Chapter 3

"Where is my child?" she faintly cries; "Where is the child?" her lord rejoin'd: Poor heart-struck Susan nought replies, The child had vanished from her mind.

"My child! my child!" with terror's start She shrieks, in accents wild and shrill; And at her agony of heart, The very tempest's self grew still!

"Say if you saw him sink!" she cried, Wildly to Susan pale and wan: When quick her roving eye descried, The tall neck of her favourite Swan.

"My God! my God! 'tis thee I thank!" Exclaim'd the now exulting fair; "I see him wafted to the bank, His cradle form'd by heavenly care!"

She spoke, and all who heard her cry, Now saw the babe divinely nurst; The extatic sight from every eye, Made tears of grateful transport burst.

Between her silvery arching wings, The guardian bird had lodg'd the child; And forward as her broad foot springs, At every stroke the infant smil'd.

And with a heaven-implanted pride, Superbly rowing now to land; The brave bird has her charge denied To all, but to the mother's hand.

Cecilia feeling now no pains, Leans o'er the boat's advancing end; And aided by her lord reclaims, The present of her feather'd friend.

Now with delight the rescued boy, To her maternal bosom springs: The conscious Swan partakes their joy, And claps her proud triumphant wings.

Cecilia beads to weep and pray, She weeps with joy, no longer wan; And still on this returning day, Blesses the heaven-directed Swan!

THE HERMIT'S DOG.

BALLAD THE ELEVENTH.

Of dogs who sav'd a living friend, Most nobly, ye have read: Now to a nobler still attend, A guardian of the dead.

As o'er wild Alpine scenes I stray'd, Not far from that retreat, Where Bruno, with celestial aid, First plann'd his sacred seat.

An anchorite of noble mien, Attracted my regard; Majestic as that savage scene, Or as a Cambrian bard.

He to no silent dome belongs, The rock is his domain; It echoes to his nightly songs Devotion's lonely strain.

His mansion is a tranquil grot, Form'd in the living stone: My view of the sequester'd spot, I owe to chance alone.

For happening near his cell to rove, Enamour'd of the wild; I heard within a piny grove What seem'd a plaintive child.

The distant cry so struck my ear, I hasten'd to the ground, But saw surpris'd, as I drew near, The author of the sound.

No human form, yet one I thought, With human feelings fill'd, And from his tongue, by nature taught, Strange notes of sorrow thrill'd.

Unseen myself, I clearly saw A dog that couchant moan'd; He struck the hard earth with his paw, Then look'd at Heaven, and groan'd!

With silent caution I drew near, To mark this friend of man, Expressing grief in sobs so clear, It through my bosom ran!

The noble beast was black as jet, And as a lion large; He look'd as on a tombstone set, To hold the dead in charge.

Grand was his visage, round his neck Broad silver rings he wore; These rings, that his dark body deck, The cross of Malta bore.

I gaz'd, but soon my steps, tho' soft, Announced a stranger near; The brave beast bounded up aloft, Nor was I free from fear.

But soon his master's voice represt And call'd him to his side: And soon I was the hermit's guest, He was my guard and guide.

My own intrusion to excuse, The wond'rous dog I prais'd, Whose milder mien my eye reviews, Delighted and amaz'd!

"If I disturb thy calm retreat, Divinely calm indeed, The noble servant at thy feet, May for my pardon plead."

"That noble servant in my sight Whom strength and grace adorn, Announces, if I read aright, A master nobly born."

The sire replied, with graceful bend, "No not my servant, he! A noble independent friend, He deigns to live with me!"

"But, stranger, if you kindly rest, His story you shall hear, And all that makes my sable guest, Most singularly dear."

"Here it has been my chosen lot, Some awful years to spend! Few months have pass'd, since near this spot I gain'd this signal friend."

"This friend, with whom to live and die, Is now my dearest aim; He likes the world no more than I, And Hero is his name."

"Some two miles off, as near a wood, Of deepest gloom I stray'd; Struck by strange sounds, I wond'ring stood, They echoed from the shade."

"First like a noise in troubled dreams, But soon distinct I heard, A dog's triumphant bark, and screams, That spoke a dying bird."

