CHAPTER LXXIII.The moment of enthusiasm was past; the setting sun warned every straggler and passenger to return. Some had a far distant home to seek; others had left their wives or their children. Elinor turned from the golden light which illuminated the west, and gazed in agony upon the gloomy battlements of St. Alvin Priory, yet resplendent with the last parting ray. Of all who followed her, few only now remained to watch her steps. She bade them meet her at the cavern at the accustomed hour. She was weary, and feigned that till then she would sleep. This she did to disembarrass herself of them.Upon raising herself after a little time, they were gone. It was dark—it waslonely. She sat and mused upon the cliff, till the pale moon broke through the clouds, and tipped every wave with its soft and silvery light.—“The moon shines bright and fair,” she said: “the shadows pass over it. Will my lover come again to me? It is thy voice, Glenarvon, which sings sweetly and mournfully in the soft breeze of night.”My heart’s fit to break, yet no tear fills my eye,As I gaze on the moon, and the clouds that flit by.The moon shines so fair, it reminds me of thee;But the clouds that obscure it, are emblems of me.They will pass like the dream of our pleasures and youth;They will pass like the promise of honor and truth;And bright thou shalt shine, when these shadows are gone,All radiant—serene—unobscur’d; but alone.“And did he pass me so coldly by? And did he not once look on me?” she said. “But I will not weep: he shall not break my spirit and heart. Let himdo so to the tame doves for whom he has forsaken me. Let such as Alice and Calantha die for his love: I will not.”—She took her harp: her voice was tired and feeble. She faintly murmured the feelings of her troubled soul. It sounded like the wind, as it whispered through the trees, or the mournful echo of some far distant flute.SONG.And can’st thou bid my heart forgetWhat once it lov’d so well;That look—that smile, when first we met;That last—that sad farewell?Ah! no: by ev’ry pang I’ve prov’d,By ev’ry fond regret,I feel, though I no more am lov’d,I never—can forget.I wish’d to see that face again,Although ’twere chang’d to me:I thought it not such madd’ning painAs ne’er to look on thee.But, oh! ’twas torture to my breast,To meet thine alter’d eye,To see thee smile on all the rest,Yet coldly pass me by.Even now, when ev’ry hope is o’erTo which I....“Are these poetical effusions ended?” said a soft voice from behind.—She started; and turning round, beheld the figure of a man enveloped in a dark military cloak, waiting for her upon the cliff.—“What a night it is! not a wave on the calm sea: not a cloud in the Heavens. See how the mountain is tinged with the bright moonshine. Are you not chilled—are you not weary; wandering thus alone?” “I am prepared to follow you,” said Elinor, “though not as a mistress, yet as a slave.” “I do not love you,” said the man, approaching her. “Oh, even if you were to hang about and kneel to me as once, I cannot love you! Yet it once was pleasant to be so loved; was itnot?” “I think not of it now,” said Elinor, while a proud blush burned on her cheek. “This is no time for retrospection.” “Let us hasten forwards, by the light of the moon: I perceive that we are late.—Have you forgiven me?” “There are injuries, Glenarvon, too great to be forgiven: speak not of the past: let us journey on.”The lashing of the waves against the rocks, alone disturbed the silence of this scene. They walked in haste by each others side, till they passed Craig Allen Point, and turned into the mouth of a deep cavern. Whispers were then heard from every side—the confusion of strange voices, the jargon of a foreign dialect, the yells and cries of the mutineers and discontented. “Strike a light,” said Elinor’s companion, in a commanding tone, as he advanced to the mouth of the rock.—In a moment, a thousand torches blazed around, whilst shouts of joy proclaimed a welcome to the visitor,who was accosted with every mark of the most obsequious devotion.“How many have taken the oath to-night?” said a stout ill-looking man, advancing to the front line. “Sure, Citizen Conner, fifty as brave boys as ever suck’d whiskey from the mother country,” answered O’Kelly from within. The ferocious band of rebels were now ordered forward, and stood before their leader; some much intoxicated, and all exhibiting strange marks of lawless and riotous insubordination. “We’ll pay no tythes to the parsons,” said one. “We’ll go to mass, that we will, our own way.” “We’ll be entirely free.” “There shall be no laws amongst us.” “We’ll reform every thing, won’t we?” “And turn all intruders out with the tyrants.” “Here’s to the Emerald Isle! Old Ireland for ever! Erin for ever!” “Come, my brave boys,” shouted forth one Citizen Cobb, “this night get yourselves pikes—make yourselves arms. Beg, buy,or steal, and bring them here privately at the next meeting. We’ll send your names in to the directory. Fear nothing, we will protect you: we’ll consider your grievances. Only go home peaceably, some one way, and some another—by twos, by threes. Let us be orderly as the king’s men are. We are free men; and indeed free men can make as good soldiers.”