Poems from The Mysteries of Udolpho (1794)

THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO

4 VOLS. (LONDON: G. G. AND J. ROBINSON, 1794)

The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794), 1:18-9: "This, too, was a favourite retreat of St. Aubert, to which he freqently withdrew from the fervour of the noon, with his wife, his daughter, and his books; or came at the sweet evening hour to welcome the silent dusk, or to listen for the music of the nightingale. Sometimes, too, he brought music of his own, and awakened every fairy echo with the tender accents of his oboe; and often have the tones of Emily's voice drawn sweetness from the waves, over which they trembled. It was in one of her excursions to this spot, that she observed the following lines written with a pencil on a part of the wainscot:

SONNET.
 
Go, pencil! faithful to thy master's sights!
Go--tell the Goddess of this fairy scene,
When next her light steps wind these wood-walks green,
When all his tears, his tender sorrows, rise:
[PAGE 19]
Ah! paint her form, her soul-illumin'd eyes,
The sweet expression of her pensive face,
The light'ning smile, the animated grace--
The portrait well the lover's voice supplies;
Speaks all his heart must feel, his tongue would say:
Yet ah! not all his heart must sadly feel!
How oft the flow'ret's silken leaves conceal
The drug that steals the vital spark away!
And who that gazes on that angel smile,
Would fear its charm, or think it could beguile!"
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
1:41-5: "'Are you such an admirer of nature,' said St. Aubert, 'and so
little acquainted with her appearances as not to know that [PAGE 42] for a
glow-worm? But come,' added he gaily, 'step a little further, and we shall
see fairies, perhaps; they are often companions. The glow-work lends his
light, and they in return charm him with music, and the dance. Do you see
nothing tripping yonder?'
 Emily laughed. 'Well, my dear sir,' said she, 'since you allow of
this alliance, I may vanture to own I have anticipated you; and almost
dare venture to repeat some verses I made one evening in these very
woods.'
 'Nay,' replied St. Aubert, 'dismiss the almost, and venture quite;
let us hear what vagaries fancy has been playing in your mind. If she has
given you one of her spells, you need not envy those of the fairies.'
 'If it is strong enough to enchant your judgment, sir,' said
Emily, 'while I disclose her images, I need not envy them. The lines go in
a sort of tripping measure, which I thought might suit [PAGE 43] the
subject well enough, but I fear they are too irregular.
 
 
THE GLOW-WORM.
 
How pleasant is the green-wood's deep-matted shade
On a midsummer's eve, when the fresh rain is o'er;
When the yellow beams slope, and sparkle thro' the glade,
And swiftly in the thin air the light swallows soar!
 
But sweeter, sweeter still, when the sun sinks to rest,
And twilight comes on, with the fairies so gay
Tripping through the forest-walk, where flow'rs, unprest,
Bow not their tall heads beneath their frolic play.
 
To music's softest sounds they dance away the hour,
'Till moon-light steals down among the trembling leaves,
And checquers all the ground, and guides them to the bow'r,
The long haunted bow'r, where the nightingale grieves.
 
Then no more they dance, 'till her sad song is done,
But, silent as the night, to her mourning attend;
And often as her dying notes their pity have won,
They vow all her sacred haunts from mortals to defend.
 
[PAGE 44]
 
When, down among the mountains, sinks the ev'ning star,
And the changing moon forsakes this shadowy sphere,
How cheerless would they be, tho' they fairies are,
If I, with my pale light, came not near!
 
Yet cheerless tho' they'd be, they're ungrateful to my love!
For, often when the traveller is benighted on his way,
And I glimmer in his path, and would guide him thro' the grove,
They bind me in their magic spells to lead him far astray;
 
And in the mire to leave him, till the stars are all burnt out,
While, in strange-looking shapes, they frisk about the ground,
And, afar in the woods, they raise a dismal shout,
'Till I shrink into my cell again for terror of the sound!
 
But, see where all the tiny elves come dancing in a ring,
With the merry, merry pipe, and the labor, and the horn,
And the timbrel so clear, and the lute with dulcet string;
Then round about the oak they go 'till peeping of the morn.
 
[PAGE 45]
 
Down yonder glade two lovers steal, to shun the fairy-queen,
Who frowns upon their plighted vows, and jealous is of me,
That yester-eve I lighted them, along the dewy green,
To seek the purple flow'r, whose juice from all her spells can free.
 
And now, to punish me, she keeps afar her jocund band,
With the merry, merry pipe, and the tabor, and the lute;
If I creep near yonder oak she will wave her fairy wand,
And to me the dance will cease, and the music all be mute.
 
O! had I but that purple flow'r whose leaves her charms can foil,
And knew like fays to draw the juice, and throw it on the wind,
I'd be her slave no longer, nor the traveller beguile,
And help all faithful lovers, nor fear the fairy kind!
 
