Earl Henry. Hold, hold, good Ancient!
Do you not know that this Barnard saved my life? 145
Well, but my brother——
Fernandez. He will soon be here.
I swear by this, my sword, dear General.
I swear he has a Hero's soul—I only
Wish I could communicate to him
My gift of governing the spleen.—Then he 150
Has had his colors, the drums too of the Regiment
All put in cases—O, that stirs the Soldiery.
Earl Henry. Impetuous Boy!
Fernandez. Nay, Fear not for them, General.
The Chancellor, no doubt, will take good care
To let their blood grow cool on garrison duty. 155
Sandoval. Earl Henry! Frown not thus upon Fernandez;
'Tis said, and all the Soldiery believe it,
That the five Regiments who return with you
Will be dispers'd in garrisons and castles,
And other Jails of honourable name. 160
So great a crime it is to have been present
In duty and devotion to a Hero!
Fernandez. What now? What now? The politic Chancellor is
The Soldier's friend, and rather than not give
Snug pensions to brave Men, he'll overlook 165
All small disqualifying circumstances
Of youth and health, keen eye and muscular limb,
He'll count our scars, and set them down for maims.
And gain us thus all privileges and profits
Of Invalids and superannuate veterans. 170
Earl Henry. 'Tis but an idle rumour—See! they come.
Enter Barnard and a number of Soldiers, their Colours wound up, and
the Drums in Cases, and after them Don Curio. All pay the military
Honors to the General. During this time Fernandez has hurried up in
front of the Stage.
Enter Don Curio.
Don Curio (advancing to Earl Henry). Has Barnard told you?
Insult on insult! by mine honor, Brother!
(Barnard goes beside Curio.) And by our Father's soul they mean to saint you,
Having first prov'd your Patience more than mortal. 175
Earl Henry. Take heed, Don Curio! lest with greater right
They scoff my Brother for a choleric boy.
What insult then?
Don Curio. Our Friend, the Chancellor,
Welcomes you home, and shares the common joy
In the most happy tidings of your Victory: 180
But as to your demand of instant audience
From the Queen's Royal Person,—'tis rejected!
Sandoval. Rejected?
Barnard (making a deep obeisance). May it please the Earl!
Earl Henry. Speak, Barnard.
Barnard. The noble Youth, your very valiant brother,
And wise as valiant (bowing to Don Curio who puffs at him) rightly doth insinuate 185
Fortune deals nothing singly—whether Honors
Or Insults, whether it be Joys or Sorrows,
They crowd together on us, or at best
Drop in in quick succession.
Fernandez (mocking him). 'Ne'er rains it, but it pours,' or, at the best, 190
'More sacks upon the mill.' This fellow's a
Perpetual plagiarist from his Grandmother, and
How slily in the parcel wraps [he] up
The stolen goods!
Earl Henry. Be somewhat briefer, Barnard.
Barnard. But could I dare insinuate to your Brother 195
A fearless Truth, Earl Henry—it were this:
Even Lucifer, Prince of the Air, hath claims
Upon our justice.
Fernandez. Give the Devil his Due!
Why, thou base Lacquerer of worm-eaten proverbs,
[And] wherefore dost thou not tell us at once 200
What the Chancellor said to thee?
Barnard (looking round superciliously at Fernandez).
The Queen hath left the Capital affecting
Rural retirement, but 'I will hasten'
(Thus said the Chancellor) 'I myself will hasten
And lay before her Majesty the Tidings 205
Both of Earl Henry's Victory and return.
She will vouchsafe, I doubt not, to re-enter
Her Capital, without delay, and grant
The wish'd for Audience with all public honour.'
Don Curio. A mere Device, I say, to pass a slight on us. 210
Fernandez (to himself). To think on't. Pshaw! A fellow, that must needs
Have been decreed an Ass by acclamation,
Had he not looked so very like an Owl.
And he to—— (turns suddenly round, and faces Barnard who had even then come close beside him).
Boo!——Ah! is it you, Sieur Barnard!
Barnard. No other, Sir!
Fernandez. And is it not reported, 215
That you once sav'd the General's life?
Barnard. 'Tis certain!
Fernandez. Was he asleep? And were the hunters coming
And did you bite him on the nose?
Barnard. What mean you?
Fernandez. That was the way in which the Flea i' th' Fable
Once sav'd the Lion's life.
Earl Henry. 'Tis well. 220
The Sun hath almost finish'd his Day's Travels;
We too will finish ours. Go, gallant Comrades,
And at the neighbouring Mansion, for us all,
Claim entertainment in your General's name.
Exeunt Soldiers, &c. As they are leaving the Stage.
