I seek the Lord in holy prayer?
What sect I follow? by what rule,
Perhaps you mean, I play the fool?
I answer, none; yet gladly own
I worship God, but God alone.
No pious fraud or monkish lies
Shall teach me others to despise;
Whate'er their creed, I love them all,
So they before their Maker fall.
The sage, the savage, and refined,
On this one point are equal blind:
Shall man, the creature of an hour,
Arraign the all-creative Power?
Or, by smooth chin, or beard unshaved,
Decree who shall or not be saved?
Presumptuous priests, in silk and lawn,
May lib'ral minds denounce with scorn;
The reason's clear--remove the veil,
Their trade and interest both must fail.
~160
I hold that being worse than blind,
Where bigotry usurps the mind;
And more abhor him who for pelf,
Denouncing others, damns himself.
Look round, observe creation's work,
From Afric's savage to the Turk;
Through polish'd Europe turn your eye,
To where the sun of liberty
On western shores illumes the wave,
That flows o'er many a patriot's grave;
As varied as their skin's the creed,
By which they hope they shall succeed
In presence of their God, to prove
Their claim to his eternal love;
A claim that must and will have weight,
No matter what their creed or state.
By modes of faith let none presume
To fix his fellow-creature's doom.'"
"A truce with religion, Horace," said I; "it is a controversy that
generally ends in making friends foes, and foes the most implacable of
persecutors: with the one it shuts out all hope of reconciliation, with
the other breeds a war of extermination; so come, lad, leave theology
to the fathers--we that have liberal souls tolerate all creeds. More
hollands, steward: here's a glass to all our college acquaintance, not
forgetting grandmamma and the pretty nuns of Saint Clement's. Where
the deuce is all that singing we hear above, steward?" "On board the
Transport, your honour." "Ay, I remember, I saw the poor devils
embark this morning, and a doleful sight it was--one hundred of my
fellow-creatures, in the prime of life, consigned to an early grave,
transported to the pestilential climate of Sierre Leone: inquire for
them three months hence, and you shall find them--not where they will
find you--but where whole regiments of their predecessors have been
sacrificed, on the unhealthy shores--victims to the false policy of
holding what is worse than useless, and of enslaving the original owners
of the soil.
~161~~Liquor, and the reflection of their desperate fortunes, have
driven them mad, and now they give vent to their feelings in a forced
torrent of wild mirth, in which they would bury the recollections
of those they are parted from for ever. On the beach this morning I
witnessed a most distressing scene: wives separated by force from their
husbands, and children torn from the fond embraces of parents whose
parting sighs were all they could yield them on this side the grave.
'Push off the boat, and, officer, see that no women are permitted on
board,' said the superintending lieutenant of the depot, with a voice
and manner hard and unfeeling as the iron oracle of authority. My heart
sickened at the sight, and the thrilling scream of a widowed wife,
as she fell senseless on the causeway, created an impression that my
pitying Muse could not resist recording.
'THE SOLDIER'S WIPE.
'There's a pang which no pencil nor pen can express,
A heart-broken sigh which despondency breathes,
When the soul, overcharged with oppressive distress,
Of the tear of relief the sad bosom bereaves.
'Twas thus on the shore, like a statue of grief,
The wife of the soldier her babe fondly press'd;
Not a word could she utter, no tear gave relief,
But sorrow convulsively heaved her soft breast.
Now nearer she presses--now severed for life
The waves bear the lord of her bosom from view;
Distraction suspends the red current of life,
And she sinks on the beach as he sighs out adieu.'"
"Zounds, old fellow, how sentimental you are growing!" said Horace: "you
must read these pathetic pieces to the marines; they will never do for
the sailors. Here, steward, bear a hand, muster the crew aft, and let us
have a tune, Jack's Alive, Malbrook, or the College Hornpipe;" an order
that was quickly carried into execution, as most of the ~162~~men on
board I found played some wind instrument, the effect of which upon the
stillness of the water was enchantingly sweet. During the occasional
rests of the band, Horace sung one of those delightful melodies, written
in imitation of Moore, for which he was celebrated when a boy at Eton.
THE EVENING TIDE.
Tune--" The Young May Moon."
Whither so fast away, my dear?
The star of Eve is bright and clear,
And the parting day, as it fades away,
To lovers brings delight, my dear:
Then 'neath night's spangled veil, my dear,
Come list t' the young heart's tale sincere;
Yon orb of light, so chaste and bright,
Love's magic yields within her sphere.
Then through the shady grove, my love,
Let's wander with the cooing dove,
Till the starry night, to morning's light,
Shall break upon our wooing, love.
