Thomas Patrick Hughes.

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grave was discovered.


But at this moment, while they ready stand,
Behold the master, watching .o'er the sky,

The whistle blows ; the sailors, every hand,
Starting awaken ; and on deck they fly.

And as the wind increased he gave command,
In lowering foresails all their strength to ply ;

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" Alert I alert 1 from yon black cloud," he cries,
•* That hangs above, the wind begins to rise."

But, ere the foresails are well gathered in,
A vast and sudden storm around them roar'd ;

" Strike sail ! " the master shouts amidst the din,
"Strike, strike the mainsail, lend all hands

But the indignant winds the fight begin,
And, joined in fury ere it could be lowered,

With blustering noise the sail in pieces rend,

As if the world were coming to an end.

With this the sailors wound the heaven with cries,
From sudden terror and disunion blind ;

For, sails all torn, the vessel over lies,
And ships a mass of water in the wind ;

" Cast overboard," the master's order flies ;
" Cast overboard, together, with a mind !

Others to work the pumps ! no slackening !

The pumps, and quick ! for we are foundering."

The soldiers, all alive, now hasten fast
To work the pumps, but scarcely had essayed

When the dread seas, in which the ship was cast,
So tossed her that they all were prostrate laid :

Three hardy powerful soldiers, to the last,
To guide the wheel but fruitless efforts made ;

With cords on either side it must be bound,

For force and art of man but vain are found.

The winds were such that scarcely could they

With greater force or greater rage around,
Than if it were their purpose, then, to blow

The mighty tower of Babel to the ground.
Upon the aspiring seas, which higher grow,

like a small boat the valiant ship doth bound,
Exciting wonder that on bucIi a main
She can her striving course so long sustain.

The valiant ship with Gama's brother Paul,
With mast asunder snapped by wind and wave,

Half under water lies ; the sailors call
On Him who once appeared the world to save ;

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Nor less, vain cries from Coelho's vessel all
Pour on the air, fearing a watery grave,
Although the master had such caution shown,
That ere the wind arose the sails were down.

Now rising to the clouds they seem to go,
O'er the wild waves of Neptune borne on end ;

Now to the bowels of the depths below,
It seems to all their senses they descend ;

Notus and Auster, Boreas, Aquilo,
The very world's machinery would rend ;

While flashings fire the black and ugly night.

And shed from pole to. pole a dazzling light.

The halcyon birds their notes of mourning told
Along the roaring coast, sad scene of woe,

Calling to mind their agonies of old,'
Which to the like tempestuous waves they owe ;

The amorous dolphins, all, from sports withold,
And- to their ocean-caves' recesses go,

Such storms and winds unable to endure,

Which, e'en in refuge leave them not secure.

Never such living thunderbolts were framed
> Against the Giants' fierce rebellious pride,
By the great sordid forger, who is famed

His step-son's brilliant arms to have supplied :
Nor ever 'gainst the world such lightnings flamed,

Hurled by the mighty Thunderer far and wide,
In the great flood which spared those only two r -
Who, casting stones, did humankind renew.
V - -

How many mountains, then, were downward

By the persistent waves that 'gainst them strove!
How many aged trees were upward torn

By fury, of wild winds that 'gainst them drove t
But little dreamed their roots that, thus forlorn,

They e'er would be reversed towards heaven
above, ^ .

Nor the deep sands that seas such power could

£s e'en to cast them upwards from below !

—The Lusiads, Transit. o/Aubertin.

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Now' prosperous gales the bending canvas

swelled ;
From these rude shores our fearless course we held,
Beneath the glistening wave the god of day
Had now five times withdrawn the parting ray,
When o'cur the prow a sudden darkness spread,
And slowly floating o'er the mast's tall head
A black cloud hovered ; nor appeared from far
The moon's pale glimpse, nor faintly twinkling star:
So deep a gloom the lowering vapor cast,
Transfixed with awe, the bravest stood aghast.
Meanwhile a hollow bursting roar resounds,
As when hoarse surges lash their rocky mounds ;
Nor had the blackening wave, nor frowning

The wonted signs of gathering tempest given.
Amazed we stood.— -" O thou, our fortunes guide,
Avert this omen, mighty God t " I cried.
"Or through forbidden climes adventurous

Have we the secrets of the deep surveyed,
Which these wide solitudes of seas and sky
Were doomed to hide from man's unhallowed eye ?
Whate'er this prodigy, it threatens more
Than midnight tempests and the mingled roar,
Where sea and sky combine to rock the marble


