A cavern's jaws voraginous and vast,
The stormy genius of the deep forsakes:

And o'er the waves, that roar beneath his frown,
Ascending baleful, bids the tempest spread,
Turbid and terrible with hail and rain,
Its blackest pinion, pour its loudening blasts
In whirlwind forth, and from their lowest depth
Upturn the world of waters. Round and round
The tortur'd ship, at his imperious call,
Is wheel'd in dizzy whirl: her guiding helm
Breaks short; her masts in crashing ruin fall;
And each rent sail flies loose in distant air.
Now, fearful moment! o'er the foundering hull,
Half ocean heav'd, in one broad billowy curve,

The vapoury air with aromatic smells;
Then, drops of sovereign efficacy, drawn
From mountain plants, within his lips infus'd.
Slow, from the mortal trance, as men from dreams
Of direful vision, shuddering he awakes:
While life, to scarce-felt motion, faintly lifts
His fluttering pulse, and gradual o'er his cheek
The rosy current wins its refluent way.
Recovering to new pain, his eyes he turn'd
Severe on Heaven, on the surrounding hills
With twilight dim, and on the crowd unknown
Dissolv'd in tears around: then clos'd again,
As loathing light and life. At length, in sounds
Broken and eager, from his heaving breast

Steep from the clouds with horrid shade impends-Distraction spoke-" Down, down with every sail.

Mercy, sweet Heaven! Ha! now whole ocean

sweeps

Ah! save them Heaven! it bursts in deluge down
With boundless undulation. Shore and sky
Rebellow to the roar. At once engulf'd,
Vessel and crew beneath its torrent sweep,
Are sunk, to rise no more. Aurelius wept:
The tear unbidden dew'd his hoary cheek.
He turn'd his step; he fled the fatal scene,
And brooding, in sad silence, o'er the sight
To him alone disclos'd, his wounded heart
Pour'd out to Heaven in sighs: "Thy will be done, Aurelius bid depart. A pause ensued,

Not mine, supreme Disposer of events!
But death demands a tear, and man must feel
For human woes: the rest submission checks."

Not distant far, where this receding bay 3
Looks northward on the pole, a rocky arch
Expands its self-pois'd concave; as the gate,
Ample, and broad, and pillar'd massy-proof,
Of some unfolding temple. On its height
Is heard the tread of daily-climbing flocks,
That, o'er the green roof spread, their fragrant food
Untended crop. As through this cavern'd path,
Involv'd in pensive thought Aurelius past,
Struck with sad echoes from the sounding vault
Remurmur'd shrill, he stopt, he rais'd his head;
And saw th' assembled natives in a ring,
With wonder and with pity bending o'er
A shipwreck'd man. All-motionless on earth
He lay. The living lustre from his eye,
The vermil hue extinguish'd from his cheek:
And in their place, on each chill feature spread,
The shadowy cloud and ghastliness of Death
With pale suffusion sat. So looks the Moon,
So faintly wan, through hovering mists at eve,
Grey Autumn's train. Fast from his hairs distill'd
The briny wave: and close within his grasp
Was clench'd a broken oar, as one who long
Had stem'd the flood with agonizing breast,
And struggled strong for life. Of youthful prime
He seem'd, and built by Nature's noblest hand;
Where bold proportion, and where softening grace,
Mix'd in each limb, and harmoniz'd his frame.

Aurelius, from the breathless clay, his eye
To Heaven imploring rais'd: then, for he knew
That Life, within her central cell retir'd,
May Jurk unseen, diminish'd, but not quench'd,
He bid transport it speedy through the vale,
To his poor cell that lonely stood and low,
Safe from the north beneath a sloping hill:
An antique frame, orbicular, and rais'd
On columns rude; its roof with reverend moss
Light-shaded o'er; its front in ivy hid,
That mantling crept aloft. With pious hand
They turn'd, they chaf'd his frozen limbs, and fum'd