But soon the vapour of the woods will wander afar,
And the fickle moon will fade, and the stars disappear,
Then, cheerless will they be, tho' they fairies are,
If I, with my pale light, come not near!"
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
1:195-7: "Emily, called as she had requested, at an early hour, awoke,
little refreshed by sleep, for uneasy dreams had pursued her, and marred
the kindest blessing of the unhappy. But, when she opened her casement,
looked out upon the woods, bright with the morning sun, and inspired the
pure air, her mind was soothed. The scene was filled with that cheering
freshness, which seems to breathe the very spirit health, and she heard
only sweet and picturesque sounds, if such an [PAGE 196] expression may be
allowed--the matinbell of a distant convent, the faint murmur of the
sea-waves, the song of birds, and the far-off low of cattle, which she saw
coming slowly on between the trunks of the trees. Struck with the
circumstances of imagery around her, she indulged the pensive tranquility
which they inspired; and while she leaned on her window, waiting still St.
Aubert should descend to breakfast, her ideas arranged themselves in the
following lines:
 





 





 
 
THE FIRST HOUR OF MORNING.
 
How sweet to wind the forest's tangled shade,
 When early twilight, from the eastern bound,
Dawns on the sleeping landscape in the glade,
 And fades as morning spreads her blush around!
 
When ev'ry infant flower, that wept in night,
 Lifts its chill head soft glowing with a tear,
Expands its tender blossom to the light,
 And gives its incense to the genial air.
 
How fresh the breeze that wafts the rich perfume;
 And swells the melody of waking birds;
The hum of bees, beneath the verdant gloom,
 And woodman's song, and low of distant herds!
 
[PAGE 197]
 
Then, doubtful gleams the mountain's hoary head,
 Seen through the parting foliage from afar;
And, farther still, the ocean's misty bed,
 With flitting sails, that partial sun-beams share.
 
But, vain the sylvan shade---the breath of May,
 The voice of music floating on the gale,
And forms that beam through morning's dewy veil,
 If health no longer bid the heart be gay!
O balmy hour! 'tis thine her wealth to give,
Here spread her blush, and bid the parent live!"
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
1:256: "The sun was now set; but, under the dark branches of the almond
trees, was seen the saffron glow of the west, spreading beyond the
twilight of middle air. The bat flitted silently by; and, now and then,
the mourning note of the nightingale was heard. The circumstances of the
hour brought to her recollection some lines, which she had once heard St.
Aubert recite on this very spot, and she had now a melancholy pleasure in
repeating them.
 
 
SONNET.
 
Now the bat circles on the breeze of eve,
That creeps, in shudd'ring sits, along the wave,
And trembles 'mid the woods, and through the cave
Whose lonely sighs the wanderer deceive;
For oft, when melancholy charms his mind,
He thinks the Spirit of the rock he hears,
Nor listens, but with sweetly-thrilling fears,
To the low, mystic murmurs of the wind!
Now the bat circles, and the twilight dew
Falls silent round, and, o'er the mountain-cliff,
The gleaming wave and far-discover'd skiff,
Spreads the grey veil of soft, harmonious hue.
So falls o'er Grief the dew of pity's tear
Dimming her lonely visions of despair."
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
2:10-12: "As she descended on the Italian side, the precipices became
still more tremendous, and the prospects still more wild and majestic,
over which the shifting lights threw all the pomp of colouring. Emily
delighted to observe the snowy tops of the mountains under the passing
influence of the day, blushing with morning, glowing with the brightness
of noon, or just tinted with the purple evening. The haunt of man could
[PAGE 11] now only be discovered by the simple hut of the shepherd and the
hunter, or by the rough pine bridge thrown across the torrent, to assist
the latter in his chase of the chamois over crags where, but for this
bestige of man, it would have been believed only the chamois and the wolf
dared to venture. As emily gazed upon one of these perilous bridges, some
images came to her mind, which she afterwards combined in the following
 
 
STORIED SONNET.
 
The weary traveller, who, all night long,
Has climb'd among the Alps' tremendous steeps,
Skirting the pathless precipice, where throng
Wild forms of danger; as he onward creeps
If, chance, his anxious eye at distance sees
The mountain-shepherd's solitary home,
Peeping from forth the moon-illumin'd trees,
What sudden transports to his bosom come!
But, if between some hideous chasm yawn,
Where the cleft pine a doubtful bridge displays,
In dreadful silence, on the brink, forlorn
He stands, and views in luna's dubious rays
 
[PAGE 12]
 
Far, far below, the torrent's rising surge,
And listens to the wild impetuous roar;
Still eyes the depth, still shudders on the verge,
Fears to return, nor dares to venture o'er.
Desperate, at length the tottering plank he tries,
His weak steps slide, he shrieks, he sinks---he dies!"
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
2:22-4: "When she was alone, unable to sleep, the landscapes of her native
home, with Valancourt, and the circumstances of her departure, haunted her
fancy; she drew pictures [PAGE 23] of social happiness amidst the grand
simplicity of nature, such as she feared she had bade farewell to for
ever; and then, the idea of this young Piedmontese, thus ignorantly
sporting with his happiness, returned to her thoughts, and, glad to
espcape awhile from the pressure of nearer interests, she indulged her
fancy in composing the following lines.
 
