Song

O STAY, Madonna! stay;

'Tis not the dawn of day

That marks the skies with yonder opal streak:

The stars in silence shine;

Then press thy lips to mine,

And rest upon my neck thy fervid cheek.

O sleep, Madonna! sleep;

Leave me to watch and weep

O'er the sad memory of departed joys,

O'er hope's extinguished beam,

O'er fancy's vanished dream;

O'er all that nature gives and man destroys.

O wake, Madonna! wake;

Even now the purple lake

Is dappled o'er with amber flakes of light;

A glow is on the hill;

And every trickling rill

In golden threads leaps down from yonder height.

O fly, Madonna! fly,

Lest day and envy spy

What only love and night may safely know:

Fly, and tread softly, dear!

Lest those who hate us hear

The sounds of thy light footsteps as they go.

Thomas Babbington Macaulay

The Last Buccaneer

THE winds were yelling, the waves were swelling,

The sky was black and drear,

When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship without a name

Alongside the last Buccaneer.

"Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale,

When all others drive bare on the seas?

Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador,

Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?"

"From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line can sound,

Without rudder or needle we steer;

Above, below, our bark, dies the sea-fowl and the shark,

As we fly by the last Buccaneer.

"To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de Verde,

A loud crash, and a louder roar;

And to-morrow shall the deep, with a heavy moaning, sweep

The corpses and wreck to the shore."

The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride,

In the breath of the citron shades;

And Severn's towering mast securely now flies fast,

Through the sea of the balmy Trades.

From St Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal fort,

The seaman goes forth without fear;

For since that stormy night not a mortal hath had sight

Of the flag of the last Buccaneer.

Thomas Babbington Macaulay

Epitaph on a Jacobite

TO my true king I offered free from stain

Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain.

For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth, away.

And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.

For him I languished in a foreign clime,

Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime;

Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees,

And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees;

Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep,

Each morning started from the dream to weep;

Till God who saw me tried too sorely, gave

The resting place I asked, an early grave.

Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone,

From that proud country which was once mine own,

By those white cliffs I never more must see,

By that dear language which I spake like thee,

Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear

O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.

Thomas Babbington Macaulay

Lines Written in August

THE day of tumult, strife, defeat, was o'er;

Worn out with toil, and noise, and scorn, and spleen,

I slumbered, and in slumber saw once more

A room in an old mansion, long unseen.

That room, methought, was curtained from the light;

Yet through the curtains shone the moon's cold ray

Full on a cradle, where, in linen white,

Sleeping life's first soft sleep, an infant lay.

Pale flickered on the hearth the dying flame,

And all was silent in that ancient hall,

Save when by fits on the low night-wind came

The murmur of the distant waterfall.

And lo! the fairy queens who rule our birth

Drew nigh to speak the new-born baby's doom:

With noiseless step, which left no trace on earth,

From gloom they came, and vanished into gloom.

Not deigning on the boy a glance to cast

Swept careless by the gorgeous Queen of Gain;

More scornful still, the Queen of Fashion passed,

With mincing gait and sneer of cold disdain.

The Queen of Power tossed high her jewelled head,

And o'er her shoulder threw a wrathful frown;

The Queen of Pleasure on the pillow shed

Scarce one stray rose-leaf from her fragrant crown.

Still Fay in long procession followed Fay;

And still the little couch remained unblest:

But, when those wayward sprites had passed away,

Came One, the last, the mightiest, and the best.

Oh glorious lady, with the eyes of light

And laurels clustering round thy lofty brow,

Who by the cradle's side didst watch that night,

Warbling a sweet, strange music, who wast thou?

"Yes, darling; let them go;" so ran the strain:

"Yes; let them go, gain, fashion, pleasure, power,

And all the busy elves to whose domain

Belongs the nether sphere, the fleeting hour.

"Without one envious sigh, one anxious scheme,

The nether sphere, the fleeting hour resign.

Mine is the world of thought, the world of dream,

Mine all the past, and all the future mine.

"Fortune, that lays in sport the mighty low,

Age, that to penance turns the joys of youth,

Shall leave untouched the gifts which I bestow,

The sense of beauty and the thirst of truth.

"Of the fair brotherhood who share my grace,

I, from thy natal day, pronounce thee free;

And, if for some I keep a nobler place,

I keep for none a happier than for thee.

"There are who, while to vulgar eyes they seem

Of all my bounties largely to partake,

Of me as of some rival's handmaid deem

And court me but for gain's, power's, fashion's sake.

"To such, though deep their lore, though wide their fame,

Shall my great mysteries be all unknown:

But thou, through good and evil, praise and blame,

Wilt not thou love me for myself alone?

"Yes; thou wilt love me with exceeding love;

And I will tenfold all that love repay,

Still smiling, though the tender may reprove,

Still faithful, though the trusted may betray.

"For aye mine emblem was, and aye shall be,

The ever-during plant whose bough I wear,

Brightest and greenest then, when every tree

That blossoms in the light of Time is bare.

"In the dark hour of shame, I deigned to stand

Before the frowning peers at Bacon's side:

On a far shore I smoothed with tender hand,

Through months of pain, the sleepless bed of Hyde:

"I brought the wise and brave of ancient days

To cheer the cell where Raleigh pined alone:

I lighted Milton's darkness with the blaze

Of the bright ranks that guard the eternal throne.

"And even so, my child, it is my pleasure

That thou not then alone shouldst feel me nigh,

When in domestic bliss and studious leisure,

Thy weeks uncounted come, uncounted fly;

"Not then alone, when myriads, closely pressed

Around thy car, the shout of triumph raise;

Nor when, in gilded drawing rooms, thy breast

Swells at the sweeter sound of woman's praise.

"No: when on restless night dawns cheerless morrow,

When weary soul and wasting body pine,

Thine am I still, in danger, sickness, sorrow,

In conflict, obloquy, want, exile, thine;

"Thine, where on mountain waves the snowbirds scream,

Where more than Thule's winter barbs the breeze,

Where scarce, through lowering clouds, one sickly gleam

Lights the drear May-day of Antarctic seas;

"Thine, when around thy litter's track all day

White sandhills shall reflect the blinding glare;

Thine, when, through forests breathing death, thy way

All night shall wind by many a tiger's lair;

"Thine most, when friends turn pale, when traitors fly,

When, hard beset, thy spirit, justly proud,

For truth, peace, freedom, mercy, dares defy

A sullen priesthood and a raving crowd.

"Amidst the din of all things fell and vile,

Hate's yell, and envy's hiss, and folly's bray,

Remember me; and with an unforced smile

See riches, baubles, flatterers, pass away.

"Yes: they will pass away; nor deem it strange:

They come and go, as comes and goes the sea:

And let them come and go: thou, through all change,

Fix thy firm gaze on virtue and on me."

Thomas Babbington Macaulay