3 See Martin's voyage to St. Kilda, p. 20.

In tempest o'er our heads-My soul's last hope!
We will not part-Help, help! yon wave, behold!
That swells betwixt, has borne her from my sight.
O, for a sun to light this black abyss!
Gone-lost-for ever lost!" He ceas'd. Amaze
And trembling on the pale assistants fell:
Whom now, with greeting and the words of peace,

Mute, mournful, solemn. On the stranger's face
Observant, anxious, hung his fix'd regard :
Watchful, his ear, each murmur, every breath,
Attentive seiz'd; now eager to begin
Consoling speech; now doubtful to invade
The sacred silence due to grief supreme.
Then thus at last: "O from devouring seas,
By miracle escap'd! if, with thy life,
Thy sense return'd, can yet discern the hand
All-wonderful, that through yon raging ṣea,
Yon whirling west of tempest, led thee safe;
That hand divine with grateful awe confess,
With prostrate thanks adore. When thou, alas!
Wast number'd with the dead, and clos'd within
Th' unfathom'd gulf; when human hope was fled,
And human help in vain--th' Almighty voice
Then bade destruction spare, and bade the deep
Yield up its prey; that, by his mercy sav'd,
That mercy, thy fair life's remaining race,
A monument of wonder as of love,
May justify; to all the sons of men,
Thy brethren, ever present in their need.
Such praise delights him most-

He hears me not.
Some secret anguish, some transcendent woe,
Sits heavy on his heart, and from his eyes,
Through the clos'd lids, now rolls in bitter stream!
"Yet, speak thy soul, afflicted as thou art!
For know, by mournful privilege 'tis mine,
Myself most wretched, and in sorrow's ways
Severely train'd, to share in every pang
The wretched feel; to soothe the sad of heart;
To number tear for tear, and groan for groan,
With every son and daughter of distress.
Speak then, and give thy labouring bosom vent:
My pity is, my friendship shall be, thine;
To calm thy pain, and guide thy virtue back,
Through reason's paths, to happiness and Heaven.”
The hermit thus: and, after some sad pause
Of musing wonder, thus the man unknown.
"What have I heard?-On this untravell'd shore,
Nature's last limit, hemm'd with oceans round
| Howling and harbourless, beyond all faith
A comforter to find! whose language wears
The garb of civil life; a friend, whose breast

The gracious meltings of sweet pity move!
Amazement all! my grief to silence charm'd
Is lost in wonder-but, thou good unknown,
If woes, for ever wedded to despair,

That wish no cure, are thine, behold in me
A meet companion; one whom Earth and Heaven
Combine to curse; whom never future morn
Shall light to joy, nor evening with repose
Descending shade-O, son of this wild world!
From social converse though for ever barr'd,
Though chill'd with endless winter from the pole,
Yet warm'd by goodness, form'd to tender sense
Of human woes, beyond what milder climes,
By fairer suns attemper'd, courtly boast;
O say, did e'er thy breast, in youthful life,
Touch'd by a beam from Beauty all-divine,
Did e'er thy bosom her sweet influence own,
In pleasing tumult pour'd through every vein,
And panting at the heart, when first our eye
Receives impression! Then, as passion grew,
Did Heaven, consenting to thy wish, indulge
That bliss no wealth can bribe, no power bestow,
That bliss of angels, love by love repaid?
Heart streaming full to heart in mutual flow
Of faith and friendship, tenderness and truth-
If these thy fate distinguish'd, thou wilt then,
My joys conceiving, image my despair,
How total! how extreme! For this, all this,
Late my fair fortune, wreck'd on yonder flood,
Lies lost and bury'd there-O, awful Heaven!
Who to the wind and to the whelming wave
Her blameless head devoted, thou alone
Can'st tell what I have lost-O, ill-starr'd maid!
O, most undone Amyntor!"-Sighs and tears,
And heart-heav'd groans, at this, his voice suppress'd,
The rest was agony and dumb despair.