 
THE PIEDMONTESE.
 
Ah, merry swain, who laugh'd along the vales,
And with your gay pipe made the mountains ring,
Why leave your cot, your woods, and thymy gales,
And friends belov'd, for aught that wealth can bring?
He goes to wake o'er moon-light seas the string,
Venetian gold his untaught fancy hails!
Yet oft of home his simple carols sing,
And his steps pause, as the last Alp he scales.
Once more he turns to view his native scene---
Far, far below, as roll the clouds away,
He spies his cabin 'mid the pine-tops green,
The well-known woods, clear brook, and pastures gay;
And thinks of friends and parents left behind,
Of sylvan revels, dance, and festive song;
And hears the faint reed swelling in the wind;
And his sad sighs the distant notes prolong!
 
[PAGE 24]
 
Thus went the swain, till mountain shadows fell,
And dimm'd the landscape to his aching sight;
And must he leave the vales he loves so well?
Can foreign wealth, and shows, his heart delight?
No, happy vales! your wild rocks still shall hear
His pipe, light sounding on the morning breeze;
Still shall he lead the flocks to streamlet clear,
And watch at eve beneath the western trees.
Away, Venetian gold---your charm is o'er!
And now his swift step seeks the lowland bow'rs,
Where, through the leaves, his cottage light once more
Guides him to happy friends, and jocund hours.
Ah, merry swain! that laughs along the vales,
And with your gay pipe make the mountains ring,
Your cot, your woods, your thymy-scented gales---
And friends belov'd---more joy than wealth can bring!"
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
2:37-8: "She looked round, with anxious enquiry; the deep twilight, that
had fallen over the scene, admitted only imperfect images to the eye, but,
at some distance on the sea, she tought she perceived a gondola: a chorus
of voices and instruments now swelled on the air--so sweet, so solemn! it
seemed like the hymn of angels descending through the silence of night!
Now it died away, and fancy almost beheld the holy choir reascending
towards heaven; then again it swelled with the breeze, trembled awhile,
[PAGE 38] and again died into silence. It brought to Emily's recollection
some lines of her late father, and she repeated in a low voice, 
 
 
 --Oft I hear,
Upon the silence of the midnight air,
Celestial voices swell in holy chorus
That bears the soul to heaven!"
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
2:47-51: "After supper, her aunt sat late, but Montoni did not return, and
she at length retired to rest. If Emily had admired the magnificence of
the saloon, she was not less surprised, on observing the half-furnished
and forlorn appearance of the apartments she passed in the way to her
chamber, whither she went through long suites of noble rooms, that seemed,
from their dreary aspect, to have been unoccupied for many years. On the
walls of some were the faded remains of tapestry; from others, painted in
fresco, the damps had almost withdrawn both colours and design. At length
she reached her own chamber, spacious, desolate, and lofty, like the rest,
with high lattices and opened towards the Adriatic. It brought gloomy
images to her mind, but the view of the Adriatic soon gave her others more
airy, among which was that of the sea-nymph, whose delights she had before
amused herself with picturing; and, anxious to escape from serious
reflections, she now endeavoured to throw her fanciful ideas into a [PAGE
47] train, and concluded the hour with composing the following lines:
 
 
THE SEA-NYMPH.
 
Down, down a thousand fathom deep,
Among the sounding seas I go;
Play round the foot of every steep
Whose cliffs above the ocean grow.
 
There, within their secret caves,
I hear the mighty rivers roar;
And guide their streams through Neptune's waves
To bless the green earth's inmost shore:
 
And bid the freshen'd waters glide,
For fern-crown'd nymphs of lake, or brook,
Through winding woods and pastures wide,
And many a wild, romantic nook.
 
For this the nymphs, at fall of eve,
Oft dance upon the flow'ry banks,
And sing my name, and garlands weave
To bear beneath the wave their thanks.
 
In coral bow'rs I love to lie,
And hear the surges roll above,
And, through the waters, view on high
The proud ships sail, and gay clouds move.
 
[PAGE 48]
 
And oft at midnight's stillest hour,
When summer seas the vessel lave,
I love to prove my charmful pow'r
While floating on the moon-light wave.
 
And when deep sleep the crew has bound,
And the sad lover musing leans
O'er the ship's side, I breathe around
Such strains as speak no mortal means!
 
O'er the dim waves his searching eye
Sees but the vessel's lengthen'd shade;
Above---the moon and azure sky;
Entranc'd he hears, and half afraid!
 
Sometimes a single note I swell,
That, softly sweet, at distance dies;
Then wake the magic of my shell,
And choral voices round me rise!
 
The trembling youth, charm'd by my strain,
Calls up the crew, who, silent, bend
O'er the high deck, but list in vain;
My song is hush'd, my wonders end!
 
Within the mountain's woody bay,
Where the tall bark at anchor rides,
At twilight hour, with tritons gay,
I dance upon the lapsing tides.
 
