Helen Maria Williams

“ He reads the fatal truth in Zilia's eye,
And gives to friendship his expiring sigh.—
But now with rage Valverda's glances roll,
And mark the vengeance rankling in his soul: 70
He bends his wrinkled brow—his lips impart
The brooding purpose of his venom'd heart;
He bids the hoary priest in mutter'd strains,
Abjure his faith, forsake his falling fanes,
While yet the ling'ring pangs of torture wait, 75
While yet Valverda's power suspends his fate.
"Vain man, the victim cried, to hoary years
"Know death is mild, and virtue feels no fears:
"Cruel of spirit, come! ”

“ And saw her brooding o'er the deep below.
"Euphelia stay! he cried, thy Alfred calls—
"Oh stay, my love! in sorrow yet more dear,
"I come!"—In vain the soothing accent falls,
Alas, it reach'd not her distracted ear.
"Ah, what avails, she said, that morning rose?
"With fruitless pain I seek his mould'ring clay;
"Vain search! to fill the measure of my woes,
"The foaming surge has wash'd his corse away.
"This cruel agony why longer bear?
"Death, death alone can all my pangs remove;
"Kind death will banish from my heart despair,
"And when I live again—I live to love!" ”

“ Swift o'er the field of death sad Cora flew,
Her infant to his mother's bosom grew;
She seeks her wretched lord, who fled the plain
With the last remnant of his vanquish'd train:
Thro' the lone vale, or forest's sombrous shade 55
A dreary solitude, the mourner stray'd;
Her timid heart can now each danger dare,
Her drooping soul is arm'd by deep despair—
Long, long she wander'd, till oppress'd with toil,
Her trembling footsteps track with blood the soil; 60
In vain with moans her distant lord she calls,
In vain the bitter tear of anguish falls ”

“ Dragg'd from his throne, and hurry'd o'er the plain,
The wretched monarch swells the captive train;
With iron grasp, the frantic prince they bear,
And bless the omen of his wild despair.
Deep in the gloomy dungeon's lone domain, 45
Lost Ataliba wore the galling chain;
The earth's cold bed refus'd oblivious rest,
While throb'd the pains of thousands at his breast;
Alzira's desolating moan he hears,
And with the monarch's, blends the lover's tears— 50
Soon had Alzira felt affliction's dart
Pierce her soft soul, and rend her bleeding heart ”

“ Rush to the haughty victor's glitt'ring fane;
Swift on their foe with rage impetuous dart,
And plunge their daggers in his guilty heart.
How unavailing now the treasur'd ore
That made Peruvia's rifled bosom poor! 200
He falls—no mourner near to breathe a sigh,
Catch the last breath, and close the languid eye;
Deserted, and refus'd the holy tear
That warm affection sheds o'er virtue's bier;
Denied those drops that stay the parting breath, 205
That sooth the spirit on the verge of death;
Tho' now the pale expiring form would buy
With Andes' glitt'ring mines, one faithful sigh! ”

“ The hand she loves, alone can point the dart,
Whose hidden sting could wound no other heart—
These, of all pains the sharpest we endure,
The breast which now inflicts, would spring to cure.—
No more deserted genius then, would fly
To breathe in solitude his hopeless sigh;
No more would Fortune's partial smile debase
The spirit, rich in intellectual grace;
Who views unmov'd from scenes where pleasures bloom,
The flame of genius sunk in mis'ry's gloom;
The soul heav'n form'd to soar, by want deprest,
Nor heeds the wrongs that pierce a kindred breast.—
Thou righteous Law! ”

“ And o'er the ever-blooming vales around,
Soft echoes waft each undulating sound.
This happy region Ataliba sway'd, 55
Whose mild behest the willing heart obey'd;
Descendant of a scepter'd, sacred race,
Whose origin from glowing suns they trace;
And as o'er nature's form, the solar light
Diffuses beauty, and inspires delight; 60
So, o'er Peruvia flow'd the lib'ral ray
Of mercy, lovelier than the smile of day!
In Ataliba's pure and gen'rous heart
The virtues bloom'd without the aid of art.
His gentle spirit, love's soft power possest, 65
And stamp'd Alzira's image on his breast ”

“ Aciloe, and her sire, to Chili's meads:
There, many a wand'ring wretch, condemn'd to roam
By hard oppression, found a shelt'ring home: 320
Zamor to pity, tun'd the vocal shell,
Bright'ning the tear of anguish, as it fell.
Did e'er the human bosom throb with pain
The heav'nly muse has sought to sooth in vain?
She, who can still with harmony its sighs, 325
And wake the sound, at which affliction dies;
Can bid the stormy passions backward roll,
And o'er their low-hung tempests lift the soul;
With magic touch paint nature's various scene
Wild on the mountain, in the vale serene ”

“ While she, whose bosom fondly true,
Has never wish'd to range;
One alter'd look will trembling view,
And scarce can bear the change;
Tho' she, if death the bands should tear,
She vainly thought secure;
Thro' life must languish in despair
That never hopes a cure;
Tho' wounded by some vulgar mind,
Unconscious of the deed,
Who never seeks those wounds to bind
But wonders why they bleed;—
She oft will heave a secret sigh,
Will shed a lonely tear,
O'er feelings nature wrought so high,
And gave on terms so dear;
Yet who would hard INDIFFERENCE choose,
Whose breast no tears can steep? ”