I spoke j— when, rising through the darkened air,
Appalled we saw an hideous phantom glare ;
High and enormous o'er the flood he towered,
And 'thwart our way with sullen aspect lowered.
An earthly paleness o'er his cheeks was spread ;
Erect uprose his hairs of withered red ;
Writhing to speak) his sable lips disclose, [rows ;
Sharp and disjoined, his gnashing teeth's blue
His haggard beard flowed quivering on the wind,
Revenge and horror in his mien combined ;
His clouded front, by withering lightnings

The inward anguish of his soul declared ;
His red eyes glowing from their dusky caves
Shot livid firefe ; far echoing o'er the waves

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His voice resounded, as the caverned shore
With hollow groan repeats the tempest's roar.
Cold-gliding horrors thrilled each hero's breast ;
Our bristling hair and tottering knees confessed
Wild dread ;— the while, with visage ghastly wan,
His black lips trembling, thus the fiend began :—

" O you, the boldest of the nations, fired .
By daring pride, by lust of fame inspired ;
Who, scornful of the bowers of sweet repose,
Through these my waves advance your fearless

Regardless of the lengthening watery way,
And all the storms that own my sovereign sway ;
Who, 'mid surrounding rocks and shelves, explore
Where never hero braved my rage before ; —
Ye sons of Lusus, who with eyes profane
Have viewed the secrets of my awful reign,
Have passed the bounds which jealous Nature

To veil her secret shrine from mortal view :
Hear from my lips what direful woes attend,
And bursting soon shall o'er your race descend !
With every bounding keel that dares my rage
Eternal war my rocks and storms shall wage ;
The next proud fleet that through my drear

domain . [vane—

With daring search, shall hoist the streaming
That gallant navy, by my whirlwinds tossed,
And raging seas, shall perish on my coast ;
Then he, who first my secret reign descried,
A naked corse wide floating o'er the tide
Shall drive. Unless my heart's full raptures fail,
O, Lusus, oft shalt thou thy children wail ;
Each year thy shipwrecked sons shalt thou deplore,
Eaeh year thy sheeted masts shall strew my shore.

" With trophies plumed behold a hero come!
Ye dreary wilds, prepare his yawning tomb !
Though smiling fortune blessed his youthful morn,
Though glory's rays his laurelled brows adorn,
Full oft though he beheld with sparkling eye
The Turkish moons in wild confusion fly,
While he, proud victor, thundered in the rear —
All, all his mighty fame shall vanish here:

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Qailoa's sons, and thine, Mombaze, sliall see
Their conqueror bend his laurelled head to ine ;
While, proudly mingling with the tempest's sound,
Their shouts of joy from every cliff rebound.
"The howling Mast, ye slumbering storms
prepare !
A youthful lover and his beauteous fair
Triumphant sail from India's ravaged land ;
His evil angel leads him to my strand.
Through the torn hulk the dashing waves shall roar,
The shattered wrecks shall blacken all my shore.
Themselves escaped, despoiled by savage hands,
Shall naked wander o'er the burning sands,
Spared by the waves far deeper woes to bear,
Woes even by me acknowledged with a tear,
Their infant race, the promised heirs of joy,
Shall now no more an hundred hands employ ;
By cruel want, beneath the parent's eye,
In these wide wastes their infant race shall die.
Through dreary wilds, where never pilgrim trod,
Where caverns yawn and rocky fragments nod,
The hapless lover and his bride shall stray,
"By night unsheltered, and forlorn by day.
In vain the lover o'er the trackless plain
Shall dart his eyes, and cheer his spouse in vain ;
Her tender limbs, and breast of mountain snow,
Where ne'er before intruding blast might blow,
Parched by the sun, and shrivelled by the cold
Of dewy night, shall he, fond man, behold.
Thus wandering wide, a thousand ills o'erpassed,
In fond embraces they shall sink at last ;
While pitying tears their dying eyes o'erflow.
And the last sigh shall wail each other's woe.
Some few, the sad companions of their fate,
Shall yet survive, protected by my hate,
On Tagus' banks the dismal tale to tell
How blasted by my frown your heroes fell."