As life's young dream shall pass, my love,
Together let us gaily row,
And day by day, in sportive play,
Enjoy life's Meeting gloss, my love.
[Illustration: page163]
It was on one of those warm evenings in the month of July, when scarcely
a zephyr played upon the wanton wave, and the red sun had sunk to rest
behind the Castle turrets, giving full promise of another sultry
day, that our little band had attracted a more than usual display of
promenaders on the walk extending from the Fort point to the Marine
Hotel. With the report of the evening gun, or, as Horace termed it,
the _admiral's grog bell_, we had quitted the cabin, and mustering our
little party upon deck, suffered the Rover to drift nearer in shore with
the tide, that we might enjoy the gratifying spectacle of more
closely observing the young, the beautiful, and the ~163~~accomplished
_elegantes_ who traversed to and fro upon the beach to catch the soft
whispers of the saline air.
At the Castle Causeway a boat had just landed a group of beautiful
children, who appeared clinging round a tall well-formed man, in a blue
jacket and white trowsers, resting a hand upon each of two fine boys
dressed in a similar style: he walked on, with a slight affection of
lameness, towards the Castle entrance, preceded by three lovely little
female fairies, who gambolled in his path like sportive zephyrs.--"There
moves one of the bravest men, and best of fathers, in his majesty's
dominions," said Horace--"the commander of the Pearl." "What," said I,
"the Marquis of Anglesey?" "The same--who here seeks retirement in the
bosom of his family, and without ostentation enjoys a pleasure, which,
in its pursuit, produces permanent advantage to many, and enables
others, his friends and relations, to participate with him in his
amusements. We are much indebted to the marquis for the promotion of
this truly British sport, who with his brothers, Sir Charles and Sir
Arthur, were among the first members of the Royal Yacht Club. The group
of blue jackets to the left, whom the marquis recognised as he passed,
consist of that merry fellow, Sir Godfrey Webster, who lias a noble
yacht here, the Scorpion; the commander of the Sabrina, James Manse,
Esq. another jovial soul; the two Williams's, father and son, who have
both fine yachts in our roads; Sir Charles Sullivan; and the Polar
navigator, Captain Lyons, who has just launched a beautiful little boat
called the Queen Mab, with whom he means to bewitch the Don Giovanni of
London." "Who is that interesting female leaning over the railings in
front of the Gothic house, attended by a dark pensive-looking swain,
with a very intelligent countenance? Methinks there is an air of style
about the pair that speaks nobility; and yet I have observed ~164~~they
appear too fond of each other's society to be fashionables." "That is
the delightful Lady F. L. Gower and her lord: I thought you would have
recognised that star instantly, from the splendid picture of her by
Lawrence, which hangs in the Stafford Gallery at Cleveland-house. The
elegant group pacing the lawn in front of the castellated mansion, on
this side of Lord Gower, is the amiable Countess of Craven and her
family: the earl, that generous and once merry-hearted soul, I lament to
hear, is a victim to the gout; but it is hoped a few trips on board the
May-fly will restore him to health, and the enjoyment of his favourite
pursuit." "By my soul, Horace," said I, "here comes a splendid creature,
a very divinity, my boy: I' faith just such a woman as might melt the
heart of a corsair." "By my honour you have hit the mark exactly,"
replied Eglantine, "for she is already the corsair's bride, and Corbett
feels, as he ought to do, not a little proud of his good fortune. The
raven-haired Graces accompanying that true son of Neptune, Sir
George Thomas, are daughters of the baronet, and, report says, very
accomplished girls. Now by all that's fascinating and charming, hither
comes the beautiful Miss Seymour, Mrs. Fitzherbert's _protege_, and his
Majesty's little pet--an appellation I have often heard him salute
her by. The magnificent-looking belle by her side is a relation, the
charming Mrs. Seymour, acknowledged to be a star of the first magnitude
in female attractions. The three portly-looking gentlemen whose
grog-blossomed visages speak their love of the good things of this
world are the Admirals Scott and Hope, and that facetious of all funny
senators, Sir Isaac Coffin. If you are an admirer of the soft and the
sentimental, of the love-enkindling eye, and Madonna-like expression