"A bird of loud portentous note, One of the vulture race, Which shepherds will to death devote, In sanguinary chace."

"I thought some shepherd's joy to share, And hurried to the sound: To what I had expected there Far different scene I found."

"A man, of blood-bespotted vest, I saw upon the earth; And Malta's cross upon his breast, Spoke him of noble birth."

"Misfortune long had press'd him sore; I know not how he died; He had been dead two days or more, When I his corse descried."

"Him, as their prey, two vultures seek, With ravenous rage abhorr'd; But Hero guarded from their beak, The visage of his lord!"

"When first my eyes on Hero glanc'd, One vulture he had slain: The second scar'd as I advanced, Flew off in fearful pain."

"Enchanted with a guard so brave, So faithful to the dead: The wounded dog to soothe and save, With beating heart I sped."

"He lick'd my hand, by me carest, But him with grief I saw Half famish'd, and his gallant breast Gor'd by the vulture's claw!"

"Tho' anxious o'er his wounds I bend; By kindness or by force, I could not tempt this generous friend. To quit the pallid corse!"

"The body to my cell I bear; This mourner with it moved; Then he submitted to my care, And all my aid approv'd."

"In the soft stone, that's near my cell, I soon entomb'd the dead; With stone above I shield him well, And laurels round I spread."

"Oft to the spot with mournful praise, The mindful Hero springs, And in such notes, as he can raise, A requiem he sings."

"Dear faithful dog! if man to me Had half thy virtue shewn, From social life I should not flee, To roam the wild alone!"

"No! not alone, nor yet in woe, While here thy virtues shine, For I defy the world to shew Associate like to mine!"

The dog, he now press'd to his heart, Then utter'd this desire; "Stranger if thine a poet's art, Let Hero wake thy lyre!"

His wish was kind--may love so true. Ne'er want its wishes long: Thus from his fond suggestion grew, This tributary song.

* * * * *

THE HALCYON.

BALLAD THE TWELFTH.

Not only men of stormy minds, The storms of trouble know, All creatures of this earth must find A share of earthly woe!

Ye whose pure hearts with pity swell, For pain by all incurr'd; Hear how affliction once befell, Serenity's sweet bird.

Ye fair, who in your carols praise The Halcyon's happy state; Hear in compassionate amaze, One Halcyon's hapless fate.

A nymph, Selina is her name, Lovely in mind and mien, When spring, however early, came, Was fond of walks marine.

Between a woman and a child, In tender charms she grew, And lov'd with fancy sweetly wild, The lonely shore to view.

Nature she studied, every spring, To all her offspring kind, And taught the birds of wildest wing, To trust her gentle mind.

Now brilliant in her youthful eye, The Halcyon's feathers flame; She wish'd a pair of these, tho' shy, Affectionately tame.

Nor wish'd she long, for such her care; Such her attractive skill; She makes e'en rovers of the air, Attentive to her will.

When stormy March had ceas'd to roar, Selina joy'd to rove; And watch a Halcyon on the shore, Within a little cove.

Familiariz'd by slow degrees, They met in friendly mood; 'Till her bright favourite on her knees, Would perch for offer'd food.

How joyous was Selina's breast, When thus she had prevail'd; Each coming of her radiant guest, How tenderly she hail'd.

It seem'd her guest, so frequent here, The damsel us'd to roam; And deem'd this little cove so dear, Her palace and her home.

When April's sun the coast had warm'd, New joy the nymph possest: She saw her favourite bird had form'd, A curious downy nest.

How did her tender heart rejoice, What prayers she then preferred, That she might with her tuneful voice, Delight the brooding bird.

Gay nature smil'd, the prayer she blest, Selina softly sung; And felt delight of higher zest; She nurst the callow young.

But Oh! when human pleasures rise, To enviable height; How subtly dark misfortune flies, To crush them in her flight.

One morn, as nigh the cove so dear, The quick Selina came: A sight, which caus'd her grievous fear, Convuls'd her tender frame!

Near it she draws, but entrance there A swelling sea denies; For hostile to her callow care, The cruel waters rise.

Close to this cove's contracted side, Three massive stones were laid; Oft in bare sand, now scarce descried, Fresh surges round them play'd.