“ And urges the firm soul to lofty deeds.
Now Capac hail'd th' eventful morning's light,
Rose with its dawn, and panted for the fight;
But first with fondness to his heart he prest 65
The tender Cora, partner of his breast;
Who with her lord, had sought the dungeon's gloom,
And wasted there in grief, her early bloom.
"No more, he cried, no more my love shall feel
"The mingled agonies I fly to heal; 70
"I go, but soon exulting shall return,
"And bid my faithful Cora cease to mourn:
"For oh, amid' each pang my bosom knows,
"What wastes, what wounds it most, are Cora's woes. ”

“ Mild Zamor own'd the richest gifts of mind;
For o'er his tuneful breast the heav'nly muse
Shed from her sacred spring, inspiring dews.
She loves to breathe her hallow'd flame, where art 5
Has never veil'd the soul, or warp'd the heart;
Where fancy glows with all her native fire,
And passion lives on the exulting lyre.
Nature, in terror rob'd, or beauty drest,
Could thrill with dear enchantment Zamor's breast: 10
He lov'd the languid sigh the zephyr pours,
He lov'd the murm'ring rill that fed the flow'rs ”

“ A sister-queen's despairing breast
On thee securely lean'd for rest;
On thee! from whom that breast has bled
With sharper ills than those I fled,
VI. Oh, skill'd in every baser art!
Tyrant! to this unguarded heart
No guilt so black as thine belongs,
Which loads my length'ning years with wrongs.
Strike then at once, insatiate foe!
The long, premeditated blow;
So shall thy jealous terrors cease,
And Mary's harrass'd soul have peace.
EUPHELIA, AN ELEGY. As roam'd a pilgrim o'er the mountain drear,
On whose lone verge the foaming billows roar ”

“ The tender feelings of delight,
And anguish sung so well;
That envied ease thy heart would prove
Were sure too dearly bought
With friendship, sympathy, and love,
And every finer thought.
A SONG. I. No riches from his scanty store
My lover could impart;
He gave a boon I valued more—
He gave me all his heart!
II. His soul sincere, his gen'rous worth,
Might well this bosom move;
And when I ask'd for bliss on earth,
I only meant his love.
III. But now for me, in search of gain
From shore to shore he flies:
Why wander riches to obtain,
When love is all I prize? ”

“ Its quick pulsations paus'd, and, chill'd with dread,
A livid hue her fading cheek o'erspread;
No tear she gave to love, she breath'd no sigh, 55
Her lips were mute, and clos'd her languid eye;
Fainter, and slower heav'd her shiv'ring breast,
And her calm'd passions seem'd in death to rest!—
At length reviv'd, mid rising heaps of slain
She prest with trembling step, the crimson plain; 60
The dungeon's gloomy depth she fearless sought,
For love, with scorn of danger arm'd her thought:
The cell that holds her captive lord she gains,
Her tears fall quiv'ring on a lover's chains! ”

“ It sooths my breaking heart, she said,
To tell those joys were dear.
The western ocean roll'd in vain
Its parting waves between,
My Edward brav'd the dang'rous main,
And bless'd our native scene.
Soft Isis heard his artless tale,
Ah, stream for ever dear!
Whose waters, as they pass'd the vale,
Receiv'd a lover's tear.
How could a heart, that virtue lov'd,
(And sure that heart is mine)
Lamented youth! behold unmov'd,
The virtues that were thine?
Calm, as the surface of the lake,
When all the winds are still,
Mild, as the beams of morning break,
When first they light the hill ”

“ O'er the cold earth his relicks prest,
Lo! Britain's drooping legions rest;
For him the swords they sternly grasp, appear
Dim with a sigh, and sullied with a tear.
IX. While Seward sweeps her plaintive strings,
While pensive round his sable shrine,
A radiant zone she graceful flings,
Where full emblaz'd his virtues shine;
The mournful loves that tremble nigh
Shall catch her warm melodious sigh;
The mournful loves shall drink the tears that flow
From Pity's hov'ring soul, dissolv'd in woe.
X. And hark, in Albion's flow'ry vale
A parent's deep complaint I hear! ”

“ Oh, thou whose melody the heart obeys,
Thou who can'st all its subject passions move,
Whose notes to heav'n the list'ning soul can raise,
Can thrill with pity, or can melt with love!
Happy! whom nature lent this native charm;
Whose melting tones can shed with magic power,
A sweeter pleasure o'er the social hour,
The breast to softness sooth, to virtue warm—But
yet more happy! that thy life as clear
From discord, as thy perfect cadence flows;
That tun'd to sympathy, thy faithful tear,
In mild accordance falls for others woes ”

