tunis kissed the ground, exclaiming, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I return to thee, thou common mother of mankind!" The Eoman emperor Diocletian and Charles V. afford the rare spectacle of sovereigns while in the possession of almost unlimited sway, and ere incapacitated by old age, resigning that power so dear to the ambitions spirit. Upon the whole, Charles may be considered a good soldier, and an astute poli- tician. The austere life which he led in the convent of St. Justo undermined his constitution, and he died there of a low fever, September 21, 1558, in his fifty-ninth year. (72) Page 194. On ! glorious guard ! and seize the victory. Bonaparte's last hope was in his Imperial Guard, amounting to about fifteen thousand men, the elite of his army, and until that time considered invincible. This fine body of reserve was now brought forward, and appeared full of confidence ; Napoleon addressed them as they formed on the rise of the hill, but declined leading them in person ; he ought to have done so, and died. The fate of this great " forlorn hope," led by the brave Ney, is well known ; after a severe struggle and much slaughter on their side, vainly attempting to deploy, they gave way, and fled in disorder before the British foot-guards, and some other regiments. (73) Page 195. Wliile cheers hurst forth froni all the bleeding ranks. The anxiously expected Prussian force under Blucher did not arrive in suflficient numbers to make much impression on the enemy before seven o'clock ; though the spirit of the French was utterly broken by this time, and victory, there is little doubt, would have been gained without the assistance of the Prussians, yet their advance was most opportune, for by attacking the right wing of the French army, they accelerated its total defeat, and by their subsequent close pursuit prevented the possibility of the disorganised troops rallying. 358 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK II. (74) Page 196. O'erpowered, borne back, death following those who fly, Her army yields — 'tis England's victory ! It would be impossible in this place to give anything like a description of a battle, which not so much for the number of troops engaged, as for the sanguinary nature of the action, stands among the most remarkable conflicts on record. We shall there- fore append but a few brief comments to the slight picture given in the poetical text. Bonaparte had formed a junction witli the troops under Marshal Ney, who had encountered the British onthe 16th June, at Quatre Bras, and if we allow 10,000 men to have been killed and wounded at that place and at Ligny, and deduct the 32,000 under Grouchy, despatched in pursuit of the Prussians, he had concentrated in front of Waterloo, not less than 73,000 men, about 16,000 of which were cavalry. These were the choicest troops, perhaps, that France had ever sent into the field. Bonaparte's artillery numbered 250 pieces, and with this terrible arm he caused more slaughter than with all his cavalry and infantry together. The force under Wellington consisted of 24,000 British, 7,000 veterans composing the old German legion, about 16,000 Belgian and Nassau troops, 8,000 Brunswickers, the remainder being Dutch and Hanoverians: the aggregate has been estimated at 68,000: the cavalry was inferior in number to the French, being 12,400, while Wellington had only 150 guns. The French, on the morning of the 18th, occupied the low winding hills, about a mile south of the English position. Na- poleon remained at the farm-house of La Belle Alliance, which spot commanded a view of the entire field ; he did not during the action mix in the melee, or even head one battalion — a singular circumstance, since in previous engagements he rarely hesitated to expose his person. The allies occupied the high ground in advance of the village of Waterloo; in their rear was the old forest of Soignies, a relic of the wood of Ardennes, while between the contending armies swept the valley about three miles long, with an average breadth of half a mile. The action commenced at eleven o'clock, 18th June (Sunday), by a furious attack on the chateau of Hougoumont, held by the British; but for a general description of the battle, we must refer the reader to the numerous accounts extant; suffice it here to remark, that little manoeuvring on either side took place ; it was a battle chiefly of offence and defence. The French continued a series of energetic attacks without inteiinission for nearly eight hours ; column after column, supported by 250 pieces of ordnance, and assisted by masses of cavalry, poured upon the British squares; the slaughter on both sides was almost without a parallel in modern warfare; but though dreadfully thinned, not a point of the British position had been carried, nor a square broken. PART III.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 359 These attacks were conducted much in the following manner: the artillery first opened a destructive fire of round-shot, grape, and shells, occasionally at 150 paces only from the British line ; next came the tremendous charges of heayy cavalry, among which were the famous cuirassiers ; the masses of cavalry en- deavoured to break the squares, the cuirassiers in particular, though their armour by no means rendered them proof against musket balls, dashed in whenever a momentary opening occurred, and cut down great numbers. The cavalry then falling back, was immediately succeeded by deep lines of infantry, and when the allies, though not without terriiic loss, succeeded in repulsing the last, the whole French attacking force retired behind its guns, quickly re-formed, and again advanced in similar order. Thus throughout the day, but varying of course with circumstances and the nature of the ground, were these murderous charges continued; and nothing but that most determined and dogged bravery, which has ever distinguished the British troops, could have frustrated the enemy's eiforts. Between six and seven o'clock the long-expected Prussians arrived in force, but already the indomitable spirit of the British had in reality won the battle, for except Bonaparte's old guard, all his troops had engaged, and all been signally repulsed ; the famous cuirassiers had beein ridden down, and annihilated as a corps for ever, by our Life Guards and Royal Horse Guards. Napoleon, however, at this juncture made a last and desperate effort to retrieve affairs, and ordered his renowned Imperial Guard, hitherto passive spectators of the fight, to advance in two columns: they boldly ascended the ridge on the British side, but, as we have stated, were received by a steady fire, and wavering soon fell back in utter confusion. The Prussians by attacking the enemy's right, now enabled "Wellington to make his final and triumphant advance, and this he did, as we have described in the text, with the combined infantry for the first time moving forward, supported by the entire cavalry. The commander in chief, now sure of victory, cheered on the troops; the British "hurrah!" sounded along the whole line, and the advance was so steady, yet impetuous, as to be per- fectly irresistible ; the French fled in confusion on all sides, and in one hour the proud force of Napoleon, as an army, was no more. To Blucher and his Prussians was assigned the task of pursuit, and the horrible carnage which ensued humanity shrinks to dwell on. The loss of the army under Wellington at "Waterloo was great, yet less than might have been anticipated, amounting in killed and wounded to nearly 15,000 men: the number of the French who fell has never been exactly ascertained, but when the mul- titudes who perished during the pursuit are taken into account, there can be little doubt that their loss doubled that of the allies. 360 SPIBITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. Among all the great battles of antiquity, we know of none which can be compared with the field of Waterloo : a far greater num- ber of troops has been engaged at one time ; for instance in the battle of Issus, the action at Pharsalia between CsBsar and Pompey, and that of Angora between Timur and Bajazet; a greater slaughter also was made at Arbela, and at Canuze ; but for fierceness of contest, the contending powers being nearly balanced ; for the tei'rible display of high art, and all that renders war at once so desolating and so grand, we cannot but think that Waterloo will be named in after ages as the greatest battle, up to the time when it occurred, ever fought. — Thus terminated a series of wars which had been carried on, with little interrup- tion, for twenty- three years. Napoleon must not be condemned as the originator of all these conflicts, yet, during the ten years he had been Emperor, he raised by his conscriptions, as it has been proved, two millions one hundred and seventy thousand men, one half of whom, at the lowest computation, perished on the field. BOOK III. CELEBEATED WOMEN. Paet I. (75) Page 202. A strain of thunder pealing through mind*s shy. Shaking all hearts, its echoes ne^er to die. The date of the taking of Troy, as fixed by the Arundeliau marbles, was 1184 B.C. Homer flourished, according to the computations of Herodotus, and the Alexandrine chronologists, about the year 900 B.C. Hence a period of at least 280 years elapsed from the event celebrated to the era of the renowned poet. Whether the story of "Troy divine," and Helen the beautiful " firebrand of the world," had been kept alive during this time by oral means, or had been committed to writing, is a point which most probably will never be satisfactorily settled. Some scholars have even maintained that Homer himself never used the character of the period, but, during his bardic wander- ings, recited entirely from memory the whole poem of the Iliad. We think this opinion, stupendous as may be the powers of memory when developed under peculiar circumstances, cannot reasonably be maintained. It is well known that the Phoinician character was in use centuries before the age of Homer, and the PAET I.J BIOGEAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 361 