To one, the nearest to the cell, Alarm'd, Selina wades; To mark how far the wild wave's swell, Her darling cove invades.

Behold she kneels! with folded hands, Kneels on the rugged stone: Whence now her anxious eye commands, The cell once deem'd her own!

How keen her anguish to survey, The tide fill half the cove; Forth from its seat, with savage sway, Her Halcyon's nest it drove.

The nest now floats, and from the shore, The tortur'd parent sprung, With wildest terror hovers o'er, And shrieks around her young!

Selina marks the barbarous sea, The leaky nest divide; And bold her little friends to free, She plunges in the tide!

The tender sinking tribe she caught, But ah! she caught too late! More rapid, than her generous thought, Was unrelenting fate.

In vain, with tender pity's clasp, To her warm breast she holds The young, whom death's remorseless grasp In his dark shade infolds.

Off flew the parent in despair, Her heart appears to burn; Nor can the sympathetic fair Persuade her to return.

She, bearing in her robe the dead, The parent calls anew; 'Till rising rocks, that near them spread, Conceals her from the view.

Here she despairing now to heal The wretched parent's pain, Sat on a rock, in sorrowing zeal, And kiss'd the dead again!

Her tender nerves confess'd a shock, To hear a sudden gun! A smuggler's vessel from the rock, She now perceives to run.

But with what grief the sound she heard; How pants her heart with dread, As she beholds her favourite bird Now fluttering o'er her head.

That flutter is the gasp of death! As conscious of it's nest, It breathes to her its parting breath, And falls upon her breast!

Weep not sweet nymph, with vain regret, Your favourite's lifeless state; But rather think that it has met An enviable fate.

Yes! to this gentle bird indeed, It's mercy Heaven has shewn; And in it's end you now may read An emblem of your own.

When you, dear nymph, have suffer'd all Your share of earthly woe; O may that portion be as small As mortal e'er may know!

Close in a death, like infant's rest, Those heaven-reflecting eyes; And dropping on an angel's breast, Be wafted to the skies!

* * * * *

THE SERPENTS.

BALLAD THE THIRTEENTH.

Now blest be Providence divine, Surpassing human skill! That often takes from things malign, The privilege of ill.

Good folks! who love a simple strain. That seems like fancy's sound; Rejoicing, when in nature's reign, The marvellous is found,

As strange a tale, as history knows, Accept in artless rhyme: An honest Greek relates in prose, This wonder of old time.

The antients gloried to describe, And held such wonders dear; For of the Psylli's signal tribe, 'Twas their delight to hear.

The Psylli were an Afric clan, Of wond'rous power possest; Fierce snakes, of enmity to man, They could with ease divest.

This gift they boasted with delight, A gift to them confin'd; Exemption from the viper's bite, Of most malignant kind.

This native gift they deem'd a test, To prove their genuine race; By every _true-born_ child possest, Not granted to the _base_!

In brains that burn from Afric suns, Mad jealousy will rise, Till thro' the heart the frenzy runs, And bursts all tender ties.

A Lybian of this far fam'd clan, Had dream'd his wife untrue, And soon the madd'ning wretch began His child with hate to view.

That child, which till his fatal dream Was from base slander bred; The happy sire, with joy extreme, Had fondled, blest, and fed.

And never infant more deserv'd To prove his father's joy: Of two years old, and nobly nerv'd, A brave Herculean boy.

Nature, with passion, long at strife, Contended in his breast; Till to expose his infant's life, He form'd a deadly test!

No common trial would suffice, For his suspicious mind; His rage a trial would devise, Of most tremendous kind.

Sansado, so the wretch was nam'd, A cruel brother taught: With equal jealousy inflam'd, To aid his barb'rous thought.

Him, many a deadly snake to feed, Sansado would engage; And more, by many a noxious weed, Exasperate their rage.

And now the settled day arrives, Fixt for their savage joy; To risk two unprotected lives, Poor Neela and her boy.

For if, so jealous rage decreed, One reptile wounds the child; Neela upon that couch must bleed, They think she has defil'd.

God save thee Neela in a strife, By nature's heart abhorr'd: And God defend each hapless wife, Who has a jealous lord!