“I would fain speak a few words, citizen, before we part to-night. The hour is not yet ripe; but you have been all much wronged. My heart bleeds for your wrongs. Every tear that falls from an Irishman is like a drop of the heart’s best blood: is’t not so, gentlemen? Ye have been much aggrieved; but there is one whom ye have for your leader, who feels for your misfortunes; who will not live among you to see you wronged: and who, though having nothing left for himself, is willing to divide his property amongst you all to the last shilling. Seethere, indeed, he stands amongst us. Say, shall he speak to you?” “Long life to him—let him speak to us.” “Hear him.” “Let there be silence as profound as death.” “Sure and indeed we’ll follow him to the grave.” “Och, he’s a proper man!” A thousand voices having thus commanded silence:“Irishmen,” said Glenarvon, throwing his dark mantle off, and standing amidst the grotesque and ferocious rabble, like some God from a higher world—“Irishmen, our country shall soon be free:—you are about to be avenged. That vile government, which has so long, and so cruelly oppressed you, shall soon be no more! The national flag—the sacred green, shall fly over the ruins of despotism; and that fair capital, which has too long witnessed the debauchery, the plots, the crimes of your tyrants, shall soon be the citadel of triumphant patriotism and virtue. Even if we fail, let us die defending the rights of man—theindependence of Ireland. Let us remember that as mortals we are liable to the contingencies of failure; but that an unalterable manliness of mind, under all circumstances, is erect and unsubdued. If you are not superior to your antagonist in experience and skill, be so in intrepidity. Art, unsupported by skill, can perform no service. Against their superior practice, array your superior daring; for on the coward, who forgets his duty in the hour of danger, instant punishment shall fall; but the brave, who risk their lives for the general cause, shall receive immediate distinction and reward.—Arise then, united sons of Ireland—arise like a great and powerful people, determined to live free or die.”Shouts of applause for a moment interrupted Glenarvon. Then, as if inspired with renewed enthusiasm, he proceeded: “Citizens, or rather shall I not say, my friends; for such you have proved yourselves to me, my own anddear countrymen; for though an exile, whom misfortune from infancy has pursued, I was born amongst you, and first opened my delighted eyes amidst these rocks and mountains, where it is my hope and ambition yet to dwell. The hour of independence approaches. Let us snap the fetters by which tyrants have encompassed us around: let us arouse all the energies of our souls; call forth all the merit and abilities, which a vicious government has long consigned to obscurity; and under the conduct of great and chosen leaders, march with a steady step to victory.”Here Glenarvon was again interrupted by the loud and repeated bursts of applause. Elinor then springing forward, in a voice that pierced through the hearts of each, and was echoed back from cave to cave—“Heard ye the words of your leader?” she cried: “and is there one amongst you base enough to desert him?” “None, none.” “Then armyourselves, my countrymen: arm yourselves by every means in your power: and rush like lions on your foes. Let every heart unite, as if struck at once by the same manly impulse; and Ireland shall itself arise to defend its independence; for in the cause of liberty, inaction is cowardice: and may every coward forfeit the property he has not the courage to protect! Heed not the glare of hired soldiery, or aristocratic yeomanry: they cannot stand the vigorous shock of freedom. Their trappings and their arms will soon be yours. Attack the tyrants in every direction, by day and by night.—To war—to war! Vengeance on the detested government of England! What faith shall you keep with them? What faith have they ever kept with you? Ireland can exist independent. O! let not the chain of slavery encompass us around.—Health to the Emerald isle! Glenarvon and Ireland for ever!”