fact of the poet's Windness affords no cogent argument against his having availed himself of the writing then practised : pre- viously to the loss of his sight, he might have Inscribed his compositions on sliins or papyri; or, even when blind, he could have caused them to be so inscribed by an amanuensis. That the Iliad was the entire produce of Homer's genius, is an essen- tially different question. The Greek Mythology had been settled, and the religion estahlished, long before Homerfiourished, and this is evident from all the poet's allusions. Very numerous too, it has been shown by the erudite Miiller, were the bards and rhapsodists who preceded him ; indeed that such was the case, we learn from the Homeric poems themselves. It has been an egregious error to suppose that Homer's poem was the first great effort of genius, and that the human mind produced the marvel at one mighty burst. When we consider how mind is constituted, and that intellect is always progressive in its development, we should be driven to the confession of a miracle were we to believe that Homer, without some examples, and without a long course of training in his art, could have com- posed at once in language, nervous, beautiful, and sublime, attaining a height which no Greek succeeding him was able to reach. But into the Homeric controversy we cannot of course enter here. We will merely record our impression, and by no means presume to suppose that we may not, when so many disagree, make statements at variance with the dark and hidden truth. Homer, then, we believe to have been an Asiatic Greek, a native of Smyrna, in Ionia, and not to have been bom, as it is popularly believed, in Scio. He was an accomplished scholar, for no rude unlettered minstrel could have displayed such learning, and written with such elegance, taste, and power. We believe, that he collected a mass of fragmentary compositions, some written in Greek, and some possibly in the Egyptian Phonetic character, and all bearing on the heroic ages preceding him. He gathered, too, the oral traditions, preserved and recited by the numerous itinerant bards then common in Greece; these traditions had chiefly for their subject the famous tale of Troy. Homer was the only poet capable of throwing the materials so collected into shape, andof producing with them a homogeneous whole; this he did in a masterly and magnificent manner, impressing on the work the stamp of his own peculiar genius, and adding a great mass of original matter. In process of time, the elder bards were forgotten ; Homer was the lord and king, and his fame spread through Greece ; the Iliad was his own in repute and in truth, and more his own, strictly speaking, than the ^neid was the property of Virgil, for the latter poet not only endea- voured to catch the spirit and manner of his great prototype, 2a 362 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK III. but servilely walked in his steps, echoed many of his ideas, and mirrored not a few of his scenes. After Homer's time, the Homerids, as they are termed, (commentators on and amenders of Homer,) altered much and interpolated more ; and for the form which the Iliad now wears, and the last arrangement of its parts, we are indebted to Pisistratus and Solon, who flourished in the sixtli century before our era. With regard to the Odyssey, it is believed by some that Homer had nothing to do in the composition of that poem ; they seem to think from its anti-heroic tone, and romantic aspect as opposed to the classic, it must be the production of one of the Cyclic poets, or imitators of Homer, in a subsequent age. We do not however embrace such an opinion, believing, from internal evidence, the Odyssey to have been the veritable production of the immortal Ionian. (76) Page 207. And each flower-hell hangs moistened loiih her tears. The renowned Helen of Sparta flourished at that period, B.C. X200, which has been considered the commencement of the heroic ages of Greece : a cloud of poetic fnble envelops the history of the daughter of Tyndarns, yet was she a real per- sonage, and not merely the heroine of a Grecian myth ; but 'the leading incidents of her story are so well known that we shall not repeat them here. (77) Page 209, Hymned death's sad mourner, sweet Simonides. It is an undeniable fact that Greek literature had its origin in Ionia, the iEolian cities, and in the islands off the coast of Asia. The first epoch, following close on the heroic ages, and of which Homer shone the grand luminary, was the period when Epic poetry was almost exclusively written. About 700 B.C. the Cyclic poems ceasing to charm from their want of ■novelty, and the Epos declining. Lyric poetry began to be jjultivated. (78) Page 215. And hears her hurp in each soft murmuring wave. Sappho, if we except Alcoeus, was the most celebrated of the Lyric poets of Greece immediately preceding Anacreon and Pindar ; she was born in Lesbos, either at the town of Eresos or Myiilene, about 600 B.C. Little on which dependence can be placed is known of this accomplished woman, but we are assured that her fame was universal in Greece, and whenever she is mentioned by ancient writers, it is in terms of unbounded admiration for her genius. The warmth of Sappho's erotic poetry, and the intercourse which she appears to have kept up PART I.J BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 363 with the learned men of her time, have heen wrongly adduced as proofs of a light and immoral character ; but her peculiar position, her fervid temperament, and the simple manners of her age as opposed to the artificial state of society aftei-wards pre- vailing in Greece, will sufficiently account for the representations of Athenian writers. Indeed, we may safely exculpate her from the charge of immorality; the ode in which she bitterly reproaches her brother Charaxns for having purchased the slave Rhodopis, would alone go far to prove that her ideas and conduct were regulated by virtuous principles, since no woman would use such severe expressions, who was, or had been, a loose character herself. With regard to the poetic genius of Sappho, the scanty remains of her compositions left to us, (one complete ode and some fragmentary pieces,) prove her to have possessed a warm heart, and a remarkably vivid fancy; her language is always graceful and elegant, and her verses are ex- quisitely melodious. The truth of lier love for a youth called Phaon has been questioned, for this name does not occur in any of her poems extant ; we are informed, however, that in her odes she frequently alluded to an individual for whom she had conceived a strong attachment, while he was totally in- diflferent to her. Thus we have a plain fact, and this "unre- quited love" must be considered one of the chief incidents which gave a colour to her life, and a tone to herpoetry. The same spirit of doubting has been applied to the generally re- ceived account that Sappho terminated her existence by leaping into the sea from the Leucadian rock. The deed seems per- fectly in accordance with the feelings, if not the principles, of one so excitable and passionate in her nature : the probability that a poetic image was intended, and not the record of an ac- tual event, by him who first alluded to the subject, may render the story doubtful, but cannot prove it a fiction ; and with all deference for the opinion of those who may dissent from us, we feel ourselves compelled to believe that the popular account has a foundation in truth. (79) Page 218. Descends 'mid shouts on fair Corinna's head. Corinna was born at Tanagra in Boeotia, about the year B.C. 520, and, with the poetess Myrtis, gained considerable fame by her lyrical compositions. She was the instructress of Pindar, and gave him much valuable advice, recommending him to ele- vate his poetry by the introduction of mythical tales. Corinna contended at the public festivals no less than five times with that celebrated Theban poet, and on each occasion bore away the palm, although Pausanias, while admitting her poetry pos- sessed great merit, has the remark that the j udges were influenced 364 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. in her favonr by her extraordinary beanty. A few fragments of lier poetry are still preserved ; they treat chiefly of mytholo- gical subjects, and Boeotian legends ; but though more elevated in their nature, they want the rich colouring, the warmth and elegance, which distinguish the writings of Sappho. (80) Page 219. To Pericles that wondrous secret taught. Plutarch and Thucydides admit that Pericles was indebted for the art of speaking with freedom and elegance mainly to the instructions of Aspasia; before he became enamoured of her, he visited her house in company with Anaxagoras and others, merely to hear her descant on politics, and the philosophical dogmas of the day. (81) Page 220. Bright oak-leaves wreathed the Hermee. The Hermae were statues of the god known to the Romans as Mercury. The attributes of Hermes were very numerous and of a beneficent character ; hence in Athens his statues were set up in every temple, and at the door of almost every house. It was Hermes who patronised all that was adroit and clever in mortals, who ever interested himself in the domestic affairs of men, and who at last conducted the souls of the dead to Hades. The houses of the Greeks differed materially from those of the Eomans in their internal arrangements, being divided into two distinct parts ; the inner portion was occupied by the women, and that towards the gate by the men. Before the age of Pericles, the houses in Athens, we are told by Demosthenes, were both small and inelegant, but domestic luxury advanced with the cultivation of the arts. (82) Page 220. And couches rich, lohere honoured guests recline, Lean at their ease, and quaff tlieir orient wine. The more ancient Greeks always sat at their meals, and Homer's heroes are represented as ranged around the wall, each with a small table before him. The custom of reclining at meals on couches v/as introduced from the nations of the East, parti- cularly the Persians, but at what period tliis apparently etfeminate habit became general among the Greeks is uncertain. The Romans did not adopt it earlier than two centuries before Christ; Livy alludes to it as prevailing in the army of Scipio the Elder, when in Africa. The couch of the Romans was usually large enough to contain three individuals, and was drawn to the table sufficiently near for the guests to help them- PART I.