Chapter I: Canto THE FIRST: I

Ye shores of England, as ye fast recede The pain of parting rends my weary breast. I must regret--yet there is little need That I should mourn, for only wild unrest Is mine while in my native land I roam. Thou gav'st me birth, but cannot give a home.

II.

Yet happy were the days that have been mine, So happy that those days must needs be few. It could not be that that bright sun would shine For many months, and while its light was new The clouds arose, and, in one fated day, The jealous storm had swept my joys away.

III.

That fated day, when I believed that all The hopes that I had cherished in the past Would be fulfilled, and I should fondly call The being whom I loved my own at last: Then fell the storm, and bursting on my head, Still saved my body when my soul was dead.

IV.

I loved her dearly, and my heart was set On winning her. My only aim in life Was to secure her love, and so forget The world beside--my world would be my wife. I never loved another, her alone I loved, and, loving, longed to call my own.

V.

The summer months were passed in tortured bliss. My love had grown, but that it could not grow; It all-enveloped me, and one sweet kiss From her dear lips had made my bosom glow With happiness; and many months of pain Had been as nothing, that one kiss to gain.

VI.

And, when the many-tinted Autumn's reign Succeeded Summer's more congenial sway, I told her of the mingled joy and pain That stirred my soul throughout each Summer's day. And whispered, in emotion's softest tone, The love that I had feared before to own.

VII.

She listened silently, then, sweetly shy, She laid her gentle head upon my breast. And, in the liquid depths of each blue eye, I read the love her lips had not confessed; And quickly, fondly, pressed her to my heart, Vowing that none should keep us two apart.

VIII.

Ah! happy were the months that followed then, The months that flew as rapidly as days; And sweet the stolen hours of meeting when We listened to the nightingale's sad lays, Or, seated on a rustic bench alone, Forgot all else in glad communion.

IX.

I had not asked her father for her hand; He was a baronet of ancient blood. Proud of his lineage, jealous of his land; His pride was such as boded me no good. I was an author, not unknown to fame, But could not boast a title to my name.

X.

Sore did my loved one beg me to confess My love to him, and ask for his consent. He loved her well, and could not fail to bless Our union; his pride had oft unbent To her, and she had now but little fear That he would hear me with a willing ear.

XI.

I gladly heard her speak in confident And reassuring tones, and all the doubt That had been mine now vanished, and I went, With lightsome heart, to seek her father out: And prayed him give his daughter for my wife, And thus confer a blessing on my life.

XII.

He heard me silently, nor did he speak For full two minutes after I had ceased; Then, while his eye flashed, and his livid cheek Betrayed his passion, was his tongue released; And, in vituperative tones, he swore That I should never cross his threshold more.

XIII.

Was this my gratitude for patronage, That I should thus inveigle his one daughter, And seek to supplement my sorry wage By the rich dowry that her marriage brought her? He was a baronet of ancient name; No parvenu his daughter's hand should claim.

XIV.

His words enraged me, but I checked my wrath For her dear sake, whose love alone that fire Could quench, and mildly arguments put forth To soothe the baronet, and calm his ire. But useless all the arguments I wove; In foaming rage he cursed me and my love.

XV.

What need to speak of all that next ensued? Still constantly, throughout those weary days, Impelled by hope, with fondest love imbued, Did I renew my suit. By bold essays I sought to win the baronet's consent-- Each day a wilder rage his bosom rent.

XVI.

He had forbidden me to see my Love; But one glad morning I received a note From her. She bade me meet her in the grove Behind her father's house. In pain she wrote, For, though the letter spoke no word of pain, Her tears had left a sorrow-telling stain.

XVII.

We met at night-time; and her tear-stained face, Upturned to mine, was sorrowful and pale. I pressed her to me in a fond embrace, And kissed the cheeks that told so sad a tale. She sadly smiled, then spoke, her cheek bedewed, The while, with bitter tears again renewed:

XVIII.

"My fondest Love, within this silent glen, I bade thee come to say a last farewell. Alas! my Love, we may not meet again, For thou must leave me. Ah! I cannot tell What pain was mine as on my knees I cried, And begged my father to unbend his pride.

XIX.

"He will not hear me; nought that I can say Will calm his wrath, but rather do my prayers Increase his passion. Each recurring day, When I would still importune him, he bears A sterner aspect, and 'twere better now That we should speak no more of this our vow.

XX.