But see the brothers, bent on ill! Neela yet kind and calm, Beholds a knot of Snakes, that fill A basket made of palm!

No fear her blameless mind alarms: But quick with scornful joy, One basely holds her by the arms; One grasps her fondling boy.

The sire himself, with gesture wild, His thoughtless offspring takes; And seats his unoffending child Amidst these angry Snakes!

Angry at first, they foam'd around The boy, who on them prest; He unappall'd sat gayly crown'd, With many a shining crest!

Stretching his little hands he play'd, Unconscious of a fear, With all the monsters he survey'd, And smil'd at every spear.

Now free, but with a fixt disdain, Behold the mother stand! She frowns upon the brothers twain, Nor takes the proffer'd hand.

"Do not, dear wife, my kindness shun, Henceforth my comfort be; And let us jointly bless my son, Who witnesses for thee;"

So with quick speed Sansado cried, With mingled joy and shame: The noble Neela, thus replied, With eyes of temperate flame.

"No, I renounce thee, and thy roof: For Heaven who shields my young, Bids me abjure thy love, not proof 'Gainst slander's vip'rous tongue."

"It is my duty to desert A guard I must despise: Farewell weak man, my child unhurt On Providence relies."

"Now brave; a coward he might turn Beneath thy base controul; But from his mother he shall learn, The empire of the soul."

She spoke, she kept, with truth most rare, Her purpose nobly wild, And made, by her maternal care, A hero of her child.

* * * * *

THE GOAT.

BALLAD THE FOURTEENTH.

"Can mothers of our English isle, The pride of all the earth, From any tribe of tender brutes, A mother's duly learn?" So to a shepherd of the Alps, A guest of noble birth, A traveller of English race Said on the swain's return;

When bringing to his simple cot A Goat of signal grace, He, to his foreign guest, display'd The ornament she wore; It was a splendid silver toy, It's folds her neck embrace, And it's rich centre, highly wrought, This grateful motto bore:

_Dear animal! This trinket wear, Mark of thy mental beauty! For teaching to an English fair, A mother's highest duty_!

"Good shepherd thou hast much to tell, Some curious tender tale, Thy kindness I with joy accept, To rest beneath thy roof; For now I see an evening storm Is sweeping o'er the vale, And here in this thy airy nest I well can sleep aloof."

"But tell me, who has so adorn'd Thy tame and pretty Goat?"-- "Ah! sir", (the white-hair'd shepherd said,) "It was a lovely fair; A lady of the sweetest face That ever eyes could note, But she was plung'd in darkest depths Of cruel craz'd despair."

"My Goat her guardian angel prov'd, As she herself allow'd, And hence her little neck appears So brilliant and so brave; No longer mine, she has a queen, Of whom she may be proud, And sure an angel might be proud So sweet a soul to save."

"But rest, sir, on my humble bench, And take my simple cheer, And I will tell you, all you ask, With hearty frank good will: A story of no trifling sort, In truth, you have to hear, Yet, like the most of mortal scenes, A mass of good and ill."

"But say, my pleasant, honest friend," (The traveller replied,) "Where is the lovely English fair, That you so much admire?"-- "Before you hear where now she goes, (And God be still her guide!) Her sufferings here let me relate," (Rejoin'd the sighing sire.)

"Of all the sufferers I have seen, She was indeed the prime, That of a deeply wounded heart, Most keenly felt the throes: 'Twas agony to see her grief; And even at this time, My foolish eyes grow full of tears In thinking of her woes!"

"No! ne'er shall I forget that eve, When I beheld her first, Ah! little thought my dame and I Such guest with us would dwell; With pity my old woman's heart Was even like to burst, When this sweet lady first implor'd, A refuge in our cell."

"'I do not ask to live with you, I am not fit to live!' (The beauteous mourner meekly cried Approaching to our cot:) 'Your pity, to my babe and me, Good aged friends! may give All that we ask; to die with you, To die, and be forgot!'"

"'Twas so the piteous pilgrim spake, With eyes that glisten'd wild; For privilege to die with you, We give you all our gold; For bitterer want, than want of wealth, For want of love my child, My child, must, like his mother, waste, And both will soon be cold!"