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 365 Eelres; they lay reclined on the left arm, the back being sup- ported by cushions, while a pillow separated one guest from another. We do not read of the Greeks or Romans using knives or forks at their meals, but they assisted themselves with their hands, as most orientals do in the present day. Slaves carved, and all present were well provided with water for ablution, but the mappa, or napkin, the guest was expected to bring with him, and it was esteemed an article of great luxury, the better classes priding themselves on its fineness and costly decorations. The chief meal both with the Greeks and Romans was the supper; tlie prandium or dinner of the Roman was taken about midday, a very light repast, when wine was seldom drunk ; his ccena or supper followed about four hours after; but sometimes this repast was served later, and prolonged far into the night, and such an entertainment was called cmna antelucana. (83) Page 223. For such dispel the blinding mists of wine. Garlands of flowers were always placed on the heads of the guests at a banquet, from a notion that the intoxicating effects of wine were thereby in a great measure avoided ; these garlands were commonly assumed towards the conclusion of the feast, but on especial occasions they appear to have been worn as soon as the guests reclined at the tables. (84) Page 224. Her happy sayings to oblivion cast. Aspasia left no writings behind her, but she is said, in the Menexenus of Plato, to have composed the famous funeral oration pronounced by Pericles on those who fell in the Samian war— a war undertaken at her instigation. Socrates, as one of the speakers in the dialogue, eulogises Aspasia for having " made many fine orators." (85) Page 225. Threats sank to prayers, and prayers to pleading tears. Aspasia, after she had become the wife of Pericles, was pro- secuted by a faction consisting of the enemies of her husband; she was tried before an Assembly of the people, and the judges, at least, might have been so far unbiassed and honest as to be resolved to act in strict accordance with the law. Among other charges, Aspasia was taxed with having disputed the existence of the gods as worshipped in Greece; in all probability she maintained, with the sage Anaxagoras, who had been the preceptor of Pericles, the unity of the great Creative Principle, in opposition to Polytheism; Anaxagoras ardently inculcated 366 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK III. the belief that one wise and Omnipotent Being governed and sustained the universe; for these so considered impious opinions, the firm uncompromising upholders of the old system would most probably have condemned Aspasia to death, were it not, we are told, that Pericles by great exertion, many entreaties, and even tears, obtained for her an acquittal. (86) Page 226. Wrings Athens' heart — her Perides is dead. Pericles died o.f the plague which devastated Greece, and many other countries, in the years 427, 428, B.C., and of which Thucydides has given a grapliic account. Tlie rites and cere- monies observed lay tiie Greeks and Romans, in respect to their dead, were very similar. The deceased w.as laid on a couch or bier, which, when lie belonged to the wealthier classes, was of ivory or costly wood; for some days lie was placed in the vestibule of the house, that any friend might with ease have the mournful satisfaction of viewing the body. The deceased was wrapped in his best garment, which among the Greeks was com- monly white; or he wore his robe of office if lie had held a dignified post. Any crown that he might have won by valour or other meritorious acts, was now placed on his head ; flowers and per- fumes also were strewn upon the bier; the feet were ahvays pointed outwards, to intimate that he was about to take his last journey, never to return. The Greeks put into his moulh a small cake made of flower and honey, to appease the anger of, Cerberus, the keeper of hell or Hades, together with a piece of money, termed Oanace, to pay Charon fur ferrying him across the river Styx. Then came tlie conclamatio or outcry, to be re- peated for several days at different intervals of time, in the hope that the soul might yet be recalled, or awakened, if haply the powers of life might only be suspended. This condnmntio hore a resemblance to the Irish howl, although we are very unac- customed to give to Irish observances a Greek or Roman origin. The Greeks usually inierreJ by day, the Romans by night; burning the dead was not anciently much practised, but crema- tion gradually became more common, especially among the Romans. (87) Page 229. Her hrilUnnt genius gilding error's shade. Aspasia, as the instructress of Pericles in the art of oratory, and subsequently as his companion, counsellor, and wife, must ever rank among the most celebrated women of antiquity. She was the daughter of Axiochus the philosopher, and passed her girlhood at Miletus in Ionia, but the year of her birth is un- PART I.] BIOGEA-PHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 367 known. We find her a stranger in Athens a short time before Pericles gained honours in the state. Acting veiy differently from the Athenian ladies, who dared not, as they valued their reputation, attempt to emerge from the privacy of domestic life, Aspasia opened a school for the teaching of elocution and rhetoric, and for the delivery of lectures on politics and philo- sophy. It is therefore by no means surprising that Socrates, Anaxagoras, and other celebrities of the day, should have re- sorted to her, fascinated by her extraordinary abilities, and charmed by her society. She lived at Athens in great style, and introduced many luxurious habits from tlie East; and these cir- cumstances alone, it must be confessed, give a strong colour of apparent truth to some of the charges urged against her in re- spect to immoral conduct. But who were her original accusers? the comic writers and satirists of the period — Aristophanes, Hermippus, and the like— men whose very profession was to pervert truth, traduce character, and tickle the Athenian ear by scandal ; and if they spared not the upright and high-minded Socrates, it is scarcely to be expected that the renowned and luxurious Ionian stranger should escape their jeers and sarcasms. The truth is, the Athenian women of that time were in a re- markably depressed condition, without education, and without moral influence ; they were strictly confined to tlie petty details of domestic life, having no higher destiny than that of being the mere slaves and toys of their husbands. When therefore a woman, like Aspasia, dared to overstep the bounds prescribed to her sex, not only would the men generally consider her a light and improper character, but the women also would stand aloof. We by no means contend that Aspasia's conduct was spotless, yet we do maintain that her actions were misrepresented. It is difficult to believe that any woman devoting her time, like Aspasia, to the study of the arts, and the acquisition of the higher branches of knowledge, could be depraved, profligate, and dead to a sense of shame; nor is it probable that such a man as Pericles, acquainted, as he must have been, with her previous mode of living, would have made her his legal wife, had her character been so abandoned as her traducers represent. Trora the slender notices we have of Aspasia's career, and the absence of any productions from her pen, considerable obscurity must ever invest the history of this extraordinary woman. Slie was a Cleopatra without her wantonness and cruelty, and, like the queen of Egypt, exercised immense influence, through Pericles at least, on tlie private manners and destiny of a nation. We know nothing of what befell Aspasia after the death of Pericles, except that, as we are told by jEschines, one Lysicles married her, and wlio, advanced by the connection, became a popular leader in Athens. Yet Aspasia was deeply attached to her former husband; she had accompanied him on his military ex- 368 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. peditions, and Plutarch asserts that the affection of Pericles was so strong that " he never went out upon business or returned, without saluting her." CELEBEATED WOMEN. Past II. (88) Page 231. Seized hy hold love — and this was infant Rome. Perhaps the origin of no nation has been invested with more fable than that of the Roman people. The account generally received, as the learned Niebuhr has convincingly shown, can scarcely merit the appellation of history, being a series of legends, the pleasing offspring of a glowing imagination. The story of the vestal Silvia, and her god-begotten sons, Romulus and Kemus, suckled by a wolf, is about as deserving of credit as the contention of Romulus and Remus, the flight of the vultures, and the murder of Remus by his twin-brother, for contemptuously leaping over the walls of the rising city. The sober fact, gleaming through the mist of fable, seems to be, that about the year 753 B.C., a small body of men, dissatisfied with the government at Alba Longa, the chief of the Latin cities, exiled themselves from the place of their nativity, and after some wanderings settled on one of the waste eminences near the Tiber; this was the Palatine Hill. Tlieir leader was undoubtedly called Romulus, and he became their king, giving the name of Rome to the little settlement. Tliese Latins ^^•ere the oldest known people in Italy, and, according to Varro, may be regarded as the Aborigines ; but whether in reality they were of Greek or Trojan origin, sober history hesitates to deter- mine ; yet the elements of the Latin language bear, in many points, a near resemblance to the Greek, and this fact might dispose us to consider the founders of Rome but one more branch of the widely-scattered Hellenic family. (89) Page 233. Hush down that vale whet-e blood like water flows. The valley between the Capitoline and Quirinal hills was the scene of the last combat between the Romans and Sabines: the latter were a remarkable people, simple as austere, and famed as much for their bravery as their good faith. Their origin, like that of their more renowned neiglibours, the Etruscans, is veiled in impenetrable obscurity, yet their religious rites, the genius of their language, and their physical beauty, point to the East as the region whence, at some early epoch, they emigrated. PAET II.