"But leave thou me, and seek a foreign clime. My father thus will think that thou hast lost All hope of winning me. In one year's time Return again; perhaps, by conscience tossed, My father will repent his stern decree, And gladly, as my husband, welcome thee."

XXI.

"Oh! fly thou with me, Love," I trembling cried, "And--" but my loved one would not hear my cry: "'Tis but a twelvemonth since my mother died, And I should sin against my God if I Should leave my father. Oh! my Love, seek not To tempt me thus, but help me bear my lot."

XXII.

'Twere wrong to more persuade her. Silently I kissed her gentle lips. A loving spell Of sweet communion followed--it could be But short--and then we bade a long farewell. O'erwhelmed with tears, my gentle Love was gone, And I must wander exiled and alone.

XXIII.

Yet is it best that I should wander thus, Far from the cherished spot where we have passed Such happy days, since not again for us Will be the joy that seemed too great to last. Her father is too stern a man to know Remorse's sting; his hatred will but grow.

XXIV.

Each year my wandering feet shall hither stray, Each year my heart will feel the pang anew. And this one thought alone will cheer my way, That she, my Love, is faithful still, and true. Her father may forbid our union, But still our hearts together beat as one.

XXV.

Lonely I stand, and silent gaze upon The fading shore, where dwells my soul's twin-soul. 'Midst my companions I am still alone, Less near to them than her, though billows roll Between us two. Fast fades the distant strand. Farewell my Love! Farewell my native Land!

XXVI.

England! dear land of liberty and peace, Great art thou now, and greater still wilt be, If but thy truth and honesty increase As each revolving decade renders thee In population greater. Let the name Of Christian England fix thy future fame.

XXVII.

The tale is told that when a foreign king Would know what pow'r thy gracious Queen possessed, That she could rule, with might unfaltering, Her people, and by them be ever blessed; She laid her hand upon a Bible near, And, smiling, said: "That pow'r lies hidden here."

XXVIII.

Defender of the Faith we call our Queen, And she has been that Faith's exemplar too. Not all the ages of the past have seen A sovereign more noble, pure, and true. And she has kept, as well as monarch could, Her childhood's promise: "Oh! I will be good."

XXIX.

And not without the help of that great Book Could she have kept the promise of her youth. Through all the backward years of history look-- These plainly prove that declaration's truth. Kingdoms may rise, and, with unquestioned sway, Monarchs may rule, and none their right gainsay,

XXX.

But, founded on another base than this, That monarch's might shall surely pass away; No kingdom is so strong that it can miss This destiny. A premature decay Has greeted, and will ever greet, that land Whose weak foundation trembles in the sand.

XXXI.

The sword is mighty; by its bloody might Empires have risen--risen but to fall. A nation built in blood must ever fight, Or lose its name and power. 'Tis not all To conquer once; an enemy subdued Waits but a happy chance for further feud.

XXXII.

Nor will the nation nurtured by the sword, If undisturbed by subjugated foes, Remain in peace and rest; one murmured word Of discontent will plunge it in the throes Of fratricidal warfare; and not long That word remains uncalled for by some wrong.

XXXIII.

The page of history is blotted o'er With tales of bloodshed. Not a single nation Exists, but spent its greater life in war. And in each Power's restless fluctuation From might to weakness, and from servitude To might, is shown the sword's incertitude.

XXXIV.

Until the time when every mighty Power
Stands ready to confess the Christian creed
That bloodshed is a sin--until that hour
Has come, all Europe's treasuries must bleed,
That naval armaments may grimly stand,
And military menace every land.

XXXV.

Then, England, since an universal peace, A peace eternal, has not been proclaimed, Thy military might must still increase, Thy naval glory must not be defamed. But only when thine honour shall demand, Or injured right, upraise thy martial hand.

XXXVI.

Be Christian first and last, and be not slow To propagate the cause of arbitration. Let peaceful compacts, bloodless victories, grow Till hideous war, with ruthless devastation, Destroy no more the beauty of thy land, Nor raise against thy homes its bloodstained hand.

XXXVII.

Be Christian first and last, for thus alone Shalt thou attain to might unfaltering. No nation in the past has ever known The lasting power which faith alone can bring. Though each in turn has gained a glorious name, Not one has risen to eternal fame.

XXXVIII.