Now o'er their heads damp Night her stormy gloom
Spread, ere the glimmering twilight was expir'd,
With huge and heavy horrour closing round

In doubling clouds on clouds. The mournful scene,
The moving tale, Aurelius deeply felt:
And thus reply'd, as one in Nature skill'd,
With soft assenting sorrow in his look,

And words to soothe, not combat hopeless love.
Amyntor, by that Heaven who sees thy tears!
By faith and friendship's sympathy divine!
Could I the sorrows heal I more than share,
This bosom, trust me, should from thine transfer
Its sharpest grief. Such grief, alas! how just?
How long in silent anguish to descend,
When reason and when fondness o'er the tomb
Are fellow-mourners? He, who can resign,
Has never lov'd: and wert thou to the sense,
The sacred feeling of a loss like thine,
Cold and insensible, thy breast were then
No mansion for humanit, or thought
Of noble aim. Their dwelling is with love,
And tender pity; whose kind tear adorns
The clouded cheek, and sanctifies the soul
They soften, not subdue. We both will mix,
For her thy virtue lov'd, thy truth laments,
Our social sighs and still, as morn unveils
The brightening hill, or evening's misty shade
Its brow obscures, her gracefulness of form,
Her mind all-lovely, each ennobling each,

And drowsy hour steals fast upon our talk.
Here break we off: and thou, sad mourner, try
Thy weary limbs, thy wounded mind, to balm
With timely sleep. Each gracious wing from
Heaven

Of those that minister to erring man,
Near-hovering, hush thy passion into calm;
Serene thy slumbers with presented scenes
Of brightest visions; whisper to thy heart
That holy peace which goodness ever shares :
And to us both be friendly as we need."

CANTO II

And lo! the deeps

Now Midnight rose, and o'er the general scene,
Air, ocean, earth, drew broad her blackest veil,
Vapour and cloud. Around th' unsleeping isle
Yet howl'd the whirlwind, yet the billow groan'd;
And, in mix'd horrour, to Amyntor's ear [pall'd.
Borne through the gloom, his shrieking sense ap-
Shook by each blast, and swept by every wave,
Again pale memory labours in the storm:
Again from her he's torn, whom more than life
His fondness lov'd. And now, another shower
Of sorrow, o'er the dear unhappy maid,
Effusive stream'd; till late, through every power
The soul subdued sunk sad to slow repose:
And all her darkening scenes, by dim degrees,
Were quench'd in total night. A pause from pain
Not long to last: for Fancy, oft awake
While Reason sleeps, from her illusive cell
Call'd up
wild shapes of visionary fear,
Of visionary bliss, the hour of rest
To mock with mimic shows.
In airy tumult swell. Beneath a hill
Amyntor heaves of overwhelming seas;
Or rides, with dizzy dread, from cloud to cloud,
The billow's back. Anon, the shadowy world
Shifts to some boundless continent unknown,
Where solitary, o'er the starless void,
Dumb Silence broods. Through heaths of dreary
Slow on he drags his staggering step infirm
With breathless toil; hears torrent floods afar
Roar through the wild; and, plung'd in central caves,
Falls headlong many a fathom into night.
Yet there, at once, in all her living charms,
And brightening with their glow the brown abyss,
Rose Theodora. Smiling, in her eye
Sat, without cloud, the soft-consenting soul,
That, guilt unknowing, had no wish to hide.
A spring of sudden myrtles flowering round
Their walk embower'd; while nightingales beneath
Sung spousals, as along th' enamell'd turf
They seem'd to fly, and interchang'd their souls,
Melting in mutual softness. Thrice his arms
The fair encircled: thrice she fled his grasp,
And fading into darkness mix'd with air-
“O turn! O stay thy flight!”-
'—so loud he cry'd,
Sleep and its train of humid vapours fled.
He groan'd, he gaz'd around: his inward sense
Yet glowing with the vision's vivid beam,
Still, on his eye, the hovering shadow blaz'd;
Her voice still murmur'd in his tinkling ear;
Grateful deception! till returning thought

Shall be our frequent theme. Then shalt thou hear Left broad awake, amid th' incumbent lour

From me, in sad return, a tale of woes,
So terrible-Amyntor, thy pain'd heart
Amid its own, will shudder at the ills

That mine has bled with-But behold; the dark

Bength,

Of mute and mournful night, again he felt
His grief inflam'd throb fresh in every vein.
To frenzy stung, upstarting from his couch,
The vale, the shore, with darkling step he roam'd.