[PAGE 49]
 
And with my sister-nymphs I sport,
'Till the broad sun looks o'er the floods;
Then, swift we seek our crystal court,
Deep in the wave, 'mid Neptune's woods.
 
In cool arcades and glassy halls
We pass the sultry hours of noon,
Beyond wherever sun-beam falls,
Weaving sea-flowers in gay festoon.
 
The while we chant our ditties sweet
To some soft shell that warbles near;
Join'd by the murmuring currents, fleet,
That glide along our halls so clear.
 
There, the pale pearl and sapphire blue,
And ruby red, and em'rald green,
Dart from the domes a changing hue,
And sparry columns deck the scene.
 
When the dark storm scowls o'er the deep,
And long, long peals of thunder sound,
On some high cliff my watch I keep
O'er all the restless seas around:
 
'Till on the ridgy wave, afar,
Comes the lone vessel, labouring slow,
Spreading the white foam in the air,
With sail and topmast bending low.
 
[PAGE 50]
 
Then, plunge I 'mid the ocean's roar,
My way by quiv'ring lightnings shewn,
To guide the bark to peaceful shore,
And hush the sailor's fearful groan.
 
And if too late I reach its side
To save it from the 'whelming surge,
I call my dolphins o'er the tide,
To bear the crew where isles emerge.
 
Their mournful spirits soon I cheer,
While round the desert coast I go,
With warbled songs they faintly hear,
Oft as the stormy gust sinks low.
 
My music leads to lofty groves,
That wild upon the sea-bank wave;
Where sweet fruits bloom, and fresh spring roves,
And closing boughs the tempest brave.
 
The spirits of the air obey
My potent voice they love so well;
And, on the clouds, paint visions gay,
While strains more sweet at distance swell.
 
And thus the lonely hours I cheat,
Soothing the ship-wreck'd sailor's heart,
'Till from the waves the storms retreat,
And o'er the east the day-beams dart.
 
[PAGE 51]
 
Neptune for this oft binds me fast
To rocks below, with coral chain,
'Till all the tempest's over-past,
And drowning seamen cry in vain.
 
Whoe'er ye are that love my lay,
Come, when red sun-set tints the wave,
To the still sands, where fairies play;
There, in cool seas, I love to lave."
 
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
2:59-60: "With such powers of expression the Count sung the following:
 
 
RONDEAU.
 
Soft as yon silver ray, that sleeps
Upon the ocean's trembling tide;
Soft as the air, that lightly sweeps
Yon sail, that swells in stately pride:
 
Soft as the surge's stealing note,
That dies along the distant shores,
Or warbled strain, that sinks remote---
So soft the sigh my bosom pours!
 
[PAGE 60]
 
True as the wave to Cynthia's ray,
True as the vessel to the breeze,
True as the soul to music's sway,
Or music to Venetian seas:
 
Soft as yon silver beams, that sleep
Upon the ocean's trembling breast:
So soft, so true, fond Love shall weep,
So soft, so true, with thee shall rest."
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
2:117-20: "As her imagination painted with melancholy touches, the
deserted plains of Troy, such as they appeared in this after-day, she
reanimated the landscape with the following little story.
 





 





 
 
[PAGE 118]
 
STANZAS.
 
O'er Ilion's plains, where once the warrior bled,
And once the poet rais'd his deathless strain,
O'er Ilion's plains a weary driver led
His stately camels: For the ruin'd fane
 
Wide round the lonely scene his glance he threw,
For now the red cloud faded in the west,
And twilight o'er the silent landscape drew
Her deep'ning veil; eastward his course he prest:
 
There, on the grey horizon's glimm'ring bound,
Rose the proud columns of deserted Troy,
And wand'ring shepherds now a shelter found
Within those walls, that rang with princes joy!
 
Beneath a lofty porch the driver pass'd,
Then, from his camels heav'd the heavy load;
Partook with them the simple, cool, repast,
And, in short vesper, gave himself to God.
 
From distant lands with merchandise he came,
His all of wealth his patient servants bore;
Oft deep-drawn sighs his anxious wish proclaim
To reach, again, his happy cottage door;
 
For there, his wife, his little children, dwell;
Their smiles shall pay the toil of many an hour.
Ev'n now warm tears to expectation swell,
As fancy o'er his mind extends her pow'r.
 
[PAGE 119]
 
A death-like stillness reign'd, where once the song,
The song of heroes, wak'd the midnight air,
Save, when a solemn murmur roll'd along,
That seem'd to say---"For future worlds prepare."
 
For Time's imperious voice was frequent heard
Shaking the marble temple to its fall,
(By hands he long had conquer'd, vainly rear'd)
And distant ruins answer'd to his call.
 
While Hamet slept, his camels round him lay,
Beneath him, all his store of wealth was pil'd;
And here, his cruise and empty wallet lay,
And there, the flute that cheer'd him in the wild.
 