He paused, in act still further to disclose
A long, a dreary prophecy of woes ;
When, springing onward, loud my voice resounds,
And 'midst his rage the threatening shade
confounds :

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" What art thou, horrid form, that rid'Bt the air?
By heaven's eternal light, stern fiend, declare !•"
His lips he writhes, his eyes far round he throws,
And from his breast deep hollow groans arose ;
Sternly askance he stood : with wounded pride
And anguish torn, " In me, behold," he cried,
While dark-red sparkles from his eyeballs rolled)
" In me, the Spirit of the Cape behold —
That rock by you the Cape of Tempests named,
By Neptune's rage in horrid earthquakes framed,
When Jove's red bolts o'er Titan's offspring flamed.
With wide-stretched piles I guard the pathless

And Af ric's southern mound unmoved I stand :
Nor Roman prow, nor daring Tyrian oar,
E'er dashed the white wave foaming to my shore ;
Nor Greece nor Carthage ever spread the sail
On these my seas to catch the trading gale ;—
You, you alone, have dared to plough my main,
£nd with the human voice disturb my lonesome

He spoke, and deep a lengthened sigh he drew,
A doleful sound, and vanished from the view :
The frightened billows gave a rolling swell,
And distant far prolonged the dismal yell ;
Faint and more faint the howling echoes die,
An(ji the black cloud dispersing leaves the sky.
High to the angel host, whose guardian cafe
Had ever round us watched, my hands I rear,
And heaven's dread Bang implore— " As o'er our

The fiend dissolved, an empty shadow, fled ;
So may his curses by the winds of heaven
Far o'er the deep, their idle sport, be driven ! "

—The Limads, Trand. o/Mickle.


Spirit beloved I whose wing so soon hath flown
The joyless precincts of this earthly sphere,

Now is yon heaven eternally thine own —

: Whilst I deplore thy loss, a captive here.

O, if allowed in thy divine abode
Of aught on earth an image to retain,

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StememberstiU the fervent love which glowed

In my fond bosom, pure from every stain !
And if thou deem that all my faithful grief,
Caused by thy loss, and hopeless of relief,

Can merit thee, sweet native of the skies —
O, ask of Heaven, which called thee soon away,
That I may join thee in those realms of day,

Swiftly as thou hast vanished from mine eyes I
— Transl. o/Mes. Hemans.


While, pressed with woes from which it cannot
My fancy sinks, and slumber seals my eyes,
Her spirit hastens in my dreams to rise,

Who was in life but as a dream to me.

O'er the drear waste, so wide no eye can see
How far its sense-evading limit lies,
I follow her quick step ; but, ah, she flies !

Our distance widening by fate's stern decree.
" Fly not from me, kind shadow ! " I exclaim ; —

She, with fixed eyes, that her soft thoughts reveal,

. And seemed to say, • • Forbear thy fond design"—
Still flies. I call her, but her lialf -formed name

Dies on my faltering tongue ;— I wake, and feel

' Not e'en one short delusion can be mine.

—Transl. of Hayley.


Beneath this monumental stone enshrined,

There lies this world's most noble cynosure,
. Whom death of sheerest envy did immure,
Stealing the life, untimely and unkind ;
According no respect to that refined

Sweetness of light, which e'en the night obscure
. Turned to clear day, and whose refulgence pure
The brightness of the sun left far behind.

Thou cruel Death, wast bribed by the sun,
To save his beams from hers who brighter burned.
- And by the moon, that faded quite away.
JIow earnest thou such mighty power to own ?
And owning it, why hast so quickly turned

The great light of the world to this cold clay?
-rronrf. of AtystERxm. .

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96 Madaxe CAMPAN.

CAMPAN, Jkajswe Louise h&&&.onne
(Genbst), a French writer, born at Paris,
October 6, 1752, died at Mantes, May 16, 1622.
She was a sister of Edmond Genest, French
ambassador to the United States, in 1792;
was well educated under her father *s care,
and at the age of fifteen was appointed reader
to the princesses, the daughters of Louis XV.
Soon after her marriage, she was nominated
first lady of the bed-chamber by Marie
Antoinette, in whose service she continued
until forcibly separated from her in 1792.
After the fall of Robespierre, she established
a school at St. Germain. Napoleon appointed
her superintendant of the academy at Ecouen
for the education of the daughters and sisters
of members of the Legion of Honor. When,
at the restoration of the Bourbons, this school
was abolished, Madame Campan retired to
Mantes, where she spent the remainder of
her life. She wrote Me* moires sur la Vie priv&e
de Marie Antoinette ; Journal Anecdotique ;
Correspondence inidite avec la Reine Hor-
tense; a treatise, De V Education des Femnies,
and several small didactic works.