“ Those breezes waft the orphan's cries,
They tremble to parental sighs,
And drink a tear for keener anguish shed,
The tear of faithful love when hope is fled.
VI. The object of her anxious fear
Lies pale on earth, expiring, cold,
Ere, wing'd by happy love, one year
Too rapid in its course, has roll'd;
In vain the dying hand she grasps,
Hangs on the quiv'ring lip, and clasps
The fainting form, that slowly sinks in death,
To catch the parting glance, the fleeting breath.
VII. Pale as the livid corse her cheek,
Her tresses torn, her glances wild,—
How fearful was her frantic shriek! ”

“ The mourner breath'd her deep complaint to night,
Her moan she mingled with the rapid blast;
That bar'd her bosom in its wasting flight,
And o'er the earth her scatter'd tresses cast!
"Ye winds, she cried, still heave the lab'ring deep,
"The mountain shake, the howling forest rend;
"Still dash the shiv'ring fragment from the steep,
"Nor for a wretch like me the storm suspend.
"Ah, wherefore wish the rising storm to spare?
"Ah, why implore the raging winds to save?
"What refuge can the breast where lives despair
"Desire but death? what shelter but the grave? ”

“ And lead the soften'd heart to Thee.
In every scene thy hands have drest,
In every form by thee imprest,
Upon the mountain's awful head,
Or where the shelt'ring woods are spread;
In every note that swells the gale,
Or tuneful stream that cheers the vale,
The cavern's depth, or echoing grove,
A voice is heard of praise, and love.
As o'er thy work the seasons roll,
And sooth with change of bliss, the soul,
Oh never may their smiling train
Pass o'er the human scene in vain!
But oft as on the charm we gaze,
Attune the wond'ring soul to praise ”

“ PERU. CANTO THE SIXTH. At length Almagro, and Alphonso's train,
Each peril past, unite on Cusco's plain:
Capac, who now beheld with anxious woe,
Th' increasing numbers of the powerful foe,
Resolves to pierce beneath the shroud of night 5
The hostile camp, and brave the vent'rous fight;
Tho' weak the wrong'd Peruvians arrowy showers,
To the dire weapons stern Iberia pours.
Fierce was th' unequal contest, for the soul
When rais'd by some high passion's strong controul, 10
New strings the nerves, and o'er the glowing frame
Breathes the warm spirit of heroic flame. ”

“ To heal the wounded heart,
To shorten sorrow's ling'ring hour,
And bid its gloom depart?
'Tis she that lights the melting eye
With looks to anguish dear;
She knows the price of ev'ry sigh,
The value of a tear.
She prompts the tender marks of love
Which words can scarce express;
The heart alone their force can prove,
And feel how much they bless.
Of every finer bliss the source!
'Tis she on love bestows
The softer grace, the boundless force
Confiding passion knows;
When to another, the fond breast
Each thought for ever gives;
When on another, leans for rest. ”

“ The painter's pencil catch thy sacred fire,
And beauty wakes for thee her touching grace—
But from this frighted glance thy form avert
When horrors check thy tear, thy struggling sigh,
When frenzy rolls in thy impassion'd eye,
Or guilt sits heavy on thy lab'ring heart—
Nor ever let my shudd'ring fancy bear
The wasting groan, or view the pallid look
Of him [A] the Muses lov'd—when hope forsook
His spirit, vainly to the Muses dear!
For charm'd with heav'nly song, this bleeding breast,
Mourns the blest power of verse could give despair no rest.—
[A] Chatterton. ”

“ Not far the troops of young Alphonso went,
When sudden, from a rising hill's ascent,
They view a valley, fed by fertile springs,
Which Andes from his lofty summit flings;
Where summer's flowers their mingled odours shed, 145
And wildly bloom, a waste by beauty spread—
To the charm'd warrior's eye, the vernal scene
That 'mid the howling desart, smil'd serene,
Appear'd like nature rising from the breast
Of chaos, in her infant graces drest; 150
When warbling angels hail'd the lovely birth,
And stoop'd from heav'n to bless the new-born earth. ”

“ Again on soft Peruvia's fragrant breast 345
May beauty blossom, and may pleasure rest.
Peru, the muse that vainly mourn'd thy woes,
Whom pity robb'd so long of dear repose;
The muse, whose pensive soul with anguish wrung
Her early lyre for thee has trembling strung; 350
Shed the weak tear, and breath'd the powerless sigh,
Which soon in cold oblivion's shade must die;
Pants with the wish thy deeds may rise to fame,
Bright on some living harp's immortal frame!
While on the string of extasy, it pours 355
Thy future triumphs o'er unnumber'd shores. ”

“ As drest in charms, the lonely flower
Smiles in the desert vale;
With beauty gilds the morning hour,
And scents the evening gale;
So liv'd in solitude, unseen,
This lovely, peerless maid;
So grac'd the wild, sequester'd scene,
And blossom'd in the shade.
Yet love could pierce the lone recess,
For there he likes to dwell;
To leave the noisy crowd, and bless
With happiness the cell.
To wing his sure resistless dart,
Where all its force is known;
And rule the undivided heart
Despotic, and alone.
Young Edwin charm'd her gentle breast,
Tho' scanty all his store ”