"So speaking, to my dame she held A lovely little boy, Who speechless, yet seem'd sorely griev'd To see his mother weep; My good old dame is soft of heart. And children are her joy; So she, who cherished both her guests. Soon lull'd the babe to sleep."

"But sleep to that sweet lady's eyes Had seem'd to bid farewell, And sometimes she would wildly say, There's but one sleep for me! So deep her woe sunk in her heart: Tho' she was loath to tell, My tender dame, discreetly guess'd, What that deep woe must be."

"By cruel man, of cruel things, Most cruel in his love! This suffering innocent had been To darkest frenzy driven; Tho' in it's nature her soft heart Is gentle as a dove, And, save one frantic thought, ne'er had A fault to be forgiven!"

"That frantic thought was a desire, To end her wretched life; But you shall hear how nature strove To soothe her stormy breast: For all her struggles, one and all, She told my good old wife, And how this little darling Goat, She as her guardian-blest."

"To heal her grief we both had tried, But both had tried in vain. When this dear sufferer in our shed Three mournful weeks had spent: While sleep press'd on our aged eyes, One morn in heart-felt pain Bearing her baby in her arms, To yon high cliff she went."

"Her purpose was, as since she said, From base mankind to fly, And with her nursling on her breast To take a fatal leap; But when she scal'd the topmost crag, That seems to touch the sky, Her little infant shriek'd to view A precipice so deep!"

"His voice wak'd nature in her heart, She wish'd to die alone, And in a safe, and hollow rock, Her lovely babe she plac'd; Then thinking his pure life preserv'd, Yet bent to end her own; She to the summit mounts again, In wild and breathless haste!"

"The horrid precipice below She deems the vale of peace, And having in a parting prayer Pray'd fondly for her child, She feels a wish to look yet once Before her sufferings cease, If calm her heaven-commended babe In solitude has smil'd."

"With this desire she gently creeps With anxious love to view The mossy cove of hollow stone, Where he is softly laid; Now near that most attractive spot, By slow degrees, she drew, And there an unexpected sight She suddenly survey'd."

"It was my little darling Goat Who cherishing the boy, With copious draughts of morning milk His grateful lips supplied; Her tears burst forth: she kneel'd, she pray'd, But now she pray'd in joy, For Heaven had kindled in her breast A mother's vital pride."

"O how angelic was the light That on her visage shone! When now returning to our cot Her old friends she carest: And, all her wild delirium past, With self-reproof made known, The gracious wonders God had wrought, In her enlighten'd breast!"

"Your blessed Goat, my friends", she said, "With your indulgent leave, My comrade, thro' my future life My monitor shall be; For now with heart-reform'd, I hope, I, not too late, perceive, How Heaven this tender creature sent, Tho' dumb, to lecture me."

"I wish that all the earth might know, For suffering pride's relief, How this heaven-guided animal In scenes so roughly wild; A wicked mother has reclaim'd Who lost in selfish grief, Neglected nature's highest charge, The nursing of her child!"

"'Twas wounded pride, my good old friends, My heart you will not blame, That rack'd my agonizing breast, And set my brain on fire; The thought to fall from honour's sphere In undeserved shame, And see my baby, and myself; The torment of his sire!"

"No! No! his torment tho' preserv'd, Our lives shall never prove, His hard desertion we forgive! Desertion by constraint: From every angry passion free My lips shall only move, To utter blessings on his head, And never breathe complaint."

"Tho' of our marriage every proof Has basely been suppresst, By his proud father's cruel guile To wrong my babe and me:"-- "My God!" (the traveller exclaims) By hope and doubt distrest, "Shepherd, if you would save my life, That lady let me see!"

"You must be patient noble sir," The gentle swain rejoins, "For she beneath her brother's care, With my good dame her guide, This morning to our city went That in the valley shines, Upon a safe and easy mule, By turns to walk and ride."

"Beneath her brother's care--you say, Then all my hope is fled, Yet no--perchance from India come, Heard you that brother's name?" "O yes! from India come, like one Returning from the dead; My blest Horatio, oft to him His sister would exclaim!"--