Fernandez (to Barnard). A word with you! You act the Chancellor 225
Incomparably well.
Barnard. Most valiant Captain,
Vouchsafe a manual union.
Fernandez (griping [sic] his hand with affected fervor). 'Tis no wonder,
Don Curio should mistook [sic] you for him.
Barnard. Truly,
The Chancellor, and I, it hath been notic'd
Are of one stature.
Fernandez. And Don Curio's Gripe too 230
Had lent a guttural Music to your voice,
[1069]A sort of bagpipe Buz, that suited well
Your dignity of utterance.
Barnard (simpering courteously). Don Fernandez,
Few are the storms that bring unmingled evil.
Fernandez (mocking him). 'Tis an ill wind, that blows no good, Sieur Barnard! [Exeunt. 235
Don Curio lingering behind.
Don Curio. I have offended you, my brother.
Earl H. Yes!
For you've not learnt the noblest part of valour,
To suffer and obey. Drums put in cases,
Colours wound up—what means this Mummery?
We are sunk low indeed, if wrongs like our's 240
Must seek redress in impotent Freaks of Anger.
(This way, Don Sandoval) of boyish anger——
(Walks with Sandoval to the back of the Stage.)
Don Curio (to himself). Freaks! freaks! But what if they have sav'd from bursting
The swelling heart of one, whose Cup of Hope
Was savagely dash'd down—even from his lips?— 245
Permitted just to see the face of War,
Then like a truant boy, scourgd home again
One Field my whole Campaign! One glorious Battle
To madden one with Hope!—Did he not pause
Twice in the fight, and press me to his breastplate, 250
And cry, that all might hear him, Well done, brother!
No blessed Soul, just naturalized in Heaven,
Pac'd ever by the side of an Immortal
More proudly, Henry! than I fought by thine—
Shame on these tears!—this, too, is boyish anger! [Exit. 255
Earl Henry and Sandoval return to the front of the stage.
Earl Henry. I spake more harshly to him, than need was.
Sandoval. Observ'd you how he pull'd his beaver down—
Doubtless to hide the tears, he could not check.
Earl Henry. Go, sooth [sic] him, Friend!—And having reach'd the Castle
Gain Oropeza's private ear, and tell her 260
Where you have left me.
(As Sandoval is going)
Nay, stay awhile with me.
I am too full of dreams to meet her now.
[1070]Sandoval. You lov'd the daughter of Don Manrique?
Earl Henry. Loved?
Sandoval. Did you not say, you woo'd her?
Earl Henry. Once I lov'd
Her whom I dar'd not woo!——
Sandoval. And woo'd perchance 265
One whom you lov'd not!
Earl Henry. O I were most base
Not loving Oropeza. True, I woo'd her
Hoping to heal a deeper wound: but she
Met my advances with an empassion'd Pride
That kindled Love with Love. And when her Sire 270
Who in his dream of Hope already grasp'd
The golden circlet in his hand, rejected
My suit, with Insult, and in memory
Of ancient Feuds, pour'd Curses on my head,
Her Blessings overtook and baffled them. 275
But thou art stern, and with unkindling Countenance
Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me.
Sandoval. Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously.
But Oropeza—
Earl Henry. Blessings gather round her!
Within this wood there winds a secret passage, 280
Beneath the walls, which open out at length
Into the gloomiest covert of the Garden.—
The night ere my departure to the Army,
She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom,
And to the covert by a silent stream, 285
Which, with one star reflected near its marge,
Was the sole object visible around me.
The night so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us!
No leaflet stirr'd;—yet pleasure hung upon us,
The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air. 290
A little further on an arbor stood,
Fragrant with flowering Trees—I well remember
What an uncertain glimmer in the Darkness
Their snow-white Blossoms made—thither she led me,
[1071]To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled— 295
I heard her heart beat—if 'twere not my own.
Sandoval. A rude and searing note, my friend!
Earl Henry. Oh! no!
I have small memory of aught but pleasure.
The inquietudes of fear, like lesser Streams
Still flowing, still were lost in those of Love: 300
So Love grew mightier from the Pear, and Nature,
Fleeing from Pain, shelter'd herself in Joy.
The stars above our heads were dim and steady,
Like eyes suffus'd with rapture. Life was in us:
We were all life, each atom of our Frames 305
A living soul—I vow'd to die for her:
With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,
Relapses into blessedness, I vow'd it:
That solemn Vow, a whisper scarcely heard,
A murmur breath'd against a lady's Cheek. 310
Oh! there is Joy above the name of Pleasure,
Deep self-possession, an intense Repose.
No other than as Eastern Sages feign,
The God, who floats upon a Lotos Leaf,
Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking, 315
Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble,
Relapses into bliss. Ah! was that bliss
Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man?