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES, 369 (90) Page 233. Floats too, where Nemi's lily yearly blooms. About two miles from the gates of Eotne, near the circus of Caracallaon the Via Appia, the traveller descends into a narrow valley where there is a grotto with a fountain ; a mutilated statue may still be seen reclining near the limpid waters. This ancient fountain was consecrated to the Nymph Egeria. But the more celebrated fountain dedicated to the same shadowy mistress of the enamoured Soman King, will be found at the lake Nemi, bordering on the ancient Arician forest, whose green recesses Egeria was said to haunt. This fountain, which is one of the chief sources of the beautiful lake, issues at the base of the high rock or hill on which the little town of Nemi stands. Nothing can be more delightful or pictui-esque than the scenery in the neigh- bourhood ; woods, hills, and " leafy valleys" ravish the eye of the spectator, and the landscape and fountain are probably little changed since the time when Ovid rendered them immortal in his verse, and sang of the sweet Egeria : "NumEB conjux, consiliumque fuit." The deception practised by Numa has been imitated by many lawgivers and founders of religious systems; and it is doubtful whether men would have received the creeds, or listened to the proposed laws of a Mohammed or a Zoroaster, had not these sages, like Numa, succeeded in impressing their followers with the belief that they held communication with the spiritual world. Egeria, whom Numa met nightly in the Arician grove, was pro- nounced to be a Nymph ; that is, a being half celestial, half eartlily. She is called the invisible Protectress of Numa, but Ovid says that he married her. We are inclined to believe that, apart from poetry and fable, Egeria was simply the priestess attached to the temple of Diana at Aricia, and that Numa loved her ; sworn to perpetual virginity, such love might have exposed her to severe penalties; hence the amour was carried on in a clandestine manner, and when Numa was thought to be holding communion with an immortal in the groves of Aricia, for the purpose of receiving, through her, laws from heaven, he only in reality smiled or siglied there with his beloved Priestess. Whatever the truth may be, her name has come down to us associated with all that is beautiful in person and spirit, and the story of the mysterious loves of Numa and Egeria will long continue to excite the imagination, and captivate the heart. (91) Page 235. She loved, but not her lord; her guilty dreams. Tullia was married to Aruns, the son of Tarquinius Prisons, fifth king of Eome. Aiuns is described as a prince of a very 370 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. gentle and amiable character; hence Tullia's indifference for him ; she had conceived a passion for Tarquin, who was her sister's husband, and tlie brother of Aruns ; he returned Tullia's love, and they entered into a, compact which restJted in two assassinations. (92) Page 241. With Servius' blood its whirring wheels are red. Tarquin thrust out the aged king, Servius Tullius, from the senate house, and the latter was murdered while proceeding home. Tiillia is said to have seen her expiring or dead father near tlie Palatine Hill ; the body was lying in the way of the chariot as she was hastening to the Senate ; her charioteer hesitated to proceed, but she commanded him to drive over it! (93) Page 242. Cursing their fortune^ cursing heaven and man. The events that led to the dethronement, and perpetual banishment of Tarquin and his family, need not be alluded to here. After having been assisted by the Etrarians under Por- senna, in a fruitless endeavour to regain his kingdom, Tarquin seems to have abandoned all hope. The fate of the miserable exile and his wife is involved in much obscurity ; but Tarquin, after wandering long a fugitive and a denounced man, is said to have died at Cumaj. Tullia, from the little we learn concerning her, may be pronounced one of the darkest female characters met with in history — a woman ambitious, cruel, remorseless, and without one amiable quality to save her evil nature from utter detestation. (94) Page 250. She bears her fate, her heart in by-gone time. Cornelia, best known as the Mother of the Gracchi, was the daughter of Scipio Africanus. The historian loves to dwell on the severely moral and upright character of this remarkable woman, whose sayings became proverbs among Koman matrons. Her two beloved sons, Valerius and Caius, fell in the pride of youth, martyrs to the popular cause, and Cornelia, after her bereavement, retired from Rome, and took up her abode at Misenum ; there, she is described as having lived in unostenta- tious elegance, corresponding with the chief literary characters of the time, and honoured alike by patrician and plebeian. The Romans during her lifetime erected a statue to her virtues, simply inscribed with, " Cornelia Mater Gracchorum." (95) Page 250. But plaudits soon the pillared forum fill. Hortensia, daughter of the celebrated orator Hortensius, under- PAET II.J BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 371 took to plead the cause of the Roman ladies before the tvium- yirs, Antony and Lepidus, when a heavy state-tax had been imposed upon them. Astonished at such audacity on the part of a woman, the triumvirs would have driven her and her followers from their tribunal, but the people espoused her cause, and the forum echoed with their applauses. Hortensia's efforts so far prevailed, that some thousands of Roman ladies, out of the 14,000 on whom the tax was levied, obtained exemption. (96) Page 2.51. Portia is true in joy, and firm in woe. Portia, the wife of Brutus, inherited the high indomitable spirit of her father Cato ; Brutus at first hesitated to acquaint her with the conspiracy in which he was engaged, but subse- quently he confided to her the terrible secret, and which womanly fears never induced her to divulge. The story that, on the deatli of Brutus at Philippi, she destroyed herself by swallowing burning coals, rests on no reliable foundation, for Portia is spoken of as being alive some years after that event. (97) Page 251. While slighted Fulvia bowed her head and died. Fulvia, the wife of Marc Antony, made herself very conspi- cuous by the part which she took in the civil wars and political contentions of the time. She was ambitious and intriguing, but her actions, for the most part, appear to have been prompted by intense jealousy: it was with the hope of winning back her faithless husband from the fascinations of Cleopatra, that she caused the breach between him and Augustus; she laboured to make partisans for Antony in Rome, and with her brother-in- law, the consul Lucius, fought battles, and struggled long against Augustus, but the latter being at length victorious, Fulvia was compelled to fly from Italy. Antony met her in Greece, and cruelly, perhaps unjustly, upbraided her as having been the cause of all the recent dissensions in the Roman world, forget- ting that his folly, and unmanly dalliance with Cleopatra, had occasioned at least his own misfortunes. Fulvia, shortly after her interview with her husband, died at Sicyon, it is said, of a broken heart. (98) Page 254. Who smote by poison, not the honest sword. Piso was the creature of the Emperor Tiberius, and when Germ aniens was carrying on the war in Syria, he and his wife Plancina were set as spies over the Roman commander. Tibe- rius, envious of the great military renown of his nephew, ardently 372 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [BOOK III. wished him swept from his path, and Piso found means of effect- ing this, having, it was universally believed, caused the general's death by poison. (99) Page 255. On roch-hound Caprets lovingly were sleeping. Tiberius resigned the reins of government to his favourite Sejanus, and withdrew from the world, in order, it is recorded, to indulge more completely his vicious inclinations. He took this resolve A.D. 26, living a sliort time at Capua and Nola, prior to his retirement to Capre£e. This island, the modern Capri, in the Bay of Naples, retains much of its ancient beauty and fertility; it is about ten miles in circumference, and presents on most sides ranges of high calcareous rocks, those towards the west rising not less than 1600 feet above the sea ; picturesque scenes abound at every point, and remains of Roman buildings are frequently discovered beneath the soil. The island is still famous for its olives and wines. (100) Page 259. A woman walked^ august yet sad her air, Tiberius had retired from public life, when his agents were instructed, according to popular belief, to destroy Agrippina by poison. She accused him in person of his intention, and it was this daring or firm conduct on her part that exasperated Tibe- rius, and occasioned her miserable end. Christ was crucified in the cishteenth year of this emperor's reign, while he resided in the island of Caprea;, and Pilate addressed to him there his letters, giving an account of the miracles, and resurrection of the Messiah. (101) Page 263. And high-souled Agrippina's woes were o'er. Not so much is generally known of Agrippina as of many women who have acted less conspicuous parts in their day. She was the daughter of M. Vipsanius Agrippa and Julia, the unhappy offspring of the Emperor Augustus, and when very young married Germanicus, nephew of