I.

Titan! to whose immortal eyes
The sufferings of mortality,
Seen in their sad reality,
Were not as things that gods despise;
What was thy pity's recompense?[65]
A silent suffering, and intense;
The rock, the vulture, and the chain,
All that the proud can feel of pain,
The agony they do not show,
The suffocating sense of woe,
Which speaks but in its loneliness,
And then is jealous lest the sky
Should have a listener, nor will sigh
Until its voice is echoless.

II.

Titan! to thee the strife was given
Between the suffering and the will,
Which torture where they cannot kill;
And the inexorable Heaven,[66]
And the deaf tyranny of Fate,
The ruling principle of Hate,
Which for its pleasure doth cr...

Œnone sat within the cave from out
Whose ivy-matted mouth she used to gaze
Down at the Troad; but the goodly view
Was now one blank, and all the serpent vines
Which on the touch of heavenly feet had risen,
And gliding thro’ the branches over-bower’d
The naked Three, were wither’d long ago,
And thro’ the sunless winter morning-mist
In silence wept upon the flowerless earth.
And while she stared at those dead cords that ran
Dark thro’ the mist, and linking tree to tree,
But once were gayer than a dawning sky
With many a pendent bell and fragrant star,
Her Past became her Present, and she saw
Him, climbing toward her with the golden fruit,
Him, happy to be chosen judge of Gods,
Her husband in the flush of youth and dawn,
Paris, himself as beauteous as a God....

He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
She, in the room below, his floor her ceiling,
Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,
And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter. . . .
She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night,

His watch, the same he has heard these cycles of ages,
Wearily chimes at seconds beneath his pillow.
The clock, upon her mantelpiece, strikes nine.
The night wears on. She hears dull steps above her.
The world whirs on. . . .New stars come up to shine.

His youth, far off, he sees it brightly walking
In a golden cloud. . . .Wings flashing about it. . . . Darkness
Walls it around with dripping enormous walls.
Old age, far off, her death, what do they matter?
Down the smooth purple night a streaked star falls.

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above:
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love:
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

I wish I were as in the years of old
While yet the blessed daylight made itself
Ruddy thro’ both the roofs of sight, and woke
These eyes, now dull, but then so keen to seek
The meanings ambush’d under all they saw,
The flight of birds, the flame of sacrifice,
What omens may foreshadow fate to man
And woman, and the secret of the Gods.
My son, the Gods, despite of human prayer,
Are slower to forgive than human kings.
The great God, Arês, burns in anger still
Against the guiltless heirs of him from Tyre
Our Cadmus, out of whom thou art, who found
Beside the springs of Dircê, smote, and still’d
Thro’ all its folds the multitudinous beast
The dragon, which our trembling fathers call’d
The God’s own son.
A tale, that told to me,
When but thine age, by age...

'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is here,
And ease from shame, and rest from fear.
There's nothing can dismarble now
The smoothness of that limpid brow.
But is a calm like this, in truth,
The crowning end of life and youth,
And when this boon rewards the dead,
Are all debts paid, has all been said?
And is the heart of youth so light,
Its step so firm, its eye so bright,
Because on its hot brow there blows
A wind of promise and repose
From the far grave, to which it goes;
Because it hath the hope to come,
One day, to harbour in the tomb?
Ah no, the bliss youth dreams is one
For daylight, for the cheerful sun,
For feeling nerves and living breath,
Youth dreams a bliss on this side death.
It dreams a rest, if not more deep,
More grateful than th...

    "For nearly eighteen years upon my head
    The crown of Empire heavily has set.
    The burden on my shoulders I have borne
    Of an estate encumbered far and wide
    With debts I had to pay. Ah! everywhere
    Murmurs, revolts, or wars assailed my throne.
    Now quiet comes - even in Britain here,
    The most disturbing Province of them all.
    Yet I must go, the profits I must leave
    To others to enjoy - to hold with ease
    What I with bitter travail have obtained.
    Peace there must be, and mutual amity,
    The one support to hold the Empire firm,
    To keep the Glory of the Empire bright.
    Discord would be the ruin of the pile,
    That my poor hands have built so painfully.
    Only when Peace prevails may we behold
    How smal...