The Roman Caesars, with increasing pride, "Outstretched their hands and grasped a hemisphere." Their glory swelled with ever-flowing tide, And nations bowed to them in trembling fear. Their eagles flew, and lofty was their flight, Yet only Caesar's empire met their sight.

XXXIX.

But now the Roman Empire is no more; No longer Roman eagles sweep the sky. The pampered luxury of Rome soon bore Its wonted fruit--gross immorality; And weakened thus, and by internal strife, Great Caesar's Empire yielded up its life.

XL.

And classic Greece, which, in a former age, Bore mighty warriors without compeer, Knew not the land whose war-compelling gage Could not be taken up without a fear. But now her power is so completely broke, She almost yields her to an Asian yoke.

XLI.

And France, in later days, has girded on A might magnificent; and none could stay The pow'r of her adored Napoleon, Before whose hosts, in ill-concealed dismay, The nations fled. Then France her flag unfurled, And waved it proudly over half a world.

XLII.

But not in England. And when Bonaparte Would lay the British nation at his feet, Her legions tore his mighty hosts apart, And snatched the Conqueror from his lofty seat. Then France's glory faded fast away, Till not a nation owned her sovereign sway.

XLIII.

And thus have mighty nations ever perished, Or lost the greater portion of their might, When, as their sole upholder, they have cherished The reeking sword, in disregard of right. Then, England, take thou warning by their fate, And keep thy Christian faith inviolate.

XLIV.

America's Republic stands alone. But once for bloody glory did she raise Her martial hand; and Canada was thrown Into a state of war.[A] But all essays To sever her allegiance from her King Proved vain--her faith remained unfaltering.

XLV.

But once America unrighteously Led forth her armies. Only to defend Her people's honour and integrity Has she, since then, allowed them to contend In bitter warfare. And the peaceful arts Engage more readily her people's hearts.

XLVI.

A noble nation striving peacefully To gain the highest pinnacle of honour, Without a peer in ingenuity; Well mayest thou, great England, look upon her As worthier far to be thy firm ally Than any European monarchy.

XLVII.

Send forth thy Prince's son, and let him find In broad America a worthy bride. Thus let the ties of blood together bind The Anglo-Saxon race on either side The great Atlantic. Keep thy princes free From royal Europe's mad heredity.

XLVIII.

Far better were it they should choose their brides From some American pure family, Than wed their cousins, in whose blood, besides The fell disease which immorality Of ancestors has planted there, there run Weaknesses caused by kindred's union.

XLIX.

The scurvy-stricken family whose head Rules all the Russias' limitless domain; The progeny of Ludwig, lately dead By his own hand; the Hohenzollern vain And proud, and yet diseased; or Austria's queen Whose hidden madness still is plainly seen:

L.

Shall we defile our royal English blood By marriage with such families as these? Shall English kings inherit all this flood Of imbecility and dread disease? Must all the purity of Guelph be so Impaired and ruined by this noisome flow?

LI.

Nay, rather let us throw aside that form, (That well had been abolished in the past), Which bids our royal princes to conform To rules as rigid as the Indian caste Distinctions, nor a single Prince allows To marry other than a royal spouse.

LII.

And let our England's royal House be bound By wedlock to America. Perchance This bond may, in a future day, be found The first of many, which shall so enhance Our mutual love that, by God's kindly grace, On History's page this name shall have a place: "THE EMPIRE OF THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE."

LIII.

Great England! Land of liberty and peace, With fond regret I leave thy hallowed shore; But, in my exile, I can never cease To love the Land that I may see no more. All foreign countries are alike to me; My heart's affection is bound up in thee.

Blue, boundless and free, the deep-flowing sea
Environs on every side
The ship, which the gale, well-filling each sail,
Impels through the rolling tide.

Around, far and near, bright, foaming and clear,
The billows tumultuous roll;
And their message to me is, "Free, wildly free!
"Free ever from man's control!"

As round me they throng, I hear their wild song,
And echo its truthful strain.
The power of man, that limitless span
Of ocean, can ne'er restrain.

But I know that their Maker can challenge each breaker,
And still every wave by His word;
And o'er me a feeling comes silently stealing
Of awe at the might of the Lord.

And sweet is the thought, by memory brought,
That once on the waters He trod;
And my soul seems to be, on the breast of the sea,
Alone in the presence of God.

Then soft on the air I whisper a prayer,
And know 'twill be echoed above:
"Be Thou very near her to comfort and cheer her,
Oh, God, bless and cherish my Love!"