Tiberius. Her husband when only twenty-six was made consul, and sent to command the army on the Rhine. While in Germany, during the revolt of some of the legions, and on another occasion when a panic had seized the Roman soldiers, Agrippina, by her determined conduct, fortitude, and heroism, rendered essential service ; especially at one juncture, was she the means of saving from dishonour and calamity the whole Roman army. From Ger- many she accompanied her husband to Syria, happy to endure PART II.] BIOGRAPmCAL AND HISTOEICAL NOTES. .373 with him the privations and face the dangers of an eastern cam- paign. The jealousy of Tiberius followed Germanicus in Asia, and at the death of the latter, the widow, as we have desci ibed in our text, returned to Italy, bearing the funeral urn of her husband. She accused Piso before the senate of his murder, and thus exposed herself for ever to the anger and resentment of Tiberias. Her eldest sons, Nero and Drusus, were subse- quently put to death by that prince ; but her son Caligula, of notorious memory, was afterwards invested with the Imperial purple, and one of her daughters, usually styled Agrippina the Younger, became the mother of the Emperor Nero. It is rather a singular fact that this virtuous and heroic woman should have sprung from a mother the most abandoned of her sex, and pro- duced two children at least, whose evil deeds have scarcely parallels in the annals of crime. She closed her eventful life in the island of Pandataria (now Santa Maria), whither she had been banished by Tiberius, being there, like her mother Julia hefore her, starved to death in one of the rocky prisons. The character of Agrippina stands out brightly amidst the general profligacy of the age; she was not herself faultless, being rash, proud, and headstrong ; but for conjugal fidelity, firmness under calamity, bravery in the hour of danger, and for high principle, and virtue, we shall with difficulty find her equal among the women of remote times. (102) Page 267. And place suieet Polla 'mid that radiant throng Of pant good spirits, earth remembers long. The name of Polla Argentaria is inseparably connected with that of her poet husband, Lucan, and the peculiar circum- stances attending his early death, and the devotion of the widow dedicating her life to the advancement of his posthumous fame, must ever invest their memories with veiy considerable interest. Marcus Annseus Lucan belonged to an equestrian family of Rome, but was born at Corduba in Spain, A.D. 38; his father, M. Annseus Mela, was the brother of the famous Seneca. Lucan early distinguished himself in Eome by his oratory, but his fame as a poet soon eclipsed that which he had acquired in the cha- racter of rhetorician ; he was one of those precocious geniuses, the early development of whose mental powers astonishes ordi- nary men, for the list of his works (not come down to our day), as given by Statins in his Silvce, may truly surprise us. Lucan at first, like his uncle Seneca, was in high favour with Nero, and we find at the commencement of the " Pharsalia" extrava- gant praise, unworthy the poet, offered up to that unhappy man. In these days of sunshine and fame, he marriedPoUa Argentaria, the daughter of a Koman senator, a lady accomplished and 374 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. learned, and who loved him with rare devotion. Lucan lost Nero's favour by rashly accepting an invitation to compete with him for a poetic prize, the judges being bold enough in a public assembly to bestoiv upon the young bard the laurel-crown : this was indeed a fatal victory, and Lucan soon felt the envy and resentment of Nero, for the exasperated emperor almost imme- diately sent an order commanding him never again to declaim in public, or recite his compositions, as authors in those days were accustomed to do. Such a command was calculated to irritate a rising poet like Lucan to the last degree, and the author of " Pharsalia," in his indignation, was induced to join Piso in a plot to dethrone the tyrant. This conspiracy being prematurely discovered, Lucan was among the first condemned to die. The manner of his death is well known; being per- mitted to have his veins opened, he sank gradually through exhaustion ; his wife Polla, at his urgent request, consented to live, in order to revise his great work the " Pliarsalia," which remained in an imperfect state. He perished in his twenty- seventh year, A.D. 65, and was buried in his garden at Rome. Polla, we are informed by contemporary writers, had been his amanuensis and literary adviser ; she is described as a woman of refined taste, and every way competent to perform the task undertaken by her. The " Pharsalia" has come down to us, after receiving its last touches and corrections at her hands, and yet the poem, which is almost as long as Virgil's .iEneid, is incomplete, ending abruptly at the tenth book in the midst of the narrative; it is supposed that the concluding portion has been lost, since it may fairly be presumed that Polla, however inferior she might have been in poetical ability to her husband, would at least have brought to a conclusion a work that seems to have engaged her during many years of her widowhood. The subject of the "Pharsalia" is the civil wars between Pompey and Cffisar; the language may at times be inflated, and the figures forced and artificial, yet it contains passages of great power, with much fine scene- painting, and though less ornate, melo- dious, and sustained througliout than the jEneid, is certainly more vigorous on the whole than that boasted performance of the Augustan age. Lucan is generally understood to haie taken his wife Polla as a model for his beautifully drawn cha- racter of Cornelia. (103) Page 268. niches viere his, and lands, and friends, and power. Seneca possessed, besides several villas near Rome, great wealth, his cash amounting, it is said, to 300,000 sestertia, or about two millions four hundred thousand pounds of our money. How he should have obtained such immense riches was con- sidered rather extraordinary at the time, and his enemies, espe- PART II.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 375 cially one Suilius, were extremely sarcastic on the subject. It IS supposed, however, that Nero bestowed the money on him during tlie four years that he enjoyed his favour, for Seneca had been his tutor. (104) Page 268. Learn'd Seneca had clung fir lengthened years To Zeno's creed, and hoped true bliss to find. _ Seneca professed to be, at least during the greater portion of his life, a rigid disciple of the Stoic school. It is a mistake to suppose that the followers of Zeno, the great founder of the sect, were to be unsocial in their dispositions, or to abstain from enjoying the good things of this life; Cato carried matters to an extreme, but Epictetus, and Seneca, as good Stoics as he, inter- preted their master's doctrines in a different manner. The true Stoic, whose leading characteristics are quietism and an entire submission to the will of Heaven, is not to seek happiness in worldly possessions, yet, unlike the Cynic, he needs not reject or despise them. Every thing is to be second to the conquest of the passions and the practice of virtue; if pain or misfortunes befall him, they are to be unnoticed; life is to be regarded as a blessing, yet death is never to be avoided as an evil. Tlie per- fectly wise man might do in this life what appeared to him best, and almost independent of law ; but here a considerable diffi- culty very naturally arose, since who was the " perfectly wise man," amidst a variety of opinions, could never well be decided. In short, the system of Zeno and his successor Chrysippus was suited to the few, not the many; and Stoicism, being totally irreconcileable to the general feeling of mankind, could at no time be widely embraced. The sect existed for about four centuries ; the Emperor Aurelian was almost the last eminent disciple, and the system entirely died out before the rising light of Christianity. (105) Page 277. That wreaths their urns, and guards each gentle name. Seneca, who, like Lucan, was born in Spain, has been greatly extolled for his virtues and exalted philosophy by one party, and much reproached, perhaps traduced, by another. In deciding on the nature of certain alleged acts, said to have been committed in early life, there is considerable difficulty; we find him, however, for some reason now unknown, banished by Claudius to Corsica. Seneca pursued his philosophical studies in his retirement, but after many prayers and entreaties unworthy his character as a Stoic, he was recalled to Eome, and appointed tutor to the youthful Nero, little imagining that one day his 376 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. pupil would be his murderer. Seneca's works are numerous ; his style is terse and epigrammatic, but frequently pompous and inflated: besides his epistles and moral treatises, ten tragedies are ascribed to his pen ; but his genius was essentially reflective, and with the imagination he had little to do. Nero resolved on removing Seneca from his path, either dreading his influence in Rome, or hating him on account of his virtues. Accordingly when Piso's conspiracy was discovered, Nero lost no time in accusing the philosopher' of being a partisan, and in dooming him, with his nephew Lucan, to death. All the biographers of Seneca assert his innocence, and it was never proved that he had any share in Piso's plot, although it is true the conspirator had been numbered among his friends. Seneca must ever be considered as Nero's victim, and his conduct, and that of his lieroic wife Paulina, at the trying hour of condemnation, will awaken the sympathy of readers through all ages. He suffered A.D. 65, and his wife survived him but a few years, a prey to the deepest melancholy. Owing to her having lost so much blood through the operation submitted to, she is described as having become pale and emaciated as a spectre, so that a com- mon saying obtained in Eome, when any female fell sick, that she looked " pallid as Seneca's Paulina." CELEBEATED WOMEN. Part