of countenance, observe that band of Arcadian shepherdesses in speckled
dresses yonder--Bristol diamonds of the first and purest ~165~~water,
I assure you; and their respected father, the wealthy proprietor of
Miles's-court, Bristol, may well be delighted with his amiable and
beauteous daughters. The little dapper-looking man in the white hat
yonder is the liberal, good-tempered Duke of Norfolk; and the dashing
_roue_ by his side, the legitimate heir to his title, is the Earl of
Surrey, whose son, the young Baron of Mowbray, follows hand in hand
with Captain Wollaston, an old man-of-war's man, who sails the Swallow
cutter. The female group assembled in front of the King's-house are the
minor constellations from East Cowes, and the congregated mixture of
oddities who grace the balconies of the Pavilion boarding-house
comprise every grade of society from the Oxford invalid to the retired
shopkeeper, the Messieurs _Newcomes_ of the island." "A rich subject for
a more extended notice," said I, "when on some future occasion I visit
Margate or Brighton, where the diversity of character will be more
numerous, varied, and eccentric than in this sequestered spot." As the
evening advanced, the blue-eyed maid of heaven spread forth her silvery
light across the glassy surface of the deep, yielding a magic power to
the soul-inspiring scene, and, by reflection, doubling the objects on
the sea, whose translucent bosom scarcely heaved a sigh, or murmured
forth a ripple on the ear; and now, amid the stillness of the night,
we were suddenly amused with the deep-sounding notes of the key-bugle
reverberating over the blue waters with most harmonious effect. "We are
indebted to that mad wag, Ricketts, for this unexpected pleasure," said
Horace; "he is an amateur performer of no mean talent, and delights
in surprising the visitors in this agreeable manner." "Rover, a-hoy,"
hailed a voice from the shore; off went our boat, and on its return
brought an accession to our party of half a dozen right merry fellows,
among whom was that choice spirit, Henry Day, whose facetious powers of
oratory and whim are ~166~~universally esteemed, and have often afforded
us amusement, when enjoying an evening among the eccentrics of London
and the brilliants of the press, who assemble for social purposes at the
Wrekin. The Days are too well known and respected as a family of long
standing in the island to require the eulogy of the English Spy, but
to acknowledge their hospitality and kindness he penned the following
tribute ere he quitted the shores of Vectis.
LOVE, LAW, AND PHYSIC.
In Vectis' Isle three happy Days
By any may be seen:
First, James, who loves by social ways
To animate mirth's scene;
An honest lawyer, Henry, next
With speech and bottle plies you;
And when by fell disease perplex'd,
Charles physics and revives you.
"Love, law, and physic," here combine
To claim the poet's praise:
May fortune's sunbeams ever shine
On three such worthy Days.
A few more songs and a few more grogs brought on the hour of ten; and
now our friends having departed to their homes, Horace and myself took
a turn or two upon deck, smoked out our cigars, conjured up the
reminiscences of our school-boy days, and having spent a few moments
in admiration of the starry canopy which spread its spangled brightness
over our heads, we sought again the cabin, drank a parting glass to old
friends, turned into our births, and soon were cradled by the motion
of the vessel into sweet repose. The events of the former evening, the
novelty of the scene, and, above all, the magnificence of Nature, as
she appeared when viewed from sea, in her diurnal progress through the
transition ~167~~of morning, noon, and night, all inspired my Muse
to attempt poetic sketches of the character of the surrounding island
scenery. A delightful pleasure I have endeavoured to convey to my
readers in the following rhymes.
MORNING IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When o'er the foreland glimmering day
Just breaks above the eastern lulls,
And streaks of gold through misty gray
Dispels night's dark and vap'rous chills;
Then, when the landsman 'gins to mow
The perfumed crop on grounds above,
And sailors chant the "yeo, heave yeo,"
Then young hearts wake to life and love.
When still and slow the murmuring swell
Of ocean, rising from his throne,
O'erleaps the beach, and matin's bell
To prayer invites the college drone;
Then, when the pennant floats on high,
And anchor's weigh'd again to rove,
And tuneful larks ascend the sky,
Then young hearts wake to life and love.
