In such a wild and dreary moan The watches of the Seraphim Poured out all night their plaintive hymn Before the eternal throne.

Then, when from many a heavenly eye Drops as of earthly pity fell For her who had aspire too high, For him who loved too well.

When, stunned by grief, the gentle pair From the nuptial garden fair, Linked in a sorrowful caress, Strayed through the untrodden wilderness; And close behind their footsteps came The desolating sword of flame, And drooped the cedared alley's pride, And fountains shrank, and roses died.

"Rejoice, O Son of G.o.d, rejoice,"

Sang that melancholy voice, "Rejoice, the maid is fair to see; The bower is decked for her and thee; The ivory lamps around it throw A soft and pure and mellow glow.

Where'er the chastened l.u.s.tre falls On roof or cornice, floor or walls, Woven of pink and rose appear Such words as love delights to hear.

The breath of myrrh, the lute's soft sound, Float through the moonlight galleries round.

O'er beds of violet and through groves of spice, Lead thy proud bride into the nuptial bower; For thou hast bought her with a fearful price, And she hath dowered thee with a fearful dower.

The price is life. The dower is death.

Accursed loss! Accursed gain!

For her thou givest the blessedness of Seth, And to thine arms she brings the curse of Cain.

Round the dark curtains of the fiery throne Pauses awhile the voice of sacred song: From all the angelic ranks goes forth a groan, 'How long, O Lord, how long?'

The still small voice makes answer, 'Wait and see, Oh sons of glory, what the end shall be.'

"But, in the outer darkness of the place Where G.o.d hath shown his power without his grace, Is laughter and the sound of glad acclaim, Loud as when, on wings of fire, Fulfilled of his malign desire, From Paradise the conquering serpent came.

The giant ruler of the morning star From off his fiery bed Lifts high his stately head, Which Michael's sword hath marked with many a scar.

At his voice the pit of h.e.l.l Answers with a joyous yell, And flings her dusky portals wide For the bridegroom and the bride.

"But louder still shall be the din In the halls of Death and Sin, When the full measure runneth o'er, When mercy can endure no more, When he who vainly proffers grace, Comes in his fury to deface The fair creation of his hand; When from the heaven streams down amain For forty days the sheeted rain; And from his ancient barriers free, With a deafening roar the sea Comes foaming up the land.

Mother, cast thy babe aside: Bridegroom, quit thy virgin bride: Brother, pa.s.s thy brother by: 'Tis for life, for life, ye fly.

Along the drear horizon raves The swift advancing line of waves.

On: on: their frothy crests appear Each moment nearer, and more near.

Urge the dromedary's speed; Spur to death the reeling steed; If perchance ye yet may gain The mountains that o'erhang the plain.

"Oh thou haughty land of Nod, Hear the sentence of thy G.o.d.

Thou hast said, 'Of all the hills Whence, after autumn rains, the rills In silver trickle down, The fairest is that mountain white Which intercepts the morning light From Cain's imperial town.

On its first and gentlest swell Are pleasant halls where n.o.bles dwell; And marble porticoes are seen Peeping through terraced gardens green.

Above are olives, palms, and vines; And higher yet the dark-blue pines; And highest on the summit shines The crest of everlasting ice.

Here let the G.o.d of Abel own That human art hath wonders shown Beyond his boasted paradise.'

"Therefore on that proud mountain's crown Thy few surviving sons and daughters Shall see their latest sun go down Upon a boundless waste of waters.

None salutes and none replies; None heaves a groan or breathes a prayer They crouch on earth with tearless eyes, And clenched hands, and bristling hair.

The rain pours on: no star illumes The blackness of the roaring sky.

And each successive billow booms Nigher still and still more nigh.

And now upon the howling blast The wreaths of spray come thick and fast; And a great billow by the tempest curled Falls with a thundering crash; and all is o'er.

In what is left of all this glorious world?

A sky without a beam, a sea without a sh.o.r.e.

"Oh thou fair land, where from their starry home Cherub and seraph oft delight to roam, Thou city of the thousand towers, Thou palace of the golden stairs, Ye gardens of perennial flowers, Ye moted gates, ye breezy squares; Ye parks amidst whose branches high Oft peers the squirrel's sparkling eye; Ye vineyards, in whose trellised shade Pipes many a youth to many a maid; Ye ports where rides the gallant ship, Ye marts where wealthy burghers meet; Ye dark green lanes which know the trip Of woman's conscious feet; Ye gra.s.sy meads where, when the day is done, The shepherd pens his fold; Ye purple moors on which the setting sun Leaves a rich fringe of gold; Ye wintry deserts where the larches grow; Ye mountains on whose everlasting snow No human foot hath trod; Many a fathom shall ye sleep Beneath the grey and endless deep, In the great day of the revenge of G.o.d."

THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN'S TRIP TO CAMBRIDGE.--AN ELECTION BALLAD. (1827.)

As I sate down to breakfast in state, At my living of t.i.thing-c.u.m-Boring, With Betty beside me to wait, Came a rap that almost beat the door in.

I laid down my basin of tea, And Betty ceased spreading the toast, "As sure as a gun, sir," said she, "That must be the knock of the post."

A letter--and free--bring it here-- I have no correspondent who franks.

No! Yes! Can it be? Why, my dear, 'Tis our glorious, our Protestant Bankes.

"Dear sir, as I know you desire That the Church should receive due protection, I humbly presume to require Your aid at the Cambridge election.

"It has lately been brought to my knowledge, That the Ministers fully design To suppress each cathedral and college, And eject every learned divine.

To a.s.sist this detestable scheme Three nuncios from Rome are come over; They left Calais on Monday by steam, And landed to dinner at Dover.

"An army of grim Cordeliers, Well furnished with relics and vermin, Will follow, Lord Westmoreland fears, To effect what their chiefs may determine.

Lollard's bower, good authorities say, Is again fitting up for a prison; And a wood-merchant told me to-day 'Tis a wonder how f.a.ggots have risen.

"The finance scheme of Canning contains A new Easter-offering tax; And he means to devote all the gains To a bounty on thumb-screws and racks.

Your living, so neat and compact-- Pray, don't let the news give you pain!-- Is promised, I know for a fact, To an olive-faced Padre from Spain."

I read, and I felt my heart bleed, Sore wounded with horror and pity; So I flew, with all possible speed, To our Protestant champion's committee.

True gentlemen, kind and well-bred!

No fleering! no distance! no scorn!

They asked after my wife who is dead, And my children who never were born.

They then, like high-principled Tories, Called our Sovereign unjust and unsteady, And a.s.sailed him with scandalous stories, Till the coach for the voters was ready.

That coach might be well called a casket Of learning and brotherly love: There were parsons in boot and in basket; There were parsons below and above.

There were Sneaker and Griper, a pair Who stick to Lord Mulesby like leeches; A smug chaplain of plausible air, Who writes my Lord Goslingham's speeches.

Dr Buzz, who alone is a host, Who, with arguments weighty as lead, Proves six times a week in the Post That flesh somehow differs from bread.

Dr Nimrod, whose orthodox toes Are seldom withdrawn from the stirrup; Dr Humdrum, whose eloquence flows, Like droppings of sweet poppy syrup; Dr Rosygill puffing and fanning, And wiping away perspiration; Dr Humbug who proved Mr Canning The beast in St John's Revelation.

A layman can scarce form a notion Of our wonderful talk on the road; Of the learning, the wit, and devotion, Which almost each syllable showed: Why divided allegiance agrees So ill with our free const.i.tution; How Catholics swear as they please, In hope of the priest's absolution;

How the Bishop of Norwich had bartered His faith for a legate's commission; How Lyndhurst, afraid to be martyr'd, Had stooped to a base coalition; How Papists are cased from compa.s.sion By bigotry, stronger than steel; How burning would soon come in fashion, And how very bad it must feel.

We were all so much touched and excited By a subject so direly sublime, That the rules of politeness were slighted, And we all of us talked at a time; And in tones, which each moment grew louder, Told how we should dress for the show, And where we should fasten the powder, And if we should bellow or no.

Thus from subject to subject we ran, And the journey pa.s.sed pleasantly o'er, Till at last Dr Humdrum began; From that time I remember no more.

At Ware he commenced his prelection, In the dullest of clerical drones; And when next I regained recollection We were rambling o'er Trumpington stones.

SONG. (1827.)

O stay, Madonna! stay; 'Tis not the dawn of day That marks the skies with yonder opal streak: The stars in silence shine; Then press thy lips to mine, And rest upon my neck thy fervid cheek.

O sleep, Madonna! sleep; Leave me to watch and weep O'er the sad memory of departed joys, O'er hope's extinguished beam, O'er fancy's vanished dream; O'er all that nature gives and man destroys.

O wake, Madonna! wake; Even now the purple lake Is dappled o'er with amber flakes of light; A glow is on the hill; And every trickling rill In golden threads leaps down from yonder height.