The robber Tartar on his slumber stole,
For o'er the waste, at eve, he watch'd his train;
Ah! who his thirst of plunder shall control?
Who calls on him for mercy---calls in vain!
 
A poison'd poignard in his belt he wore,
A crescent sword depended at his side,
The deathful quiver at his back he bore,
And infants---at his very look had died!
 
The moon's cold beam athwart the temple fell,
And to his sleeping prey the Tartar led;
But soft!---a startled camel shook his bell,
Then stretch'd his limbs, and rear'd his drowsy head.
 
Hamet awoke! the poignard glitter'd high!
Swift from his couch he sprung, and 'scap'd the blow;
When from an unknown hand the arrows fly,
That lay the ruffian, in his vengeance, low.
 
He groan'd, he died! from forth a column'd gate
A fearful shepherd, pale and silent, crept,
Who, as he watch'd his folded flock star-late,
Had mark'd the robber steal where Hamet slept.
 
He fear'd his own, and sav'd a stranger's life!
Poor Hamet clasp'd him to his grateful heart;
Then, rous'd his camels for the dusty strife,
And, with the shepherd, hasten'd to depart.
 
And now, Aurora breathes her fresh'ning gale,
And faintly trembles on the eastern cloud;
And now, the sun, from under twilight's veil,
Looks gaily forth, and melts her airy shroud.
 
Wide o'er the level plains, his slanting beams
Dart their long lines on Ilion's tower'd scite;
The distant Hellespont with morning gleams,
And old Scamander winds his waves in light.
 
All merry sound the camel bells, so gay,
And merry beats fond Hamet's heart, for he,
E'er the dim ev'ning steals upon the day,
His children, wife and happy home shall see."
 
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
3:203: [THERE'S A NOTE THAT THIS POEM AND "THE TRAVELLER" APPEARED
PREVIOUSLY IN A PERIODICAL PUBLICATION]:
 
 
THE PILGRIM.
 
Slow o'er the Apennine, with bleeding feet,
A patient Pilgrim wound his lonely way,
To deck the Lady of Loretto's seat
With all the little wealth his zeal could pay.
From mountain-tops cold died the ev'ning ray,
And, stretch'd in twilight, slept the vale below;
And now the last, last purple streaks of day
Along the melancholy West fade slow.
High o'er his head, the restless pines complain,
As on their summit rolls the breeze of night;
Beneath, the hoarse stream chides the rocks in vain:
The Pilgrim pauses on the dizzy height.
Then to the vale his cautious step he prest,
For there a hermit's cross was dimly seen,
Cresting the rock, and there his limbs might rest,
Cheer'd in the good man's cave, by faggot's sheen,
On leafy beds, nor guile his sleep molest.
Unhappy Luke! he trusts a treacherous clue!
Behind the cliff the lurking robber stood;
No friendly moon his giant shadow threw
Athwart the road, to save the Pilgrim's blood;
On as he went a vesper-hymn he sang,
The hymn, that nightly sooth'd him to repose.
Fierce on his harmless prey the ruffian sprang!
The Pilgrim bleeds to death, his eye-lids close,
Yet his meek spirit knew no vengeful care,
But, dying, for his murd'rer breath'd---a sainted pray'r!"
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
3:216-7: "Emily, listening with surprise and attention, distinguished the
following invocation delivered in the pure and elegant tongue of Tuscany
and accompanied by a few pastoral instruments.
 
 
TO A SEA-NYMPH.
 
O nymph! who loves to float on the green wave,
When Neptune sleeps beneath the moon-light hour,
Lull'd by thy music's melancholy pow'r,
O nymph, arise from out thy pearly cave!
 
For Hesper beams amid the twilight shade,
And soon shall Cynthia tremble o'er the tide,
Gleam on these cliffs, that bound the ocean's pride,
And lonely silence all the air pervade.
 
Then, let thy tender voice at distance swell,
And steal along this solitary shore,
Sink on the breeze, till dying---heard no more---
Thou wak'st the sudden magic of thy shell.
 
While the long coast in echo sweet replies,
Thy soothing strains the pensive heart beguile,
And bid the visions of the future smile,
O nymph! from out thy pearly cave---arise! 
(Chorus)---Arise! 
(Semi-chorus)---Arise!"
 
 
 

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The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
3:332-5: "He endeavoured to amuse her by shewing the environs of the
town, and they often walked together on the sea-shore, and on the [PAGE
333] busy quays, where Emily was frequently interested by the arrival and
departure of vessels, participating in the joy of meeting friends, and,
sometimes, shedding a sympathetic tear to the sorrow of those, that were
separating. It was after having witnessed a scene of the latter kind, that
she arranged the following stanzas:
 
 
THE MARINER.
 
Soft came the breath of spring; smooth flow'd the tide;
And blue the heaven in its mirror smil'd;
The white sail trembled, swell'd, expanded wide,
The busy sailors at the anchor toil'd.
 
With anxious friends, that shed the parting tear,
The deck is throng'd---how swift the moments fly;
The vessel heaves, the farewel signs appear;
Mute is each tongue, and eloquent each eye!
 
