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"MAN'S A KING, HIS THRONE is duty,—(sterling)

CARISBROOK CASTLE.

427

mind and body, threw up that duty; embraced the profession of letters;
visited France and Italy; and, still fiercely pursued by ill health, retired at
last to Ventnor, in the Isle of Wight, where the heavy calamity of losing
his wife and mother, within two months of each other, finally broke him
down. He expired on the 18th of September 1844. His epitaph might fitly
be taken from Carlyle's noble eulogium:* "True, above all, one may call
him; a man of perfect veracity in thought, word, and deed. Integrity to-
wards all men-nay, integrity had ripened with him into chivalrous gener-
osity; there was no guile or baseness anywhere found in him.
A more
perfectly transparent soul I have never known."]

"EARTH, OF MAN THE BOUNTEOUS MOTHER, FEEDS HIM STILL WITH CORN AND WINE;

CARISBROOK CASTLE.

[Carisbrook Castle is situated on a considerable knoll, about one mile from Newport, in the Isle of Wight, Here Charles I. was imprisoned in 1647; and here his daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, died, September 8, 1650. "The castle," says Sterling, "is of large extent, tolerably preserved, and draped with a good deal of ivy. But the want of great height prevents it from bearing that look of indomitable command which, in some cases, makes an ancient fortress resemble the last of the Anakim, bidding defiance to the feebler race that crawl around its feet. The view from the top of the keep is pretty and cheerful, without any peculiar wildness or extreme beauty, beyond that of the slightly broken country, quiet and varied verdure, and happy-looking dwellings. I was shown the window through which Charles I. tried to escape. I threw my general impressions of the place into the following lines:"-]

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HE WHO BEST WOULD AID A BROTHER, SHARES WITH HIM THESE GIFTS DIVINE."-STERLING.

"SOW THY SEED, AND REAP IN GLADNESS! MAN HIMSELF IS ALL A SEED;-(STERLING)

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HOPE AND HARDSHIP, JOY AND SADNESS, SLOW THE PLANT TO RIPENESS LEAD."-STERLING.

ENTRANCE TO CARISBROOK CASTLE.

Here the beacon-faggots nigh,
Piled to blaze against the sky,
Gleams no more the flickering brand,-
And no more the warder's eye
Bends its eager straining look
O'er the battle-shaken land,*

From the heights of Carisbrook.

* The Isle of Wight was several times invaded by the French.

A FIELD BELOVED, OR CHILDISH GARDEN SMALL."-STERLING.

TO BE, TO KNOW WHATE'ER OF GOOD TO MAN BELOW IS GIVEN -JOHN STERLING)

"NO PRAISE OF MEN HE CARED TO WIN,

CARISBROOK CASTLE.

But the ivy's freshest hue

Wreathes in green each mouldering tower;
And where cannon wont to lower,
There the wild ash struggles through.
So of old the war-worn knight,

His manhood spent in toil and fight,
March, and siege, and ambuscade,
Joust, and foray, and crusade,

Unlaced the helm his brows had borne
Through half an age in peril's scorn,
And bade the daughter of his love
In earliest summer's breezy hours

Crown his white locks with dew-fed flowers,
And green bowers of the grove.

Here, where once the trumpet-blast
Like a threat so oft hath past,
And hundreds thronged in steel array
'Mid the red light of parting day,
Now the silent wind is stealing,
And the rapid swallow wheeling;
Now the sheep unheeded stray,
And lisping children laugh and play,
Where the clanging shield and spear
Crashed in the tournament's career.

No cannon's roar, no bolts that tell
The terrors of the mangonel,*

Disturb the swan whose lonely whiteness

Gems like a pearl yon small lake's brightness.

* A medieval military machine, resembling the balista, and used for the propulsion of large and heavy missiles.

MORE HIGH WAS HIS DESIRE- -(STERLING)

AND, ASKING TRUTH AS DAILY FOOD, SEEK LITTLE MORE FROM HEAVEN."-STERLING.

429

"STILL HOPE! STILL ACT! BE SURE THAT LIFE, THE SOURCE AND STRENGTH OF EVERY GOOD,

430

"THOUGH GRIEF'S WORST PANGS TO THEE BE TAUGHT,

JOHN STERLING.

No sound of tumult or of fear

Rouses the muser's lazy ear;

Nought save the light melodious chime
That thrills the air of morning's prime,
From yon gray church-tower wandering here.