HI. (106) Page 281. And made the world her debtor evermore. The question once raised whether the Beatrice of the Divina Commedia were any other than an allegorical personage, the re- presentative of Divine Wisdom, has long been set at rest, the heroine of that great work being no other than the fair Florentine girl, ivhose beauty had so captivated the author in his boyhood, and whose memory remained with him to the latest period of his life. Dante's attachment commenced at the early age often years, Beatrice being about one year younger than himself, and his boyish passion never evaporated, or gave place to new impressions. The disposition of Dante was naturally inflexible, while he seemed subject to constitutional melancholy, and this circumstance may account in part for the tenacity with which he clung to one sentiment, one object, one love; and how in death, as well as in life, Beatrice was the idol before which his fervid PART III.J BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 377 soul bowed, wliile his poetic imagination invested her with charms that seemed almost to surpass those of humanity. The question to be considered is, do we owe tlie Divina Commedia to the influence which Beatrice exercised over her lover? If we are to believe Dante's own asseiliious, we shall answer in the affirmative. The Vita Nuova, some portions of which were written after the death of Beatrice, contains constant allusions to his attachment, and its perusal must convince the most scep- tical, that the great Florentine bard conceived the idea of de- scribing the " world of spirits," in- order that he might follow, in fancy his early lost, and sing (to quote his own language) " of Beatrice', what never before of woman was said or sung." In a word, he would exalt her in the regions .of the blest, to that station which he believed her virtue and goodness merited. Dante's love, it must be observed, appears throughout to, have been of a purely Platonic character — more elevated than that of Petrarch, more reasonable than that of Ta«so, and yet possessing the fervour of both. (107) Page 282. She died in youth and beauty's sunny hour. Beatrice' died a few months after her father, in her twenty- fourth year, A.D. 1290, her end being hastened, it has been supposed, by grief at the loss she had sustained. Boccaccio bears testimony to the deep affliction of Dante on the occasion ; he could not for a long time sleep or eat ; he neglected his per- son, until he became a " savaige thing to look at." Here some busy commentators, at a loss to assign a reason for Dante's not having married the object of his affections, assume, for it is at best but an assumption, that Beatrice was affianced, or even wedded to another; no records to which any credit can be attached speak of such an union, and it is certain that Dante himself in ho part of his writings alludes to it : the words alone which the poet 'puts into the mouth of Beatrice in the region of spirits tvould, we think, sufficiently disprove any such idea: she upbraids him for having forgotten her so far as to permit him- self to be enthralled by a " slight girl" — that Gemma Donati, whom Dante from motives of policy had married, but, it is well known, never loved. Now, had she herself married, Dante would never have caused her to rebuke him in the manner related ; the passage would altogether be inconsistent. It appears to us, that we must rather ascribe the circumstance of Dante's not having wedded the daughter of Portinari, to the political antipathies and convulsions of the period, the feud ragingbetween the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, and the party strife in which the poet himself was early engaged, eventually plunging him into difficulties and sorrows, and causing him exile and ruin. 2b 378 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK. III. (108) Page 285. Too daring Dante, thus thy strain must end. Time is the severest test by which a work of imagination can be tried. The Divina Commedia met with unbounded applause when it appeared, and has maintained its ground in public esti- mation for six centuries. The poem takes for its subject the three domains of the world of spirits — hell, purgatory, and paradise. The shade of Virgil is supposed to conduct Dante in person through the realms of souls, and the horrible punishments of the eternally condemned, the milder sorrows of those under- going purification, and the beatitude of the occupants of heaven, offer a very ample field for varied description. In the first part, •which is peculiarly suited to his powerful eloquence and gloomy genius, Dante, as might be expected, is more original, sublime, and magnificent, than in the succeeding portions, where the action is slow, and, it must be confessed, the interest flags ; he falls, however, into the vulgar error of inflicting punishments only of a physical nature on the condemned, for he appears to have no idea that mind, affected by remorse and despair, may be in itself a sufficient hell: hence to a modern reader, some of his descriptions will appear grotesque and even puerile. Dante, also, seems to us to have a very limited or contracted notion as regards the inhabitants of the spiritual world, since nearly all ^vhom he encounters or addresses in hell, purgatory, and para- dise, once belonged to the little peninsula of Italy. Nevertheless, whatever objections may be raised to Dante's extraordinary work, still it must be allowed to rank among the most sublime and darirfg conceptions of the human intellect. The Divina Commedia cannot be called an epic poem, like the great work of Dante's rival, Tasso ; but while the elements of the epic are wanting — unity of action, and a gradually developed narrative — we think the majority of readers would prefer such glowing and gorgeous descriptions as the poem contains, such painting of agonised and enraptured feelings, and such mastery as the author evinces over the secret workings of the human heart, to the cold conventionalism, and regulated beauty, of the finest epics of antiquity. (109) Page 285. Her own harsh judgment, and her poet's fate. Dante in 1302, an exile from his native city, Florence, perse- cuted and ruined, commenced his wanderings, and roamed about Italy for seventeen years ; in 1319 he took up his residence at Ravenna, being kindly treated by Guide da Polenta, lord of that city. He died there two years afterwards, and was buried in the church of the Minorites. PART III.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 379 (110) Page 288. Such masses down her pale green robes were rolled. Laura, when first seen by Petrarch, was dressed in a green robe spotted with violets, with a coronal of silver on her head; she wore a veil, and rarely afterwards on any occasion appears to have abandoned it. Her hair was of a light gold colour, her complexion fair, and her figure slender ; her manner was pecu- liarly pensive and unobtrusive. (Ill) Page 290. Won by that dream — Platonic purity. Petrarch's love for Laura may be regarded as a sentiment rather than a passion, and as it breathes in his poetry, it partakes of nothing of that sensuality pervading the writings of the erotic poets of Greece and Rome. It was essentially spiritual, and, depending on qualities of mind expressed by certain features, not excited by the mere beauty of those features, was permanent, and calculated to outlive beauty itself. Such attachment has been termed Platonic love, from Plato's fanciful theory of the union of souls, although much has been described as emanating from that philosopher which had no existence in his own brain. (112) Page 293. Petrarch's proud fame shall cast a glory there. The celebrated valley of Vaucluse, and its fountain, the Helicon of southern France, must ever be objects of interest even to those who may entertain but an indifferent opinion of the poetic genius of him whose name has given them the renown they enjoy. The vallis clausa, as it was termed, (shut up valley,) is situated midway between Apt and Avignon, being about 14 miles from the latter town ; the Sorgue (Sorga) winds througli it, and on one side of this river are meadows and fine plains, while on the other arise high hills, partially covered with vine- yards. The village of Vaucluse, where Petrarch lived, stands at some distance from the fountain, and there the modem tra- veller may refresh himself at the little hostelry dignified by the name of " Petrarque et Laure." Proceeding upwards, and passing the ruins of the Bishop of Cavaillon's castle, we reach the head of the valley which terminates abruptly in stupendous rocks. At the foot of one of these rocks opens a cavern, the arch of which is 60 feet high, and within this extends a second cavern, 30 feet high; here, in a large stone basin, rises the fountain, the source of the Sorgue; the face of the water appears black, owing to the shadow cast by the rocks, but on emerging into day, it is perfectly transparent and clear. At certain 380 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. seasons, after the rains, the waters issue in a tumultuous volume, and roar along the rocky channel, but at ordinary- times they proceed with scarcely a murmur. Petrarch retired to Vancluse in 1337, ten years after his first in- terview with Laura, and spent there three years in entire solitude. In this retreat he composed a great portion of his " Africa," a poem written in Latin, celebrating the exploits of Scipio Africanus. Petrarch was a very voluminous author, but it is strange that the works on which he based his hopes of permanent fame should now be entirely neglected, while his three hundred sonnets and canzoni, lightly esteemed by himself, have alone preserved his memory. His genius was not, like Dante's and Tasso's, "aspiring;" he had little elevation of thought, or force of diction, and was a stranger to the sublime in conception ; his great merit lies in possessing an exquisite imagination, and in clothing his delicate ideas in language the most mellifluous that ever perhaps flowed from the pen of an author ; his style is as graceful as his metaphors are happy ; he is the TibuUus of the mediseval ages, without that writer's licen- tiousness, and is surpassed only in richness of ornament and felicity of expression by an erotic poet of modern days — that pride of Erin's Isle, the late Thomas Moore. (113) Page 294. And learn we too, though well her soul could veil Its inmost thoughts, she proved no sculptured stone. Petrarch has made allusion to Laura's confidant, who, on more than one occasion, ventured to assure him that Laura returned his passion; but the self-command and discretion of the latter, at no time appear to have forsaken her. Petrarch, nevertheless, in his Trvmfo della Morte, puts words into her mouth which can bear but one construction, and among other expressions oi tenderness on her part, is this remarkable con- fession, "Little difference has existed in our sympathy, except that thou didst declare thine to the world, and I concealed mine." (114) Page 296. The demon of the plague was loosed from hell. The great plague, the ravages of which are so vividly described by Boccaccio, commenced in the year 1345 in China and Tar- tary, and having desolated Asia and Africa, reached Europe in the spring of 1348. So fearfully did this pestilence rage in the south of France, that in Avignon and its neighbourhood alone, one hundred and twenty thousand persons are said to have perished. PART III.