Part 52 (1/2)
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, d.a.m.ns 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 sh.o.r.es 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 G.o.d, 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 gla.s.s 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 sh.o.r.es--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 sh.o.r.e, 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 pa.s.s, my love, Together let us gaily row, And day by day, in sportive play, Enjoy life's Meeting gloss, my love.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 sh.o.r.e 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 partic.i.p.ate with him in his amus.e.m.e.nts. 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 pa.s.sed, consist of that merry fellow, Sir G.o.dfrey Webster, who lias a n.o.ble 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 n.o.bility; and yet I have observed ~164~~they appear too fond of each other's society to be fas.h.i.+onables.” ”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 a.s.sure 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 das.h.i.+ng _roue_ by his side, the legitimate heir to his t.i.tle, 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 a.s.sembled 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 gla.s.sy 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 sh.o.r.e; 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 amus.e.m.e.nt, when enjoying an evening among the eccentrics of London and the brilliants of the press, who a.s.semble 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 sh.o.r.es 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 s.h.i.+ne 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 gla.s.s 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.