The last dread moment comes!---The sailor-youth
Hides the big drop, and smiles amid his pain,
Sooths his sad bride, and vows eternal truth,
"Farewell, my love---we shall---shall meet again!"
 
[PAGE 334]
 
Long on the stern, with waving hand, he stood;
The crowded shore sinks, lessening, from his view,
As gradual glides the bark along the flood;
His bride is seen no more---"Adieu!---adieu!"
 
The breeze of Eve moans low, her smile is o'er,
Dim steals her twilight down the crimson'd west,
He climbs the top-most mast, to seek once more
The far-seen coast, where all his wishes rest.
 
He views its dark line on the distant sky,
And Fancy leads him to his little home,
He sees his weeping love, he hears her sigh,
He sooths her griefs, and tells of joys to come.
 
Eve yields to night, the breeze to wintry gales,
In one vast shade the seas and shores repose;
He turns his aching eyes,---his spirit fails,
The chill tear falls;---sad to the deck he goes!
 
The storm of midnight swells, the sails are furl'd,
Deep sounds the lead, but finds no friendly shore;
Fast o'er the waves the wretched bark is hurl'd,
"O Ellen, Ellen! we must meet no more!"
 
Lightnings, that shew the vast and foamy deep,
The rending thunders, as they onward roll,
The loud, loud winds, that o'er the billows sweep---
Shake the firm nerve, appal the bravest soul!
 
[PAGE 335]
 
Ah! what avails the seamen's toiling care!
The straining cordage bursts, the mast is riv'n;
The sounds of terror groan along the air,
Then sink afar;---the bark on rocks is driv'n;
 
Fierce o'er the wreck the whelming waters pass'd,
The helpless crew sunk in the roaring main!
Henry's faint accents trembled in the blast---
Farewell my love!---we ne'er shall meet again!"
 
Oft, at the calm and silent ev'ning hour,
When summer-breezes linger on the wave,
A melancholy voice is heard to pour
Its lonely sweetness o'er poor Henry's grave!
 
And oft, at midnight, airy strains are heard
Around the grove, where Ellen's form is laid;
Nor is the dirge by village-maidens fear'd,
For lovers' spirits guard the holy shade!"
 
 
 
 

---

 
 
 
 
The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
3:371-4: "The hum of the bees alone broke the stillness around her, as,
with other insects of various hues, they sported gaily in the shade, or
sipped sweets from the fresh flowers; and, while Blanche watched a
butter-fly, flitting from bud to bud, she indulged herself in imagining
the pleasures of its short day, till she had composed the following
stanzas.
 
 
THE BUTTER-FLY TO HIS LOVE.
 
What bow'ry dell, with fragrant breath,
Courts thee to stay thy airy flight;
Nor seek again the purple heath,
So oft the scene of gay delight?
 
Long watch'd I in the lily's bell,
Whose whiteness stole the morning's beam;
No fluttering sounds thy coming tell,
No waving wings, at distance, gleam.
 
But fountain fresh, nor breathing grove,
Nor sunny mead, nor blossom'd tree,
So sweet as lily's cell shall prove,---
The bower of constant love and me.
 
When April buds begin to blow,
The primrose, and the hare-bell blue,
That on the verdant moss bank grow,
With violet cups, that weep in dew;
 
[PAGE 373]
 
When wanton gales breathe through the shade,
And shake the blooms, and steal their sweets,
And swell the song of ev'ry glade,
I range the forest's green retreats:
 
There, through the tangled wood-walks play,
Where no rude urchin paces near,
Where scarcely peeps the sultry day,
And light dews freshen all the air.
 
High on a sun-beam oft I sport
O'er bower and fountain, vale and hill;
Oft ev'ry blushing flow'ret court,
That hangs its head o'er winding rill.
 
But these I'll leave to be thy guide,
And shew thee, where the jasmine spreads
Her snowy leaf, where may-flow'rs hide,
And rose-buds rear their peeping heads.
 
With me the mountain's summit scale,
And taste the wild-thyme's honied bloom,
Whose fragrance, floating on the gale,
Oft leads me to the cedar's gloom.
 
Yet, yet, no sound comes in the breeze!
What shade thus dares to tempt thy stay?
Once, me alone thou wish'd to please,
And with me only thou wouldst stray.
 
[PAGE 374]
 
But, while thy long delay I mourn,
And chide the sweet shades for their guile,
Thou may'st be true, and they forlorn,
And fairy favours court thy smile.
 
The tiny queen of fairy-land,
Who knows thy speed, hath sent thee far,
To bring, or ere the night-watch stand,
Rich essence for her shadowy car:
 
Perchance her acorn-cups to fill
With nectar from the Indian rose,
Or gather, near some haunted rill,
May-dews, that lull to sleep Love's woes:
 
Or o'er the mountains, bade thee fly,
To tell her fairy love to speed,
When ev'ning steals upon the sky,
To dance along the twilight mead.
 
