English

THE INQUISITION .

There was in Christendom, of yore,
— And would to heaven it were no more! —
There was an Inquisition-Court,
Where priestcraft made the demons sport:
— Priestcraft, — in form a giant monk,
With wine of Rome's pollutions drunk,
Like captive Samson, bound and blind,
In chains and darkness of the mind,
There show'd such feats of strength and skill
As made it charity to kill,
And well the blow of death might pass
For what he call'd it — coup de grace;

THE CAR OF JUGGERNAUT .

O N plains beneath the morning star,
Lo! Juggernaut's stupendous car;
So high and menacing its size,
The Tower of Babel seems to rise;
Darkening the air, its shadow spreads
O'er thrice an hundred thousand heads;
Darkening the soul, it strikes a gloom,
Dense as the night beyond the tomb.
Full in mid-heaven, when mortal eye
Up this huge fabric climbs the sky,
The Idol scowls, in dragon-pride,
Like Satan's conscience deified;
— Satan himself would scorn to ape

THE COMBAT .

O F old when fiery warriors met,
On edge of steel their lives were set;
Eye watching eye, shield crossing shield,
Foot wedged to foot, they fought the field,
Dealt and withstood as many strokes
As might have fell'd two forest-oaks,
Till one, between the harness-joint,
Felt the resistless weapon's point
Quick through his heart, — and in a flood
Pour'd his hot spirit with his blood.

The victor, rising from the blow
That laid his brave assailant low,

SCENE III.

A Field in the Country. — Labourers reposing.

The Master . Come, Mary Macintyre — give us a song,
Then to our work again. Thou hast a voice
So sweet, that even the Linnet on the broom
Might take a lesson from thee.

SONG .

A bird in Spring had built her nest
In a tuft o' flowers on a Castle-wa',
Whare saftly on her bonny breast

SCENE II .

Inside of a Cottage — The Prisoner's Wife sitting with her F RIEND , surrounded by her Family .

Wife . Speak to me! let my weeping children speak,
Although it be with sobs of agony.
Friend . See how composed your sweetest children sit
All round your knees! They weep, and sigh, and sob,
For piteous they and most compassionate.
But nature steals upon them in their grief,
And happy thoughts, in spite even of themselves,

SCENE I.

Clergyman . He stirs as he would wake.
Friend . List! list! he speaks!
Clergyman . A smile is on his face — a kindling smile.
Friend . Oh! when he wakes!
Clergyman . Hearken — he speaks again.
Prisoner , ( in his sleep .) O, my sweet Alice! 'Twas a dreadful dream!
Am I in truth awake? Come to my heart!

SCENE II.

Prisoner . That was a dreadful toll! it brings me nearer
Unto the day of horror. Here am I
Deliver'd over to the fear of death
In cold and rueful solitude — shut out
By that black vault of stone from memory
Of human beings — and, as it would seem,
From the pity of my God! Who thinks on me?
The crowd that came to hear my sentence pass'd
Are scatter'd o'er the City, and my fate
Is by them all forgotten, or pronounced

PART I.

SCENE I.

Wife . 'Tis twelve o'clock, and no news from the City
Oh! had he been acquitted, many hundreds
Would have been hurried hither in their joy,
Headlong into the house of misery,
To shout the tidings of salvation there.
But now that he is doom'd unto the death,
They fear to bring with black and silent faces
The sentence of despair. O God! to think
That all this long interminable night,

PART III.

BEING THE FIFTH AND LAST OF CHRISTABEL .

Hast thou not seen, world-weary man,
Life's poor pilgrim white and wan —
A gentle beauty for the cheek
Which nothing gives but sorrow,
A sweet expression, soft and weak,
Joy can never borrow?
Where, lingering on the pale wet face,
The rival tears run their slow race,
Each in its wonted furrow;
And patience, eloquently meek,

PART II.

BEING THE FOURTH OF CHRISTABEL .

How fresh and fair is morn!
The dew-beads, dropping bright,
Each humble flower adorn
With coronets bedight,
And jewel the rough thorn
With tiny globes of light.
How beautiful is morn!
Her scattered gems how bright!

There is a quiet gladness
In the waking earth,
Like the face of sadness