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 381 (115) Page 302. While thy sweet spirit haunts the banks of Rhone. No female, in ancient or modern times, has perhaps obtained a wider renown than Laura de Sade. Some women have earned celebrity by their own talents or actions ; Aspasia was an orator and philosopher; Sappho a poetic genius; and Zenobia and Joan of Arc, were military heroines ; but here we find a woman badly educated, as most females were in the fourteenth century, pass- ing her days, too, in the privacy of domestic life, we find her as famous in the world " as many great generals and philosophers." She lives, it is true, through the celebrity of another, but then, it is equally true, Laura has done much for Petrarch, since, mainly to her influence, acting on his poetic temperament, does the latter owe his immortality. Had Laura never existed, we much doubt whether Petrarch's name would have descended to our times, for his Latin compositions would not certainly have saved it from oblivion. Plis Italian sonnets, dedicated to the exposition of the mysteries of the heart, have proved the sweet spice and gum embalming the memory of the citizen of Arezzo. Laura, apart from sentiment and romance, must be regarded as a character of literary and historic importance, since to the feelings which she inspired is Italy indebted for some of the most pure and beautiful erotic poems in any language. Laura's history is so well known that we need only say she was the daughter of Audibert of Noves, a small place near Avignon, and at the age of seventeen was married to Hugh de Sade, a gentleman of some consideration. Not long after that event Petrarch saw her, and for the space of exactly twenty years did the poet continue his admiration, and cherish his fruitless love. The culpability of his indulging such sentiments at all, under any circumstances, for the wife of another, does not in a moral point of view admit of a doubt. Laura, we have reason to believe, was proud of being made the subject of Petrarch's verses, although she might not have imagined that her fame by such means would be perpetuated to distant ages. The most severe, however, of her biographers admit that her conduct was above suspicion, and whatever her real feelings for Petrarch might have been, she remained faithful through life to her marriage vow. We may sum up the moral characteristics of this celebrated woman in brief words — a sound understanding and rare discretion ; a high sense of the obligations of honour, some vanity, with a large share of that feminine tact which governs the mind of the other sex, when fascinated, and per- petuates the womanly influence ; an amiability and serenity of temper which gained many friends and made no enemies. Such was the woman rendered famous for all time, whom Charles of Ltixemburg, when he visited Avignon, singled out from among 2b2 382 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [BOOK III. the high and noble dames of the Papal court, and whose ashes Francis I. of France thought it good fortune, in 1533, to dis- corer. Laura had reached her fortieth year when she died of the plague at Avignon ; the church of the Cordeliers, in which she was buried, has now disappeared, or left only a few ruinous fragments that lie on its site ; but where her mausoleum had been erected, the curious traveller is shown a cypress-tree, and let him tread reverentially the soil which covers the remains of all that was once amiable and beautiful. (116) Page 303. And hung most abjectly on royal smiles. No one, we think, can peruse the life of Tasso without being convinced that many of his misfortunes were the fruits of his own conduct, and that some at least of his alleged wrongs were ideal. The reader is struck every where with one weakness, which stands out prominently in his character; he appears, from the time of his first introduction to Alfonso and his court, at Ferrara, to have been only solicitous about securing the patron- age and encomiums of the great and titled. He clung to one petty prince, and, when cast off, courted another. We find him passing in succession from the court of Ferrara to that of TJrbino, that of Savoy, and that of Piedmont; indeed, to be deprived of the smiles of men of exalted rank was to him the acme of earthly misery; and when, by a series of wearying applications on his part, or a want of poetic taste on theirs, he was repulsed or neglected, he accounted himself aggrieved, and vented his irascible feelings in bitter complaint or satire. This disposition, apparent in Tasso before we have reason to suspect his mind disordered, is very remarkable. All wise and virtuous men will respect rank, and defer to constituted authority ; but we think there is a certain honourable independence of feeling and action that ought to characterise every individual desirous of his own and the world's approval. (117) Page 304. In misery there was genius doomed to dwell, Tasso was confined by Duke Alfonso, in the hospital of St. Anna, seven years and two months, being liberated in July, 1586 ; but it is extremely doubtful that the miserable hole now shown at Ferrara as his dungeon was ever occupied by the poet ; at all events, he was removed to a less dreary apartment after the expiration of the first year. It cannot, however, be denied that, during the whole term of his imprisonment, his mental sufferings were very great, PART III.] BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 383 (118) Page 307. So heart-struck Tasso gazed, adored in vain. Tasso's lore for the Princess Leonora d'Este, exercising as it did so great an influence on his destiny, is a very important point in his history ; accordingly his biographers have expended much writing, and raised many arguments, on the subject. Tasso's whole career is a mystery, and his character a greater mystery still. With regard to the reality of his love for Leonora, commentators appear to range themselves on two sides. Serassi and Tiraboschi, who are followed by Black, deny that Tasso was enamoured of the princess, and impute all his misfortunes to other causes than an ambitious attachment. Manso, Tasso's earliest biographer and intimate acquaintance, maintains that his passion was genuine, and hints at a return of his affection. The lively Ginguene, and the more pains-taking and erudite Bosini, support Manso in his opinion ; and Pro- fessor Milman, in his recently published life of Tasso, adopts their views. The question cannot be argued here ; but we think they who deny the genuineness of Tasso's love must have closed their eyes designedly to a long train of glaring facts. After a due consideration of the subject, we confess we are unable to adopt any other opinion than that maintained by Rosini and his followers. We believe that Tasso's very susceptible heart, though Laura Peperara made an early impression on it, devoted itself at length exclusively to the high-minded and pure-souled Leonora d'Este. That this hopeless attachment, and many real wrongs, preyed on his mind and produced at last aberration of intellect, we conceive to be highly probable. Setting aside all disputes on other questions, we know thus much, that Tasso made Leonora an object of poetic adoration; that to her num- berless of his smaller poems are addressed, and that she figures in the Jerusalem Delivered. Prom this connection with the great hard of Sorrento, the name of Leonora must ever interest pos- terity; her retiring beauty, her meekness, and her benevolent character, will also invest her memory with a peculiar charm. That she was partial to Tasso, and felt flattered by his attention, we may infer from her letters addressed to the poet, but that her love took a passionate and enduring form we have no evidence to show ; her exalted sense of virtue, and her reserved disposition, forbade any open display of affection, if such existed ; and her real sentiments, like the carefully veiled feelings of Laura, must therefore remain among those heart-secrets of women, so many of which are never to be divulged on earth. Leonora died unmarried at the commencement of the second year of Tasso's imprisonment. 