The moment of enthusiasm was past; the setting sun warned every straggler and passenger to return. Some had a far distant home to seek; others had left their wives or their children. Elinor turned from the golden light which illuminated the west, and gazed in agony upon the gloomy battlements of St. Alvin Priory, yet resplendent with the last parting ray. Of all who followed her, few only now remained to watch her steps. She bade them meet her at the cavern at the accustomed hour. She was weary, and feigned that till then she would sleep. This she did to disembarrass herself of them.
Upon raising herself after a little time, they were gone. It was dark—it waslonely. She sat and mused upon the cliff, till the pale moon broke through the clouds, and tipped every wave with its soft and silvery light.—“The moon shines bright and fair,” she said: “the shadows pass over it. Will my lover come again to me? It is thy voice, Glenarvon, which sings sweetly and mournfully in the soft breeze of night.”
My heart’s fit to break, yet no tear fills my eye,As I gaze on the moon, and the clouds that flit by.The moon shines so fair, it reminds me of thee;But the clouds that obscure it, are emblems of me.They will pass like the dream of our pleasures and youth;They will pass like the promise of honor and truth;And bright thou shalt shine, when these shadows are gone,All radiant—serene—unobscur’d; but alone.
My heart’s fit to break, yet no tear fills my eye,As I gaze on the moon, and the clouds that flit by.The moon shines so fair, it reminds me of thee;But the clouds that obscure it, are emblems of me.They will pass like the dream of our pleasures and youth;They will pass like the promise of honor and truth;And bright thou shalt shine, when these shadows are gone,All radiant—serene—unobscur’d; but alone.
My heart’s fit to break, yet no tear fills my eye,As I gaze on the moon, and the clouds that flit by.The moon shines so fair, it reminds me of thee;But the clouds that obscure it, are emblems of me.
My heart’s fit to break, yet no tear fills my eye,
As I gaze on the moon, and the clouds that flit by.
The moon shines so fair, it reminds me of thee;
But the clouds that obscure it, are emblems of me.
They will pass like the dream of our pleasures and youth;They will pass like the promise of honor and truth;And bright thou shalt shine, when these shadows are gone,All radiant—serene—unobscur’d; but alone.
They will pass like the dream of our pleasures and youth;
They will pass like the promise of honor and truth;
And bright thou shalt shine, when these shadows are gone,
All radiant—serene—unobscur’d; but alone.
“And did he pass me so coldly by? And did he not once look on me?” she said. “But I will not weep: he shall not break my spirit and heart. Let himdo so to the tame doves for whom he has forsaken me. Let such as Alice and Calantha die for his love: I will not.”—She took her harp: her voice was tired and feeble. She faintly murmured the feelings of her troubled soul. It sounded like the wind, as it whispered through the trees, or the mournful echo of some far distant flute.
And can’st thou bid my heart forgetWhat once it lov’d so well;That look—that smile, when first we met;That last—that sad farewell?Ah! no: by ev’ry pang I’ve prov’d,By ev’ry fond regret,I feel, though I no more am lov’d,I never—can forget.I wish’d to see that face again,Although ’twere chang’d to me:I thought it not such madd’ning painAs ne’er to look on thee.But, oh! ’twas torture to my breast,To meet thine alter’d eye,To see thee smile on all the rest,Yet coldly pass me by.Even now, when ev’ry hope is o’erTo which I....