For suddenly, intolerant of its silence,
Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead. 320
I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them.
Thro' the dark Bower she sent a hollow voice;—
'Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?'
I swore, and with an inward thought that seemed
[1072]The unity and substance of my Being, 325
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt,
I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.—
Friend! by that winding passage, to the Bower
I now will go—all objects there will teach me
Unwavering Love, and singleness of Heart. 330
Go, Sandoval! I am prepar'd to meet her—
Say nothing of me—I myself will seek her—
Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment
And Inquisition of that scanning eye.—
[Earl Henry retires into the wood.
Sandoval (alone). O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great 335
By thine own act—yet art thou never great
But by the Inspiration of great Passion.
The Whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up
And shape themselves; from Heaven to Earth they stand,
As though they were the Pillars of a Temple, 340
Built by Omnipotence in its own honour!
But the Blast pauses, and their shaping spirit
Is fled: the mighty Columns were but sand,
And lazy Snakes trail o'er the level ruins!
I know, he loves the Queen. I know she is 345
His Soul's first love, and this is ever his nature—
To his first purpose, his soul toiling back
Like the poor storm-wreck'd [sailor] to his Boat,
Still swept away, still struggling to regain it. [Exit.
Herreras. He dies, that stirs! Follow me this instant. 350
(First Conspirator takes his arrow, snaps it, and throws it on the
ground. The two others do the same.)
Herreras. Accursed cowards! I'll go myself, and make sure work (drawing his Dagger).
(Herreras strides towards the arbor, before he reaches it, stops and
listens and then returns hastily to the front of the stage, as he turns
his Back to the Arbor, Earl Henry appears, watching the Conspirators,
and enters the Arbor unseen.)
First Conspirator. Has she seen us think you?
The Mask. No! she has not seen us; but she heard us
distinctly.
Herreras. There was a rustling in the wood—go, all of 355
you, stand on the watch—towards the passage.
A Voice from the Arbor. Mercy! Mercy! Tell me, why
you murder me.
Herreras. I'll do it first. (Strides towards the Arbor, Earl
Henry rushes out of it.) 360
The Mask. Jesu Maria.
(They all three fly, Earl Henry
attempts to seize Herreras, who defending himself retreats
into the Covert follow'd by the Earl. The Queen comes
from out the arbor, veiled—stands listening a moment, then
lifts up her veil, with folded hands assumes the attitude of
Prayer, and after a momentary silence breaks into audible
soliloquy.)
The Queen. I pray'd to thee, All-wonderful! And thou
Didst make my very Prayer the Instrument,
By which thy Providence sav'd me. Th' armed Murderer
Who with suspended breath stood listening to me,
Groan'd as I spake thy name. In that same moment, 365
O God! thy Mercy shot the swift Remorse
That pierc'd his Heart. And like an Elephant
Gor'd as he rushes to the first assault,
He turn'd at once and trampled his Employers.
But hark! (drops her veil)—O God in Heaven! they come again. 370
(Earl Henry returns with the Dagger in his hand.)
Earl Henry (as he is entering). The violent pull with which I seiz'd his Dagger
Unpois'd me and I fell.
[End of the Fragment.]
LINENOTES:
After 88 in which all her wrongs will appear twofold—(or)
in a mist of which her Wrongs will wander, magnified into giant shapes.
MS. erased.
[110] After General! And yet I have not stirred from his
side. That is to say— MS. erased.
Before 211.
Fortune! Plague take her for a blind old Baggage!
That such a patch as Barnard should have had
The Honour to have sav'd our General's life.
That Barnard! that mock-man! that clumsy forgery
Of Heaven's Image. Any other heart
But mine own would have turn'd splenetic to think of it.
MS. erased.
[269] an empassion'd S. L.: empassioned 1834.
[276] unkindling] unkindly S. L., 1834.
[285] the] that. a] that S. L. (corr. in Errata, p. [xi]) S.
L.
[288] o'er] near S. L. (corr. in Errata, p. [xi]) S. L.
[289-290]
No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry;
So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us!
No leaflet stirr'd, yet pleasure hung upon
S. L.
After 312.
Deep repose of bliss we lay
No other than as Eastern Sages gloss,
The God who floats upon a Lotos leaf
Dreams for a thousand ages, then awaking
Creates a World, then loathing the dull task
Relapses into blessedness, when an omen
Screamed from the Watch-tower—'twas the Watchman's cry,
And Oropeza starting.
MS. (alternative reading).
Before 314 Sandoval (with a sarcastic smile) S. L.