384 SPIRITS OF THE PAST. [bOOK III. (119) Page 309. His meanness life, through him the tyrant lives. Was Tasso really Insane ? or did Alfonso imprison him on account of liis presumption in aspiring to his sister's hand, the Dulie having discovered certain papers in which the poet impru- dently boasted of favours received from the lady? these ques- tions have long perplexed writers ; but, listening to the opinions of those who seem to have most deeply studied the mental pecu- liarities of the renowned Italian, and weighing the evidence for and against, we conceive that an unprejudiced jury would find him, dating from the year 1575, when the " Gerusalemme" had been completed, of unsound mind. Several causes may have operated in urging Dui^e Alfonso to imprison Tasso, and per- haps upon the whole the conduct of the former has been too severely commented on, though it cannot be doubted that he was arbitrary, unreasonable, and cruel. If we except the few years during which Tasso enjoyed the favour of the court of Ferrara, and had communication with the object of his aspiring dreams, his life seems to have been made up of disappointments and sorrows; and he affords, almost beyond any other author, a striliing instance of the insufficiency of fame to render man happy: Europe rang witli his praises, wliile he himself Wa'; a wanderer and a fugitive, or confined within the walls of a dungeon, steeping his bread with tears. Tasso's fame is based, not on his Rinaldo written in early life, his Ainint'i^ or his Jerusalem Conquered, but on the Geru- salemme Liberata : this composition which occupied the author sixteen years, celebrates the events of the Great Crusade, con- ducted by Godefroy of Bouillon, and concludes with the deli- verance of the Holy City from the Saracens. It is an epic poem in the true signification of the word, all the rules of the Epos being observed. The characters are surprisingly diver- sified, and their distinctive peculiarities, or individualism, well maintained. The Gerusalemme is a greater favourite with the fair sex tlian most other compositions of its class, since it partalces largely of the element of love ; virtue is every where extolled, and woman elevated in her moral character to a chivalrous heiglit. Erminia, and Clorinda though an Amazon, are chaste and beautiful creations, and only is the episode of the gardens of the sorceress Armida open to objection on the ground of morality. But while Tasso's admirers place him over the head of Ariosto, and infinitely above Petrarch, they must assign to him a place beneath the seat of his great precursor, Dante ; he has neither the daring nor wild fancy, the intel- lectual grasp, nor the depth of philosophy, which distinguish PART III.J BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 385 the Florentine tard ; lieis simply graphic, beajitiful, apd some- times pathetic ; bat he is a stranger to flip grand, the spiritu- alised, and the suhlime. The Divina Commedia is a.wprjc emanating from the mind of a man high raised above hip feltow creq.tiires, and almost partaking, ps it were, of » celestial nature ; the Gerusalemme Liberata has all thei characteristics of earth jijud liumanity about it — the noble prodiicUoh of a sensitirfe and gifted mortal. (120) Page 311. Sow has the Celto-Teuton, scorned exewhile By vaunting Rome, in thee gigantic grown! Very vague and loose ideas prevail with regard to the origin of the mixed population of Great Britain, The propriety of the term, Anglo-Saxon, a term used by writers so geijerally in the present day, may well, we thinly, be, questioned.. Both the Angles, (a branch of the Suevi, as, stated by Tacitus,) and the SaKons, came from one stock— jthe great Teutonic family ; tl^e ■Danes and Normans were of the same race; and these four branches principally contributed to increase the,, population of our Islands after the departure of the Romans.. , But who were the aborigines? — the native occupiers of a country may be con- quered, and their laws abrogated, but they are rarely, unless under very peculiar circumstanpes, exterminated. Thus France derives its name from the powerful Teutonic tribe, the Frank.s, who, under Clovis in the fifth century, subjugated the Celtic population; yet tlie French, in respect to their blood and peculiar vivacious temperament, are essentially Celtic, such as Julius Ciesar found them. The population of Britain, when the Island was first visited by tlie Romans, if we except a fpw tribes of Belgse, was undoubtedly Celtic, the Celts having passed over from the opposite shores of Gaul. It was the fate of these people to he subdued, but not driven from the Islands, for they mixed and married with their successive invaders — the Eomans, Saxons, Angles, and Danes; they lost their influence and their national individuality, but their blood remained; the Cimbri may have retired into Wales, whose inhabitants retain, perhaps, more pure Celtic blood than any portion of the family beside now found in Europe; but other tribes extended their hands to the Angles and the Saxons, while the last in turn succumbed to, and lived under, the aristocracy of the Normans. We argue, then, that the English of to-day, allowing for the mixture of some Eoman blood, may be considered as the blend- ing or fusion of two great families — the Celtic and the Teutonic, although the Teutonic element, it is granted, predominate,'!. The Celts have been described in their moral character as 386 SPIRITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK. III. sprightly, impatient of control, boastful, smitten with a love of glory, and possessing ardent imagination rather than solid judgment. The Tentones, of whom the Germans are now the purest representatives, are said to have been slow in their con- ceptions, but indefatigable in their efforts ; capable of deep feeling, but more skilled than the Celts in veiling it ; sullen rather than passionate; thoughtful rather than imaginative, reserving their powers for great enterprises, and vast plans ; hence, after a struggle of three centuries, they overthrew the Roman Empire, and gradually extended their influence over Western Europe. Like the Celts, they have undeniably an Eastern origin, and modern philologists discover a strong affinity between some of the Teutonic or German dialects, and the Zend, Persian, and Sanscrit. All the ancient national songs, especially those of the Scandinavians, allude to the East as their home; but when the main body advanced from the con- fines of Northern India, no records exist to show. What we have adduced we consider supports us in the view we take, as regards the inhabitants of these Islands ; namely, that the race, though apparently made up of so many families, has but two great sources whence it derives its existence — the Celtic and Teutonic. We think that the term Anglo-Saxon is misapplied, and that Celto-Teutonic more faithfully and truly expresses the National compound. Englishmen being no other than Teutones engrafted on a Celtic stock. (121) Page 314. Drinking at earliest hour of learning's spring. Lady Jane Grey's accomplishments and mental acquirements were as conspicuous as her virtues; at the early age of fifteen, she is said to have understood, besides her own, six languages, talking fluently Italian, French, Greek and Latin, and reading ivith ease Hebrew and Arabic. When Roger Asch.am paid her his visit, of which he gives an interesting account in his " Schoolmaster," he found her studying the Phiedon of Plato. (122) Page 317. In that darlc galley stealing through the shade. On the 13th November, l.'iSS, Lady J.ane Grey and her husband were taken to Westminster and tried for high treason, found guilty, and condemned to death by the very men wlio, a short time previously, had acted with them, and sworn alle- giance to Jane. They were conveyed hack to the Tower by water, on the evening of the same day. (■•ART III.J BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. 387 (123) Page 322. Hark ! that low shriek — she saw her husband borne. Lord Dudley was belieaded before his wife, without the pre- cincts of the Tower ; Lady Jane saw him carried to execution, and is said to have made a last signal to him by waring her handlierchief from her prison-window. From a fear that her youth and beauty might excite a strong feeling of commiseration with the people, she was executed within the Tower walls, on the green near St. Peter's Church. (124) Page 324. Her spirit from a scaffold borne above, By hands unseen, and soothed by smiles of love. One of the most beautiful and faultless characters that history presents to us is the Lady Jane Grey — a woman whose high intellectual acquirements challenge our admiration, while her undeserved misfortunes awaken our warmest sympathies. But the events of her short and troubled life are known to all readers. The Duke of Northumberland and her father, the Duke of Suffolk, grounded her claim to the English throne on the alleged illegitimacy of Mary and Elizabeth, and on the will of Edward VI., who had been persuaded to nominate Lady Jane (the great-grand-daughter of Henry VIL) as his rightful suc- cessor. Entirely unacquainted with the movements in her favour, and taking no part whatever in the transaction. Lady Jane Grey,"when her relations announced that they were about to proclaim her queen, was overwhelmed with sorrow ; for a long time she refused to accept the crown, urging the rights of Mary and Elizabeth ; but overcome at last by the importunities and threats of her father and Northumberland, and the entreaties of her husband, she passively yielded to their wishes, and received with tears that which others, similarly situated, have generally grasped with joyful alacrity. Lady Jane was pro- claimed in the city of London, on the 10th July, 1553, but the partisans of Mary, obtaining a signal triumph over Northum- berland and his friends, declared the latter queen, on the 19th of the same month ; thus Suffolk's daughter enjoyed, or rather deplored, her empty honours but nine days. Lady Jane's error was not for having unrightfully seized a crown, but for yielding too easily to the solicitations of others, and for wanting suffi- cient firmness to reject that which she neither aspired to nor desired. A more innocent victim never suiFered on the altar of 388 SPIBITS OP THE PAST. [bOOK III. expediency — expediency which, in her case, may be said to have amounted to murder. It is probable, however, that Mary at first did not intend taking her life; Wyat's rebellion settled the resolution of that vindictive princess, and after an imprison- ment in the Tower of three months. Lady Jane was beheaded with her husband, February the 12th, 1554, in the 17th year of her age. EDWARD EGINTON, PRINTEK, PLATHOUSE YARD, I.O>-l)UN.