And can’st thou bid my heart forgetWhat once it lov’d so well;That look—that smile, when first we met;That last—that sad farewell?Ah! no: by ev’ry pang I’ve prov’d,By ev’ry fond regret,I feel, though I no more am lov’d,I never—can forget.I wish’d to see that face again,Although ’twere chang’d to me:I thought it not such madd’ning painAs ne’er to look on thee.But, oh! ’twas torture to my breast,To meet thine alter’d eye,To see thee smile on all the rest,Yet coldly pass me by.Even now, when ev’ry hope is o’erTo which I....
And can’st thou bid my heart forgetWhat once it lov’d so well;That look—that smile, when first we met;That last—that sad farewell?
And can’st thou bid my heart forget
What once it lov’d so well;
That look—that smile, when first we met;
That last—that sad farewell?
Ah! no: by ev’ry pang I’ve prov’d,By ev’ry fond regret,I feel, though I no more am lov’d,I never—can forget.
Ah! no: by ev’ry pang I’ve prov’d,
By ev’ry fond regret,
I feel, though I no more am lov’d,
I never—can forget.
I wish’d to see that face again,Although ’twere chang’d to me:I thought it not such madd’ning painAs ne’er to look on thee.
I wish’d to see that face again,
Although ’twere chang’d to me:
I thought it not such madd’ning pain
As ne’er to look on thee.
But, oh! ’twas torture to my breast,To meet thine alter’d eye,To see thee smile on all the rest,Yet coldly pass me by.
But, oh! ’twas torture to my breast,
To meet thine alter’d eye,
To see thee smile on all the rest,
Yet coldly pass me by.
Even now, when ev’ry hope is o’erTo which I....
Even now, when ev’ry hope is o’er
To which I....
“Are these poetical effusions ended?” said a soft voice from behind.—She started; and turning round, beheld the figure of a man enveloped in a dark military cloak, waiting for her upon the cliff.—“What a night it is! not a wave on the calm sea: not a cloud in the Heavens. See how the mountain is tinged with the bright moonshine. Are you not chilled—are you not weary; wandering thus alone?” “I am prepared to follow you,” said Elinor, “though not as a mistress, yet as a slave.” “I do not love you,” said the man, approaching her. “Oh, even if you were to hang about and kneel to me as once, I cannot love you! Yet it once was pleasant to be so loved; was itnot?” “I think not of it now,” said Elinor, while a proud blush burned on her cheek. “This is no time for retrospection.” “Let us hasten forwards, by the light of the moon: I perceive that we are late.—Have you forgiven me?” “There are injuries, Glenarvon, too great to be forgiven: speak not of the past: let us journey on.”
The lashing of the waves against the rocks, alone disturbed the silence of this scene. They walked in haste by each others side, till they passed Craig Allen Point, and turned into the mouth of a deep cavern. Whispers were then heard from every side—the confusion of strange voices, the jargon of a foreign dialect, the yells and cries of the mutineers and discontented. “Strike a light,” said Elinor’s companion, in a commanding tone, as he advanced to the mouth of the rock.—In a moment, a thousand torches blazed around, whilst shouts of joy proclaimed a welcome to the visitor,who was accosted with every mark of the most obsequious devotion.
“How many have taken the oath to-night?” said a stout ill-looking man, advancing to the front line. “Sure, Citizen Conner, fifty as brave boys as ever suck’d whiskey from the mother country,” answered O’Kelly from within. The ferocious band of rebels were now ordered forward, and stood before their leader; some much intoxicated, and all exhibiting strange marks of lawless and riotous insubordination. “We’ll pay no tythes to the parsons,” said one. “We’ll go to mass, that we will, our own way.” “We’ll be entirely free.” “There shall be no laws amongst us.” “We’ll reform every thing, won’t we?” “And turn all intruders out with the tyrants.” “Here’s to the Emerald Isle! Old Ireland for ever! Erin for ever!” “Come, my brave boys,” shouted forth one Citizen Cobb, “this night get yourselves pikes—make yourselves arms. Beg, buy,or steal, and bring them here privately at the next meeting. We’ll send your names in to the directory. Fear nothing, we will protect you: we’ll consider your grievances. Only go home peaceably, some one way, and some another—by twos, by threes. Let us be orderly as the king’s men are. We are free men; and indeed free men can make as good soldiers.”