'Tis peaceful all; and he who ne'er
Had heard its destiny and tale,
Nor knew that serfs of old grew pale
To see their tyrant baron's lair,

That death has held his carnival

While armies mustered round its wall,*
And that through many a month's long round
A despot here his dungeon found,—†
Were these untold, we well might deem
The ruined fortress but a dream,
Shaped from the morning mists that veil
The weary stars, retreating pale;

Or clouds that float, half shade, half gleam,
In the round moon's wavering beam;
Or from the vapours delicate
That gird the sunset's glorious state;
Or from out that airier woof,
Visioned far from earth aloof,
Where the heart creates a sphere
Than this clay-built orb more dear,

And amid the ethereal dome
Makes a loved ideal home.

[From Sterling's "Prose and Poetical Works."]

* This is a poetical exaggeration. Carisbrook was once besieged by the French, and once by the Newport train-bands; but on neither occasion did the besieging force deserve the appellation of an army."

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A reference, of course, to Charles the First's imprisonment, in 1648.

BY THEE LET OTHERS NOBLIER LIVE."-JOHN STERLING.

WASTES DOWN IN FEELING'S EMPTY STRIFE, AND DIES IN DREAMING'S SICKLY MOOD."-STERLING.

"REFRAIN YOUR LIPS, LEST WORDS TURN SNAKES, AND BITE YOU UTTERING THEM."-SWINBURNE.

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NIGHT, A BLACK HOUND, FOLLOWS THE WHITE FAWN, DAY,—(SWINBURNE)

THE DEATH OF CHASTELARD.

431

Algernon Charles Swinburne.

[THIS powerful but irregular poet has already accomplished much for one
so young, and might have accomplished more had he sought for his songs
a purer inspiration, and cultivated the gift of reverence and faith. He was
born at Holmwood, near Henley-on-Thames, in 1843; and educated, first in
France, afterwards at Eton and Oxford. His first productions were two
plays, published in 1861, "The Queen-Mother" and "Rosamond;" but he
did not gain the ear of the public until 1864, when he displayed his wonder-
ful mastery of rich and animated diction and his opulence of imagery in
the classical tragedy-poem of " Atalanta in Calydon." This was followed
by the tragedy of "Chastelard" in 1865, and “Poems and Ballads" in
1866—the latter not unjustly provoking much adverse criticism.
"Songs
before Sunrise" appeared in 1870.

"At a first glance,” says an eminent critic, "nothing is more striking in
Mr. Swinburne's works than the combination which they exhibit, always
rare, never rarer than in our day, of dramatic power with lyrical power.
Such a union of forces indeed argues the existence of an imagination subtle
and strong, both on the objective and subjective side. As far as regards
the dramatic faculty, “Atalanta” and “Chastelard" are equally proofs of
what Mr. Swinburne can achieve; while the choruses in the former, though
scarcely adequate representations of the Greek ideal, are fine lyrics in them-
selves. Whatever material form he may employ, he manifests his power of
varied and delicate music. Every rhythm he makes his own, and forces from
it a peculiar ring and melody, when once appreciated, never to be mistaken,
never to be discovered in the most harmonious verses of other poets.
"It would be premature to attempt an estimate of the influence which
Mr. Swinburne will exercise upon the popular mind and the literature of
his country.
Whether that influence shall be deep, wholesome, and abid-
ing, or superficial, evanescent, and perhaps hurtful, will depend upon his
personal strength of character. It is not to be questioned that he is emi-
nently gifted as a poet with power, but power may be wasted in application,
or unworthily applied. If he has earnestly at heart the attainment of
artistic perfection, if thereby he desires to touch the higher nature of his
fellows, and to take a permanent place in English literature, he will not
fail through any natural incompetency."-Westminster Review, No. lxii.]

...

THE DEATH OF CHASTELARD.

[Chastelard, a French poet in the train of Mary Queen of Scots, was arrested on a charge of high treason, for presuming to love his royal mistress. He was found guilty, and expiated his supposed crime on the scaf

SWIFTER THAN DREAMS THE WHITE-FLOWN FEET OF SLEEP."-SWINBURNE.

"WORDS DIVIDE AND REND; AND SILENCE IS MOST NOBLE TILL THE END."-ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE.

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