But now I see thee sailing low,
Gay as the brightest flow'rs of spring,
Thy coat of blue and jet I know,
And well thy gold and purple wing.
 
Borne on the gale, thou com'st to me;
O! welcome, welcome to my home!
In lily's cell we'll live in glee,
Together o'er the mountains roam!"
 
 
 
 
 

---

 
 
 
 
The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
4:77-9: "One evening, she lingered here to a late hour. She had sat on
the steps of the building, watching, in tranquil melancholy, the gradual
effect of evening over the extensive prospect, till the gray waters of the
Mediterranean and the massy woods were almost the only features visible;
when, as she gazed alternately on these, and on the mild blue of the
heavens, where the first pale star of evening appeared, she personfied the
hour in the following lines:--
 
 
SONG OF THE EVENING HOUR.
 
Last of the Hours, that track the fading Day,
I move along the realms of twilight air,
And hear, remote, the choral song decay
Of sister-nymphs, who dance around my car.
 
[PAGE 78]
 
Then, as I follow through the azure void,
His partial splendour from my straining eye
Sinks in the depths of space; my only guide
His faint ray dawning on the farthest sky;
 
Save that sweet ling'ring strain of gayer Hours!
Whose close my voice prolongs in dying notes,
While mortals on the green earth own its pow'rs,
As downward on the ev'ning gale it floats.
 
When fades along the west the Sun's last beam
As, weary, to the nether world he goes,
And mountain-summits catch the purple gleam,
And slumb'ring ocean faint and fainter glows;
 
Silent upon the globe's broad shade I steal,
And o'er its dry turf shed the cooling dews,
And ev'ry fever'd herb and flow'ret heal,
And all their fragrance on the air diffuse.
 
Where'er I move, a tranquil pleasure reigns;
O'er all the scene the dusky tints I send,
That forests wild and mountains, stretching plains
And peopled towns, in soft confusion blend.
 
Wide o'er the world I waft the fresh'ning wind,
Low breathing through the woods and twilight vale,
In whispers soft, that woo the pensive mind
Of him who loves my lonely steps to hail.
 
His tender oaten reed I watch to hear,
Stealing its sweetness o'er some plaining rill,
Or soothing ocean's wave, when storms are near,
Or swelling in the breeze from distant hill!
 
[Page 79]
 
I wake the fairy elves, who shun the light:
When, from their blossom'd beds, they slily peep,
And spy my pale star, leading on the night,---
Forth to their games and revelry they leap;
 
Send all the prison'd sweets abroad in air,
That with them slumber'd in the flow'ret's cell;
Then to the shores and moon-light brooks repair,
'Till the high larks their matin carol swell.
 
The wood-nymphs hail my airs and temper'd shade,
With ditties soft and lightly sportive dance,
On river margin of some bow'ry glade,
And strew their fresh buds as my steps advance.---
 
But swift I pass, and distant regions trace,
For moon-beams silver all the eastern cloud,
And Day's last crimson vestige fades apace;
Down the steep west I fly from Midnight's shroud."
 
 
 
 

---

 
 
 
 
The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
4:124: "At length, recognizing the hand-writing of Valancourt, she read,
with tremling anxiety, the following lines, entitled
 
 
SHIPWRECK.
 
'Tis solemn midnight! On this lonely steep,
Beneath this watch-tow'r's desolated wall,
Where mystic shapes the wanderer appal,
I rest; and view below the desert deep.
As through tempestuous clouds the moon's cold light
Gleams on the wave. Viewless, the winds of night
With loud mysterious force the billows sweep,
And sullen roar the surges far below.
In the still pauses of the gust I hear
The voice of spirits, rising sweet and slow,
And oft among the clouds their forms appear.
But hark! what shriek of death comes in the gale
And in the distant ray what glimmering sail
Bends to the storm?---Now sinks the note of fear!
Ah! wretched mariners! no more shall day
Unclose his cheering eye to light you on your way!"
 
 
 

---

 
 
 
 
The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
4:213-4: "This, too, was his favourite season of the year, at which they
had often together admired the rich and variegated tints of these woods
and the magical effect of autumnal lights upon the mountains; and now, the
view of these circumstances made memory eloquent. As she wandered
pensively on, she fancied the following address
 
 
TO AUTUMN.
 
Sweet Autumn! how the melancholy grace
Steals on my heart, as through these shades I wind!
Sooth'd by thy breathing sigh, I fondly trace
Each lonely image of the pensive mind!
Lov'd scenes, lov'd friends---long lost! around me rise,
And wake the melting thought, the tender tear!
That tear, that thought, which more than mirth I prize---
Sweet as the gradual tint that paints thy year!
 
[PAGE 214]
Thy farewell smile, with fond regret, I view,
Thy beaming lights, soft gliding o'er the woods;
Thy distant landscape, touch'd with yellow hue,
While falls the lengthen'd gleam; thy winding floods,
Now veil'd in shade, save where the skiff's white sails
Swell to the breeze, and catch thy streaming ray.
But now, e'en now!---the partial vision fails,
And the wave smiles, as sweeps the cloud away!
Emblem of life!---Thus checquer'd is its plan,
Thus joy succeeds to grief---thus smiles the varied man!"
 
