THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE.

He loved, he hoped, a holy flame
Kindled 'mid rapturous tears;
The passion of a moment came
As on the wings of years.

"Such bounty is no gift of chance,"
Exclaimed he; "righteous Heaven,
Preparing your deliverance,

To me the charge hath given.
The Czar full oft in words and deeds
Is stormy and self-willed;

But, when the Lady Catherine pleads,
His violence is stilled.

Leave open to my wish the course,

And I to her will go;

From that humane and heavenly source,

Good, only good, can flow."

Faint sanction given, the Cavalier

Was eager to depart

Though question followed question, dear

To the Maiden's filial heart.1

Light was his step,-his hopes, more light,
Kept pace with his desire;

2

And the fifth morning gave him sight

Of Moscow's glittering spires.

241

He sued:-heart-smitten by the wrong,
To the lorn Fugitive

The Emperor sent a pledge as strong
As sovereign power could give.

O more than mighty change! If e'er
Amazement rose to pain,

And joy's excess 1 produced a fear
Of something void and vain;

'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned
So long the lost as dead,

Beheld their only Child returned,

The household floor to tread.

Soon gratitude gave way to love
Within the Maiden's breast:
Delivered and Deliverer move

In bridal garments drest.
Meek Catherine had her own reward;

The Czar bestowed a dower;

And universal Moscow shared

The triumph of that hour.

Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast

Was held with costly state;

And there, 'mid many a noble guest,

The Foster-parents sate;

Encouraged by the imperial eye,

They shrank not into shade;

Great was their bliss, the honour high
To them and nature paid!

And over-joy

1835.

For the names and persons in the following poem, see the "History of the renowned Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table;" for the rest the Author is answerable; only it may be proper to add that the Lotus, with the bust of the Goddess appearing to rise out of the full-blown flower, was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient art, once included among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British Museum.

[In addition to the short notice prefixed to this poem, it may be worth while here to say, that it rose out of a few words casually used in conversation by my nephew, Henry Hutchinson. He was describing with great spirit the appearance and movement of a vessel which he seemed to admire more than any other he had ever seen, and said her name was the Water Lily. This plant has been my delight from my boyhood, as I have seen it floating on the lake; and that conversation put me upon constructing and composing the poem. Had I not heard those words, it would never have been written. The form of the stanza is new, and is nothing but a repetition of the first five lines as they were thrown off, and is not perhaps well suited to narrative, and certainly would not have been trusted to had I thought at the beginning that the poem would have gone to such a length.]

WHILE Merlin paced the Cornish sands,
Forth-looking toward the rocks of Scilly,
The pleased Enchanter was aware

Of a bright Ship, that seemed to hang in air,
Yet was she work of mortal hands,

And took from men her name-THE WATER LILY.

Soft was the wind, that landward blew ;

And, as the Moon, o'er some dark hill ascendant,
Grows from a little edge of light

To a full orb, this Pinnace bright

Became, as nearer to the coast she drew,

More glorious, with spread sail and streaming pendant.

Upon this winged Shape so fair

Sage Merlin gazed with admiration:
Her lineaments, thought he, surpass

Aught that was ever shown in magic glass;
Was ever built with patient care;

Or, at a touch, produced by happiest transformation.1

Now, though a Mechanist, whose skill

Shames the degenerate grasp of modern science,
Grave Merlin (and belike the more

For practising occult and perilous lore)

Was subject to a freakish will

That sapped good thoughts, or scared them with defiance.

Provoked to envious spleen, he cast

An altered look upon the advancing Stranger
Whom he had hailed with joy, and cried,
"My Art shall help to tame her pride-"
Anon the breeze became a blast,

And the waves rose, and sky portended danger.

With thrilling word, and potent sign

Traced on the beach, his work the Sorcerer urges;

The clouds in blacker clouds are lost,

Like spiteful Fiends that vanish, crossed

By Fiends of aspect more malign;

And the winds roused the Deep with fiercer scourges.

But worthy of the name she bore

Was this Sea-flower, this buoyant Galley;

Supreme in loveliness and grace

Of motion, whether in the embrace

Of trusty anchorage, or scudding o'er

The main flood roughened into hill and valley.

Or, at a touch, set forth with wondrous transformation.

1835.

THE EGYPTIAN MAID.

245

Behold, how wantonly she laves

Her sides, the Wizard's craft confounding;

Like something out of Ocean sprung

To be for ever fresh and young,

Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves
Top-gallant high, rebounding and rebounding!

But Ocean under magic heaves,

And cannot spare the Thing he cherished:
Ah! what avails that she was fair,
Luminous, blithe, and debonair?

The storm has stripped her of her leaves;
The Lily floats no longer!-she hath perished.

Grieve for her, she deserves no less;
So like, yet so unlike, a living Creature!
No heart had she, no busy brain;

Though loved, she could not love again;
Though pitied, feel her own distress;

Nor aught that troubles us, the fools of Nature.

Yet is there cause for gushing tears,
So richly was this Galley laden;

A fairer than herself she bore,
And, in her struggles, cast ashore;

A lovely One, who nothing hears

Of wind or wave-a meek and guileless Maiden.

Into a cave had Merlin fled

From mischief, caused by spells himself had muttered; And while, repentant all too late,

In moody posture there he sate,

He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised head,

A Visitant by whom these words were uttered;