[314-16] Compare Letter to Thelwall, Oct. 16, 1797, Letters of
S. T. C., 1895, i. 229.
[317] bliss.—Earl Henry. Ah! was that bliss S. L.
[319] intolerant] impatient S. L.
[325] unity and] purpose and the S. L.
After 327
Even as a Herdsboy mutely plighting troth
Gives his true Love a Lily for a Rose.
MS. erased.
[334] Inquisition] keen inquiry S. L.
Before 335.
Earl Henry thou art dear to me—perchance
For these follies; since the Health of Reason,
Our would-be Sages teach, engenders not
The Whelks and Tumours of particular Friendship.
MS. erased.
[339] Heaven to Earth] Earth to Heaven S. L.
J
CHAMOUNY; THE HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE
A Hymn
[Vide ante, p. 376.]
[As published in The Morning Post, Sept. 11, 1802]
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course—so long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O Chamouny!
The Arvè and Arveiron at thy base
Eave ceaselessly; but thou, dread mountain form, 5
Resist from forth thy silent sea of pines
How silently! Around thee, and above,
Deep is the sky, and black: transpicuous, deep,
An ebon mass! Methinks thou piercest it
As with a wedge! But when I look again, 10
It seems thy own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity.
O dread and silent form! I gaz'd upon thee,
Till thou, still present to my bodily eye,
Did'st vanish from my thought. Entranc'd in pray'r, 15
I worshipp'd the Invisible alone.
Yet thou, meantime, wast working on my soul,
E'en like some deep enchanting melody,
So sweet, we know not, we are list'ning to it.
But I awoke, and with a busier mind, 20
And active will self-conscious, offer now
Not, as before, involuntary pray'r
And passive adoration!—
Hand and voice,
Awake, awake! and thou, my heart, awake!
Awake ye rocks! Ye forest pines, awake! 25
Green fields, and icy cliffs! All join my hymn!
And thou, O silent mountain, sole and bare,
O blacker, than the darkness, all the night,
And visited, all night, by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink— 30
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald! Wake, O wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? 35
Who made thee father of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad,
[1075]
Who call'd you forth from Night and utter Death?
From darkness let you loose, and icy dens,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks 40
For ever shatter'd, and the same for ever!
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam!
And who commanded, and the silence came— 45
'Here shall the billows stiffen, and have rest?'
Ye ice-falls! ye that from yon dizzy heights
Adown enormous ravines steeply slope,
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! 50
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious, as the gates of Heav'n,
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who with lovely flow'rs
Of living blue spread garlands at your feet? 55
God! God! The torrents like a shout of nations,
Utter! The ice-plain bursts, and answers God!
God, sing the meadow-streams with gladsome voice,
And pine groves with their soft, and soul-like sound,
The silent snow-mass, loos'ning, thunders God! 60
Ye dreadless flow'rs! that fringe th' eternal frost!
Ye wild goats, bounding by the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain blast!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element, 65
Utter forth, God! and fill the hills with praise!
And thou, O silent Form, alone and bare,
Whom, as I lift again my head bow'd low
In adoration, I again behold,
And to thy summit upward from thy base 70
Sweep slowly with dim eyes suffus'd by tears,
Awake, thou mountain form! rise, like a cloud!
Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit thron'd among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heav'n— 75
Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell the rising sun,
Earth with her thousand voices calls on God!
ΕΣΤΗΣΕ.
K
DEJECTION: AN ODE[1076:1]
[Vide ante, p. 362.]
[As first printed in the Morning Post, October 4, 1802.]
"Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon
With the Old Moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my Master dear,
We shall have a deadly storm."[1076:2]
Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.
LINENOTES:
Motto—2 Moon] one Letter to S.
[4] There will be, &c. Letter to S.
DEJECTION:
AN ODE, WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802.
I
Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand Old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night; so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unrous'd by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those, which mould yon cloud, in lazy flakes, 5
Or the dull sobbing draft, that drones and rakes
Upon the strings of this Œolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
For lo! the New Moon, winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light, 10
[1077]
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread,
But rimm'd and circled by a silver thread)
I see the Old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming on of rain and squally blast:
And O! that even now the gust were swelling, 15
And the slant night-show'r driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have rais'd me, while they aw'd,
And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! 20
II
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassion'd grief,
Which finds no nat'ral outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear—
O Edmund! in this wan and heartless mood, 25
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the Western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow-green:
And still I gaze—and with how blank an eye! 30
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;
Those stars, that glide behind them, or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimm'd, but always seen;
Yon crescent moon, as fix'd as if it grew, 35
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue,
A boat becalm'd! a lovely sky-canoe!
I see them all so excellently fair—
I see, not feel how beautiful they are!
III