By his side, whose days are past,
Lay bow and quiver!
And his eyes that stare aghast
Close, with a shiver.
God nor man from Death, at last,
Love may deliver.

Though, of old, we vowed, my dear,
Death should not take him;
Mourn not thou that we must here
Coldly forsake him;
Shed above his grave no tear,
Tears will not wake him.

Cupid lieth cold and dead,
Ended his flying,
Pale his lips, once rosy-red,
Swift was his dying.
Place a stone above his head,
Turn away, sighing.

I' mi soglio accusare, ed or mi scuso.

HE GLORIES IN HIS LOVE.


    I now excuse myself who wont to blame,
Nay, more, I prize and even hold me dear,
For this fair prison, this sweet-bitter shame,
Which I have borne conceal'd so many a year.
O envious Fates! that rare and golden frame
Rudely ye broke, where lightly twined and clear,
Yarn of my bonds, the threads of world-wide fame
Which lovely 'gainst his wont made Death appear.
For not a soul was ever in its days
Of joy, of liberty, of life so fond,
That would not change for her its natural ways,
Preferring thus to suffer and despond,
Than, fed by hope, to sing in others' praise,
Content to die, or live in such a bond.

MACGREGOR.

Che fai? che pensi? che pur dietro guardi.

HE ENCOURAGES HIS SOUL TO LIFT ITSELF TO GOD, AND TO ABANDON THE VANITIES OF EARTH.


    What dost thou? think'st thou? wherefore bend thine eye
Back on the time that never shall return?
The raging fire, where once 'twas thine to burn,
Why with fresh fuel, wretched soul, supply?
Those thrilling tones, those glances of the sky,
Which one by one thy fond verse strove to adorn,
Are fled; and--well thou knowest, poor forlorn!--
To seek them here were bootless industry.
Then toil not bliss so fleeting to renew;
To chase a thought so fair, so faithless, cease:
Thou rather that unwavering good pursue,
Which guides to heaven; since nought below can please.
Fatal for us that beauty's torturing view,
Living o...

Oh, when I found that Death had set
His awful stamp on thee,
Deserted on Life's stormy shore,
I thought that Time could have in store
Not one more shaft for me.

Long I had watched thy lingering bloom
That brightened 'mid decay;
And then its eloquent appeal
Would ask my heart if death could steal
Such loveliness away.

And oh! could pure unsullied worth
Or peerless beauty save,
We had not stood as mourners here,
And shed the unavailing tear
O'er thy untimely grave.

But we have seen thee lowly laid,
And I am here alone;
Each morn I shuddering wake to feel
The consciousness around me steal,
That all my hopes are flown.

All, did I say? Ingrate indeed!
Oh, be the thought forgiven;
Has he not hopes and inte...

With the thirty pieces of silver,
They bought the Potter's Field;
For none would have the blood-money
And the interest it might yield.

The Place of Blood for the Price of Blood,
And that was meet, I ween,
For there they would bury the dead who died
In frowardness and sin.

And the first man they would bury there
Was Judas Iscariot;
And that was as dreadful a burying
As ever was, I wot.

For the sick earth would not keep him;
Each time it thrust him out,
And they that would have buried him
Stood shuddering round about.

And others they would bury
In that unhallowed spot,
But honest earth would none of them,
Because of Iscariot.

And oh, it was a fell, fell place,
With dead black trees all round,
And a quag...

Tacer non posso, e temo non adopre.

HE RECALLS HER MANY GRACES.