Like some drear spectre from the grave unbound:
Then, scaling yonder cliff, prone o'er its brow
He hung, in act to plunge amid the flood [voice,
Scarce from that height discern'd. Nor reason's
Nor ow'd submission to the will of Heaven,
Restrains him; but, as passion whirls his thought,
Fond expectation, that perchance escap'd,
Though passing all belief, the frailer skiff,
To which himself had borne th' unhappy fair,
May yet be seen. Around, o'er sea and shore,
He roll'd his ardent eye; but nought around
On land or wave within his ken appears,

Nor skiff, nor floating corse, on which to shed
The last sad tear, and lay the covering mould!

And now, wide open'd by the wakeful hours
Heaven's orient gate, forth on her progress comes
Aurora smiling, and her purple lamp

Lifts high o'er earth and sea: while, all-unveil'd,
The vast horizon on Amyntor's eye
Pours full its scenes of wonder, wildly great,
Magnificently various. From this steep,
Diffus'd immense in rolling prospect lay
The northern deep. Amidst, from space to space,
Her numerous isles, rich gems of Albion's crown,
As slow th' ascending mists disperse in air,
Shoot gradual from her bosom: and beyond,
Like distant clouds blue-floating on the verge
Of evening skies, break forth the dawning hills.
A thousand landscapes! barren some and bare,
Rock pil'd on rock, amazing, up to Heaven,
Of horrid grandeur: some with sounding ash,
Or oak broad-shadowing, or the spiry growth
Of waving pine high-plum'd, and all beheld
More lovely in the Sun's adorning beam,
Who now, fair-rising o'er yon eastern cliff,
The vernal verdure tinctures gay with gold.

Meanwhile Aurelius, wak'd from sweet repose,
Repose that Temperance sheds in timely dews
On all who live to her, his mournful guest
Came forth to hail, as hospitable rites
And Virtue's rule enjoin: but first to him,
Spring of all charity, who gave the heart
With kindly sense to glow, his matin-song,
Superior duty, thus the sage addrest:

"Fountain of light! from whom yon orient Sun
First drew his splendour; Source of life and love!
Whose smile now wakes o'er Earth's rekindling face
The boundless blush of spring; O! First and Best!
Thy essence, though from human sight and search,
Though from the climb of all created thought,
Ineffably remov'd; yet man himself,
Thy lowest child of reason, inan may read
Unbounded power, intelligence supreme,
The Maker's hand, on all his works imprest,
In characters coëval with the Sun,

And with the Sun to last; from world to world,
From age to age, in every clime, disclos'd,
Sole revelation through all time the same.
Hail, universal Goodness! with full stream
For ever flowing from beneath the throne

To days of future life; or whether now
The mortal hour is instant, still vouchsafe,
Parent and friend, to guide me blameless on
Through this dark scene of errour and of ill,
Thy truth to light me, and thy peace to cheer.
All else, of me unask'd, thy will supreme
Withhold or graut: and let that will be done."
This from the soul in silence breath'd sincere,
The hill's steep side with firm elastic step
He lightly scal'd: such health the frugal board,
The morn's fresh breath that exercise respires
In mountain-walks, and conscience free from blame,
Our life's best cordial, can through age prolong.
There, lost in thought, and self-abandon'd, lay
The man unknown; nor heard approach his host,
Nor rais'd his drooping head. Aurelius, mov'd
By soft compassion, which the savage scene,
Shut up and barr'd amid surrounding seas
From human commerce, quicken'd into sense
Of sharper sorrow, thus apart began.