Fashion continued its fluctuating progress ; and
head-dresses, -with their superstructures of gauze,
flowers, and feathers became so lofty that the
women could not find carriages high enough to
admit them ; and they were often seen either
stooping, or holding their heads out of the win-
dows. Others knelt down in order to manage
these elevated objects of ridicule with less danger.
Innumerable caricatures, exhibited in all direc-
tions, and some of which artfully gave the feat-
ures of the Qaeen, attacked the extravagance of
fashion, but with very little effect. It changed
only, as is always the case, through the influence
of inconstancy and time.

The Queen's toilette was a masterpiece of eti-

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Madame CAMPAN. 97

quette : everything was done in a prescribed form.
Both the dame d'honneur and the dame dtaUmrs
usually attended and officiated, assisted by the
first femme de chambre, and two ordinary women.
The dame (Taiours put on the petticoat, and
handed the gown to the Queen. The dame d'hon-
neur poured out the water for her hands, and put on
her linen. When a Princess of the royal family
happened to be present while the Queen was dress-
ing, the dame tfhonneur yielded to her the lat-
ter act of office, but still did not yield it directly
to the Princesses of the blood ; in such a case the
dame d'honneur was accustomed to present the
linen to the first femme d'chambre, who, in her
turn, handed it to the Princess of the blood. Each
of these ladies observed these rules scrupulously as
affecting her rights. One winter's day it happened
that the Queen, who was entirely undressed, was
just going to put on her shift ; I held it ready un-
folded for her; the dame dlwrnneur came in,
slipped off her gloves, and took it. A scratching
was heard at the door; it was opened, and in
came the Duchesse d'Orleans: her gloves were
taken off, and she came forward to take the gar-
ment; but as it would have been wrong in the
dame cFhonneur to hand it to her, she gave it to
me, and I handed it to the Princess. More scratch-
ing. It was Madame the Comtesse de Provence ;
the Duchesse d'Orleans handed her the linen. All
this while the Queen kept her arms crossed upon
^her bosom, and appeared to feel cold; Madame ob-
served her uncomfortable situation, and merely
laying down her handkerchief without taking off
her gloves, she put on the linen, and in doing so,
knocked the Queen's cap off. The Queen laughed
to conceal her impatience, but not until she had
muttered several times, '• How disagreeable ! how
tiresome ! "

All this etiquette, however inconvenient, was
suitable to the royal dignity, which expects to find
servants in all classes of persons, beginning even
with the brothers and sisters of the monarch.

Speaking here of etiquette, I do not allude to
majestic state, appointed for days of ceremony in

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98 Madame CAMPAN.

all Courts. I mean those minute ceremonies that
were pursued towards our Kings in their inmost
privacies, in their hours of pleasure, in those of
pain, and even during the most revolting of
human infirmities. These servile rules were drawn
up into a kind of code: they offered to a Richelieu,
a La Rochefoucauld, and a Duras, in the exercise
of their domestic functions, opportunities of in-
timacy useful to their interests ; and their vanity
was flattered by customs which converted the
right to give a glass of water, to put on a dress,
and to remove a basin, into honorable preroga-
tives. ...

This sort of etiquette, which led our Princes to
be treated in private as idols, made them in public
martyrs to decorum, Mario Antoinette found in
the Chateau of Versailles a multitude of established
customs which appeared to her insupportable. . . .
One of the customs most disagreeable to the Queen
was that of dining every day in public. Maria
Leczinska [Queen of Louis XV.] had always sub-
mitted to this wearisome practice ; Marie Antoin-
ette followed it as long as she was Dauphiness.
The Dauphin dined with her, and each branch of
the family had its public dinner daily. The
ushers suffered all decently dressed people to
enter : the sight was the delight of persons from
the country. At the dinner-hour there were none
to be met upon the stairs but honest folk, who,
after having seen the Dauphiness take her soup,
went to see the Princes eat their bouilli, and theu
ran themselves out of breath to behold Mesdames
at their desert. — Private Life of Marie Antoinette.