    Fain would I speak--too long has silence seal'd
Lips that would gladly with my full heart move
With one consent, and yield
Homage to her who listens from above;
Yet how can I, without thy prompting, Love,
With mortal words e'er equal things divine,
And picture faithfully
The high humility whose chosen shrine
Was that fair prison whence she now is free?
Which held, erewhile, her gentle spirit, when
So in my conscious heart her power began.
That, instantly, I ran,
--Alike o' th' year and me 'twas April then--
From these gay meadows round sweet flowers to bind,
Hoping rich pleasure at her eyes to find.

The walls were alabaster, the roof gold,
Ivory the doo...

Fire, and behind the breathless flight of fire
Thunder that quickens fear and quells desire,
Make bright and loud the terror of the night
Wherein the soul sees only wrath for light.
Wrath winged by love and sheathed by grief in steel
Sets on the front of crime death's withering seal.
The heaving horror of the storms of sin
Brings forth in fear the lightning hid therein,
And flashes back to darkness: truth, found pure
And perfect, asks not heaven if shame endure.
What life and death were his whose raging song
Bore heaven such witness of the wild world's wrong,
What hand was this that grasped such thunder, none
Knows: night and storm seclude him from the sun.
By daytime none discerns the fire of Mars:
Deep darkness bares to sight the sterner stars,
The lights wh...

(Job iii. 26)


It was not that I lived a life of ease,
    Quiet, secure, apart from every care;
For on the darkest of my anxious days
    I thought my burden more than I could bear.
The shadow of a coming trouble fell
    Across my pathway, drawing very near;
I walked within it awestruck, felt the spell
    Trembled, not knowing what I had to fear.
The hand that held events I might not stay,
But creeping to His footstool I could pray.

With sad forebodings I kept watch and ward
    Against the dreaded evil that must come;
Of small avail, door locked or window barred,
    To keep the pestilence from hearth and home.
The dreadful pestilence that walks by night,
    Stepping o'er barriers, an unwelcome guest,
Came, and with scorching touch t...

O Sorrow, cruel fellowship,
O Priestess in the vaults of Death,
O sweet and bitter in a breath,
What whispers from thy lying lip?

"The stars," she whispers, "blindly run;
A web is wov'n across the sky;
From out waste places comes a cry,
And murmurs from the dying sun:

"And all the phantom, Nature, stands--
With all the music in her tone,
A hollow echo of my own,--
A hollow form with empty hands."

And shall I take a thing so blind,
Embrace her as my natural good;
Or crush her, like a vice of blood,
Upon the threshold of the mind?

Thou little star, that in the purple clouds
    Hang'st, like a dew-drop, in a violet bed;
First gem of evening, glittering on the shrouds,
    'Mid whose dark folds the day lies pale and dead:
As through my tears my soul looks up to thee,
    Loathing the heavy chains that bind it here,
There comes a fearful thought that misery
    Perhaps is found, even in thy distant sphere.
Art thou a world of sorrow and of sin,
    The heritage of death, disease, decay,
A wilderness, like that we wander in,
    Where all things fairest, soonest pass away?
And are there graves in thee, thou radiant world,
    Round which life's sweetest buds fall withered,
Where hope's bright wings in the dark earth lie furled,
    And living hearts are mouldering with the dead?
Perchance ...

THE ARGUMENT.

Pizarro takes possession of Cuzco - the fanaticism of Valverde, a Spanish priest - its dreadful effects - A Peruvian priest put to the torture - his daughter's distress - he is rescued by Las Casas, an amiable Spanish ecclesiastic, and led to a place of safety, where he dies - his daughter's narration of her sufferings - her death.


PERU.

CANTO THE THIRD.

Now stern Pizarro seeks the distant plains,
Where beauteous Cusco lifts her golden fanes:
The meek Peruvians gaz'd in pale dismay,
Nor barr'd the dark oppressor's sanguine way:
And soon on Cusco, where the dawning light                                                    
Of glory shone, foretelling day more bright,
Where the young arts had shed unfolding flowers,
A scene...