When, by unerring nature's power,
Creation breaks the spell of night,
And plants their leaves expand and flow'r,
And all around breathes gay delight;
Then when the herdsman opes his fold
To let the merry lambkin rove,
And distant hills are tipt with gold,
Then young hearts wake to life and love,
~168~~
NOON IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When toiling 'neath meridian sun
The boatman plies the lab'ring oar,
And sportive nymphs the margin shun
Of ocean's pebble-parched shore;
Then when beneath some shadowy cliff,
O'er-hanging wood, or leafy vale,
The trav'ller rests, haul'd up the skiff,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
When Nature, languid, seems to rest,
Nor moves a leaf, or heaves a wave,
And Zephyrs sleep, by Sol caress'd,
And sportive swallows skim the lave;
Then, when by early toil oppress'd,
The peasant seeks the glen or dale,
Enjoys his frugal meal and rest,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
When close beneath the forest's pride
The upland's group of cattle throng,
And sultry heat dissevers wide
The feather'd host of tuneful song;
Then when a still, dead, settled calm
O'er earth, and air, and sea prevail,
And lull'd is ev'ry spicy balm,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
~169~~
EVENING IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When twilight tints with sober gray
The distant hills, and o'er the wave
The mellow glow of parting day
Crimsons the shipwreck'd sailor's grave;
Then when the sea-bird seeks the mast,
And signal lights illume the tower,
And sails are furl'd, and anchors cast,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
When o'er the beach the rippling wave
Breaks gently, heaving to and fro,
Like maiden bosoms, ere the knave
Of hearts has ting'd their cheek with woe;
Then, when the watch their vigils keep,
And grog, and song, and jest have power
To laugh to scorn the peril'd deep,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
When Cynthia sheds her mystic light
In silv'ry circles o'er the main;
And Hecate spreads her veil of night
O'er hearts that ne'er may meet again;
Then, Anna, blest with thee, I stray
'Mid scenes of bliss--through nature's bower;
While eve's star guides us on our way,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
It has often been observed by inquisitive travellers, that in most of
our country villages not only the three best houses are inhabited by
the lawyer, the parson, and the doctor, but three-fourths of the whole
property of the place is generally monopolized by the same disinterested
triumvirate: however true the satire ~170~~may be in a general sense,
it certainly does not apply to Cowes, where the liberal professions
are really practised by liberal minds, and where the desire to do good
outweighs the desire to grow rich. But the good people of Cowes are not
without their nabobs; for instance, the eastern shores of the river are
under the dominion of Lord Henry Seymour and Mr. Nash, who there rule
over their humble tenantry with mild paternal sway. On the western side,
the absolute lords of the soil are Messrs. Bennett and Ward: the first,
like other great landed proprietors, almost always an absentee; and the
last somewhat greedy to grapple at every thing within his reach. "Who
does that fine park and mansion belong to?" said a stranger, surveying
Northwood from the summit of the hill. "King George," replied the
islander. "And who owns the steam-boats, which I now see arriving?"
"King George," reiterated the fellow. "And who is the largest proprietor
of the surrounding country?" "King George." "Indeed!" said the stranger,
"I was not aware that the crown lands were so extensive in the Wight.
Have you much game?" "Ees, ees." "And who is the lord of the manor?"
"King George." "And these new roads I see forming, are they also done
by King George?" "Ees, ees, he ought to gi' us a few new ones, I think;
bekase Ize zure he's stopped up enou of our old ones." "What, by some
new inclosure act, I suppose?" "Naye, naye, by some old foreclosure
acts, I expect." "Why, you do not mean to say that our gracious
sovereign is a money-lender and mortgagee?" "No; but our ungracious king
be the', and a money-maker too." "Fellow, take care; you are committing
treason against the Lord's anointed." "Ees, ees, he be a 'nointed one,
zure enou," retorted the fellow, laughing outright in the traveller's
face. "Sirrah," said the offended stranger, "I shall have you taken
before a justice." "Ees, ees, Ize heard o' them ere chaps at East Cowes,
but Ize ~171~~not much respect for 'em." "Not care for the magistrate!"
"Lord love you,--you be one of the Mr. Newcome, Ize warrant me; why,
we've gotten no zuch animal here, nothing o' sort nearer as Newport;
and lawyer Day can out-talk the best of them there, whenever he likes."
"There must be some mistake here," said the stranger, cooling a little
of his choler: "did you not tell me, fellow, that the king of England
owned all the land here, and the steam-boats, and the manor, and the
town, and the people, and-----------." "Hold, hold thee there," said the
islander; "I said, King George; and here he comes, in his four-wheeled
calabash, and before he undertakes to give us any more new roads, I wish
he'd set about mending his own queer ways" However strong the current of
prejudice may run against Squire Ward in the island, among a few of the
less wealthy residents, it must be admitted, that he is hospitable even
to a proverb, a sincere and persevering friend, and a liberal master to
his tenantry: the Christmas festivities at Northwood, when the poor are
plentifully regaled with excellent cheer, smacks of a good old English
custom, that shall confer upon the donor lasting praise, and hand down
his name to posterity with better chance of grateful remembrance than
all his mine of wealth can purchase; there are some well authenticated
anecdotes in circulation of George Ward, which prove that he has, with
all his eccentricities,
"A tear for pity, and a hand, open as day, to melting charity."