 
 
 

---

 
 
 
 
The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
4:229: "The bats alone, of all the animals inhabiting this region, seemed
awake; and, while they flitted across the silent path, which Blanche was
pursuing, she remembered the following lines, which Emily had given her:
 
 
TO THE BAT.
 
From haunt of man, from day's obtrusive glare,
Thou shroud'st thee in the ruin's ivy'd tow'r,
Or in some shadowy glen's romantic bow'r,
Where wizard forms their mystic charms prepare,
Where Horror lurks, and ever-boding Care!
But, at the sweet and silent ev'ning hour,
When clos'd in sleep is ev'ry languid flow'r,
Thou lov'st to sport upon the twilight air,
Mocking the eye, that would thy course pursue,
In many a wanton round, elastic, gay,
Thou flitt'st athwart the pensive wand'rer's way,
As his lone footsteps print the mountain-dew.
From Indian isles thou com'st, with Summer's car,
Twilight thy love---thy guide her beaming star!"
 
 
 

---

 
 
 
 
The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
4:342-3: "The wind was high, and as she drew near the chateau, she often
paused to listen to its awful sound, as it swept over the billows, that
beat below, or groaned along the surrounding woods; and, while she rested
on a cliff at a short distance from the chateau, and looked upon the wide
waters, seen dimly beneath the last shade of twilight, she thought of the
following address
 
 
TO THE WINDS.
 
Viewless, through heavn's vast vault, your course ye steer,
Unknown from whence ye come, or whither go!
Mysterious pow'rs! I hear ye murmur low,
'Till swells your loud gust on my startled ear,
And, awful! seems to say---some God is near!
I love to list' your midnight voices float
In the dread storm that o'er the ocean rolls,
And, while their charm the angry wave controuls,
Mix with its sullen roar, and sink remote:
Then, rising in the pause, a sweeter note,---
The dirge of spirits, who your deeds bewail,---
A sweeter note, oft swells, while sleeps the gale!
[PAGE 343]
But soon, ye sightless pow'rs! your rest is o'er:
Solemn and slow ye rise upon the air,
Speak in the shrouds, and bid the sea-boy fear;
And the faint-warbled dirge---is heard no more!
 
Oh! then I deprecate your awful reign!---
The loud lament yet bear not on your breath!
Bear not the crash of bark far on the main;
Bear not the cry of men, who cry in vain,---
The crew's dread chorus sinking into death!
Oh! give not these, ye pow'rs---I ask alone,
As, 'rapt, I climb these dark romantic steeps---
The elemental war, the billow's moan:
I ask the still, sweet tear, that list'ning Fancy weeps."
 
 
 
 

---

 
 
 
 
The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794),
4:408-10: "The sun was now setting on that tract of the PyrenŽes, which
divides Languedoc from Rousillon, and, placing herself opposite to a small
grated window, which, like the wood-tops beneath, and the waves lower
still, gleamed with the red glow of the west, she touched the chords of
her lute in solemn symphony, and then accompanied it with airs, to which,
in happier days, Valancourt had often listed in rapture, and which she now
adapted to the following lines.
 
 
[PAGE 409]
 
TO MELANCHOLY.
 
Spirit of love and sorrow---hail!
Thy solemn voice from far I hear,
Mingling with ev'ning's dying gale:
Hail, with this sadly-pleasing tear!
 
O! at this still, this lonely hour,
Thine own sweet hour of closing day,
Awake thy lute, whose charmful pow'r
Shall call up Fancy to obey.
 
To paint the wild romantic dream,
That meets the poet's musing eye,
As on the bank of shadowy stream,
He breathes to her the fervid sigh.
 
O lonely spirit! let thy song
Lead me through all thy sacred haunt;
The minster's moon-light aisles along,
Where spectres raise the midnight chaunt.
 
I hear their dirges faintly swell!
Then, sink at once in silence drear;
While, from the pillar'd cloister's cell,
Dimly their gliding forms appear!
 
Lead where the pine-woods wave on high,
Whose pathless sod is darkly seen,
As the cold moon, with trembling eye,
Darts her long beams the leaves between.
 
[PAGE 410]
 
Lead to the mountain's dusky head,
Where, far below, in shade profound,
Wide forests, plains, and hamlets, spread,
And sad the chimes of vesper sound.
 
Or guide me where the dashing oar
Just breaks the stillness of the vale;
As slow it tracks the winding shore,
To meet the ocean's distant sail:
 
To pebbly banks, that Neptune laves,
With measur'd surges, loud and deep;
Where the dark cliff bends o'er the waves,
And wild the winds of autumn sweep:
 
There pause at midnight's spectred hour,
And list the long-resounding gale:
And catch the fleeting moon-light's pow'r,
O'er foaming seas and distant sail."
 
 
 
 
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