“I would fain speak a few words, citizen, before we part to-night. The hour is not yet ripe; but you have been all much wronged. My heart bleeds for your wrongs. Every tear that falls from an Irishman is like a drop of the heart’s best blood: is’t not so, gentlemen? Ye have been much aggrieved; but there is one whom ye have for your leader, who feels for your misfortunes; who will not live among you to see you wronged: and who, though having nothing left for himself, is willing to divide his property amongst you all to the last shilling. Seethere, indeed, he stands amongst us. Say, shall he speak to you?” “Long life to him—let him speak to us.” “Hear him.” “Let there be silence as profound as death.” “Sure and indeed we’ll follow him to the grave.” “Och, he’s a proper man!” A thousand voices having thus commanded silence:
“Irishmen,” said Glenarvon, throwing his dark mantle off, and standing amidst the grotesque and ferocious rabble, like some God from a higher world—“Irishmen, our country shall soon be free:—you are about to be avenged. That vile government, which has so long, and so cruelly oppressed you, shall soon be no more! The national flag—the sacred green, shall fly over the ruins of despotism; and that fair capital, which has too long witnessed the debauchery, the plots, the crimes of your tyrants, shall soon be the citadel of triumphant patriotism and virtue. Even if we fail, let us die defending the rights of man—theindependence of Ireland. Let us remember that as mortals we are liable to the contingencies of failure; but that an unalterable manliness of mind, under all circumstances, is erect and unsubdued. If you are not superior to your antagonist in experience and skill, be so in intrepidity. Art, unsupported by skill, can perform no service. Against their superior practice, array your superior daring; for on the coward, who forgets his duty in the hour of danger, instant punishment shall fall; but the brave, who risk their lives for the general cause, shall receive immediate distinction and reward.—Arise then, united sons of Ireland—arise like a great and powerful people, determined to live free or die.”
Shouts of applause for a moment interrupted Glenarvon. Then, as if inspired with renewed enthusiasm, he proceeded: “Citizens, or rather shall I not say, my friends; for such you have proved yourselves to me, my own anddear countrymen; for though an exile, whom misfortune from infancy has pursued, I was born amongst you, and first opened my delighted eyes amidst these rocks and mountains, where it is my hope and ambition yet to dwell. The hour of independence approaches. Let us snap the fetters by which tyrants have encompassed us around: let us arouse all the energies of our souls; call forth all the merit and abilities, which a vicious government has long consigned to obscurity; and under the conduct of great and chosen leaders, march with a steady step to victory.”
Here Glenarvon was again interrupted by the loud and repeated bursts of applause. Elinor then springing forward, in a voice that pierced through the hearts of each, and was echoed back from cave to cave—“Heard ye the words of your leader?” she cried: “and is there one amongst you base enough to desert him?” “None, none.” “Then armyourselves, my countrymen: arm yourselves by every means in your power: and rush like lions on your foes. Let every heart unite, as if struck at once by the same manly impulse; and Ireland shall itself arise to defend its independence; for in the cause of liberty, inaction is cowardice: and may every coward forfeit the property he has not the courage to protect! Heed not the glare of hired soldiery, or aristocratic yeomanry: they cannot stand the vigorous shock of freedom. Their trappings and their arms will soon be yours. Attack the tyrants in every direction, by day and by night.—To war—to war! Vengeance on the detested government of England! What faith shall you keep with them? What faith have they ever kept with you? Ireland can exist independent. O! let not the chain of slavery encompass us around.—Health to the Emerald isle! Glenarvon and Ireland for ever!”