[spread,

"O sight, that from the eye of wealth or pride,
Ev'n in their hour of vainest thought, might draw
A feeling tear; whom yesterday beheld
By love and fortune crown'd, of all possest
That Fancy, tranc'd in fairest vision, dreams;
Now lost to all, each hope that softens life,
Each bliss that cheers; there, on the damp earth
Beneath a heaven unknown, behold him now!
And let the gay, the fortunate, the great,
The proud, be taught, what now the wretched feel,
The happy have to fear. O man forlorn,
Too plain I read thy heart, by fondness drawn
To this sad scene, to sights that but inflame
Its tender anguish—"

"Hear me, Heaven!" exclaim'd
The frantic mourner, “could that anguish rise
To madness and to mortal agony,

I yet would bless my fate; by one kind pang,
From what I feel, the keener pangs of thought
For ever freed. To me the Sun is lost:
To me the future flight of days and years
Is darkness, is despair-But who complains
Forgets that he can die. O, sainted maid!
For such in Heaven thou art, if from thy seat
Of holy rest, beyond these changeful skies,
If names on Earth most sacred once and dear,
A lover and a friend, if yet these names
Can wake thy pity, dart one guiding ray
To light me where, in cave or creek, are thrown
Thy lifeless limbs that I-O grief supreme!
O fate remorseless! was thy lover sav'd
For such a task?—that I those dear remains,
With maiden-rites adorn'd, at last may lodge
Beneath the hallow'd vault; and, weeping there
O'er thy cold urn, await the hour to close
These eyes in peace, and mix this dust with thine!"
"Such, and so dire," reply'd the cordial friend

In Pity's look and language, "such, alas!
Were late my thoughts. Whate'er the human heart
Can most afHict, grief, agony, despair,

Through earth, air, sea, to all things that have life: Have all been mine, and with alternate war

From all that live on earth, in air and sea,
The great community of Nature's sons,
To thee, first Father, ceaseless praise ascend!
And in the reverent hymn my grateful voice
Be duly heard, among thy works not least,
Nor lowest; with intelligence inform'd,

To know thee, and adore; with free-will crown'd,
Where Virtue leads, to follow and be blest.
O, whether by thy prime decree ordain'd

This bosom ravag'd. Hearken then, good youth;
My story mark, and from another's fate,
Pre-eminently wretched, learn thy own,
Sad as seems, to balance and to bear.

"In me, a man behold, whose morn serene,
Whose noon of better life, with honour spent,
In virtuous purpose, or in honest act,
Drew fair distinction on my public name,
From those among mankind, the nobler few,

My horrours end"-then madly would have plung'd | Of love and care, as ancient rites ordain,

The weapon's hostile point.-His lifted arm
Aurelius, though with deep dismay and dread
And anguish shook, yet his superior soul
Collecting, and resuining all himself,
Seiz'd sudden: then perusing with strict eye,
And beating heart, Amyntor's blooming form;
Nor from his air or feature gathering aught
To wake remembrance, thus at length bespoke.
"O dire attempt! Whoe'er thou art, yet stay
Thy hand self-violent; nor thus to guilt,

If guilt is thine, accumulating add

A crime that Nature shrinks from, and to which
Heaven has indulg'd no mercy. Sovereign Judge!
Shall man first violate the law divine,
That plac'd him here dependent on thy nod,
Resign'd, unmurmuring, to await his hour
Of fair dismission hence; shall man do this,
Then dare thy presence, rush into thy sight,
Red with the sin, and recent from the stain,
Of unrepented blood? Call home thy sense;
Know what thou art, and own his hand most just,
Rewarding or afflicting-But say on.

My soul, yet trembling at thy frantic deed,
Recalls thy words, recalls their dire import:
They urge me on; they bid me ask no more-
What would I ask? My Theodora's fate,
Ah me! is known too plain. Have I then sinn'd,
Good Heaven! beyond all grace-But shall I blame
His rage of grief, and in myself admit

Its wild excess? Heaven gave her to my wish;
That gift Heaven has resum'd: righteous in both,
For both his providence be ever blest!"

By shame repress'd, with rising wonder fill'd,
Amyntor, slow recovering into thought,
Submissive on his knee, the good man's hand
Grasp'd close, and bore with ardour to his lips.
His eye, where fear, confusion, reverence spoke,
Through swelling tears, what language cannot t 11,
Now rose to meet, now shunn'd the hermit's glance,
Shot awful at him: till, the various swell
Of passion ebbing, thus he faultering : poke:
"What hast thou done? why sav'd a wretch
unknown?

Whom knowing ev'n thy goodness must abhor.
Mistaken man! the honour of thy name,
Thy love, truth, duty, all must be my foes.
I am Aurelius! turn that look aside,

That brow of terrour, while this wretch can say,
Abhorrent say, he is-Forgive me, Heaven!
Forgive me, Virtue! if I would renounce
Whom Nature bids me reverence-by her bond,
Rolando's son: by your more sacred ties,
As to his crimes, an alien to his bod;
For crimes like his-"

"Rolando's son? Just Heaven! Ha! here? and in my power? A war of thoughts, Al terrible arising, shakes my frame

With doubtful conflict. By one stroke to reach
The father's heart, though seas are spread between,
Were great revenge!-Away: revenge? on whom?
Alas! on my own soul; by rage betray'd
Es'n to the crime my reason most condemns
In him who ruin'd me." Deep-mov'd he spoke;
And his own poniard o'er the prostrate youth
Suspended held. But, as the welcome blow,
With arms display'd, Ainyntor seem'd to court,
Behold, in sudden confluence gathering round
The natives stood; whom kindness hither drew,
The man unknown, with each relieving aid

To succour and to serve. Before them came
Montano, venerable sage, whose head
The hand of Time with twenty winters' snow

Had shower'd; and to whose intellectual eye
Futurity, behind her cloudy veil,

Stands in fair light disclos'd. Him, after pause,
Aurelius drew apart, and in his care

Amyntor plac'd; to lodge him and secure;
To save him from himself, as one, with grief
Tempestuous, and with rage, distemper'd deep.
This done, nor waiting for reply, alone

He sought the vale, and his calm cottage gain'd.

CANTO III.

WHERE Kilda's southern hills their summit lift
With triple fork to Heaven, the mounted Sun
Full, from the midmost, shot in dazzling stream
His noon-tide ray. And now, in lowing train,
Were seen slow-pacing westward o'er the vale
The milky mothers, foot pursuing foot,
And nodding as they move; their oozy meal,
The bitter healthful herbage of the shore,
Around its rocks to graze 4: for, strange to tell!
The hour of ebb, though ever varying found,
As yon pale planet wheels from day to day
Her course inconstant, their sure instinct feels,
Intelligent of times; by Heaven's own hand,
To all its creatures equal in its care,
Unerring mov'd. These signs observ'd, that guide
To labour and repose a simple race,
These native signs to due repast at noon,
Frugal and plain, had warn'd the temperate isle:
All but Aurelius. He, unhappy man,
By Nature's voice solicited in vain,
Nor hour observ'd, nor due repast partook.
The child no more! the mother's fate untold!
Both in black prospect rising to his eye-
Twas anguish there; 'twas here distracting doubt!
Yet, after long and painful conflict borne,
Where Nature, Reason, oft the doubtful scale
Inclin'd alternate, summoning each aid
That Virtue lends, and o'er each thought infirm
Superior rising, in the might of him,

Who strength from weakness, as from darkness light,
Omnipotent can draw; again resign'd,

Again he sacrific'd, to Heaven's high will,
Each soothing weakness of a parent's breast;
The sigh soft memory prompts; the tender tear,
That, streaming o'er an object lov'd and lost,
With mournful tragic tortures and delights,
Relieves us, while its sweet oppression loads,
And, by admitting, blunts the sting of woe.

As Reason thus the mental storm seren'd,
And through the darkness shot her sun-bright ray
That strengthens while it cheers; behold from far
Amyntor slow approaching! on his front,

4 The cows often feed on the alga marina: and they can distinguish exactly the tide of ebb from the tide of flood; though, at the same time, they are not within view of the shore. When the tide has ebbed about two hours, then they steer their course directly to the nearest shore, in their usual order, one after another. I had occasion to make this observation thirteen times in one week. Martin's Western Isles of Scotland, p. 156.