The royal family occupied a small suit of apart-
ments consisting of four cells formerly belonging
to the ancient monastery of the Feuillans. In the
first were the men who had accompanied the
King : the Prince de Poix, the Baron d' Aubier,
M. de Saint Pardou, equerry to Madame Elizabeth,
MM. de Goguelat, de Chamilly, and de Hue*. In
the second we found the King ; he was having
his hair dressed ; he took two locks of it, and

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Madame CAMPAN. 09

gave one to my sister and one to me. We offered
to kiss his hand ; he opposed it, and embraced us
without saying anything. In the tliird was the
Queen, in bed. and in indescribable affliction. We
found her accompanied only by a stout woman,
who appeared tolerably civil ; she was the Keep-
er of the Apartments. She waited upon the Queen,
who as yet had none of her own people about her.
Her Majesty stretched out her arms to us, saying,
''Come, unfortunate women ; come and see one
still more unhappy than yourselves, since she
lias been the cause of all your misfortunes. We
are ruined," continued she, " we have arrived at
that point to which they have been leading us for
three years, through sill possible outrages; we
shall fall in this dreadful revolution, and many
others will perish after us. All have contributed
to bur downfall ; the reformers have urged it like
mad people, and others through ambition, for the
wildest Jacobin seeks wealth and office, and the
mob is eager for plunder. There is not one lover
of his country among all this infamous horde. The
emigrant party had their intrigues and schemes ;
foreigners sought to profit by the dissensions of
France ; every one had a share in our misfor-

The Dauphin came in with Madame and the
Marquise de Tourzel. On seeing them the Queen
said to me, " Poor children ! how heart-rending it
is, instead of handing down to them so fine an in-
heritance, to say it ends with us!" She after-
wards conversed with me about the Tuileries and
the persons who had fallen ; she condescended
also to mention the burning of my house. I looked
upon that loss as a mischance which ought not to
dwell upon her mind, and I told her so. . . I
asked the Queen what the ambassadors from
foreign Powers had done under existing circum-
stances ? She told me that they could do nothing ;
and that the wife of the English ambassador had
just given her a proof of the personal interest she
took in her welfare by sending her linen for her
son. I informed her that, in the pillaging of my

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100 Madame CAMPAN.

house, all my accounts with her had been thrown
into the Carrousel, and that every sheet of my
month's expenditure was signed by her, some-
times leaving four or five inches of blank paper
above her signature, a circumstance which
rendered me very uneasy, from an apprehension
that an improper use might be made of those sig-
natures. She desired me to demand admission to
the Committee of General Safety, and to make this
declaration there. I repaired thither instantly'
and found a deputy with whose name I have
never become acquainted. After hearing me he
said that lie would not receive my deposition;
that Marie Antoinette was now nothing more than
any other Frenchwoman ; and that if any of those
detached papers bearing her signature should be
misapplied, she would have, at a future period, a
right to make a complaint, and to support her
declaration by the facts which I had just related.
The Queen regretted having sent me, and feared
that she had, by her very caution, pointed out a
method of fabricating forgeries which might be
dangerous to her; then again she exclaimed, "My
apprehensions are as absurd as the step I made
you take. They need nothing more for our ruin ;
all has been told."

I still see in imagination, and shall always see,
that narrow cell at the Feuillans, hung with green
paper, that wretched couch whence the dethroned
Queen stretched out her arms to us, saying that
our misfortunes, of which she was the cause, in-
creased her own. There, for the last time, I saw
the tears, I heard the sobs of her whom high birth,
natural endowments, and, above all, goodness of
heart, had seemed to destine to adorn any throne,
and be the happiness of any people ! It is impos-
sible for those who lived with Louis XVI. and
Marie Antoinette not to be fully convinced, while
doing justice to the King's virtues, that if the
Queen had been from the moment of her arrival
in France the object of the care and affection of a
Prince of decision and authority, she would have
only added to the glory of his reign. — Private Ltft
of Marie Antoinette.

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CAMPBELL, Alexander, an American
theologian and author, born in Ireland, in
1785, died in Pennsylvania, in 1866. He was
educated at Glasgow University, and, in 1809,
emigrated to America, following his father, a
minister of the Secession church of Ireland,
who, two years earlier, had settled in Western
Pennsylvania. The theological views of both
father and son had changed, and in 1809 they
withdrew from the Seceders, and founded a
new Society, whose solo guide and rule of
faith should be the Bible. Of this society,
now known as the " Disciples of Christ," or
* ' Cauiphellites, " Alexander was the first min-
ister. The remainder of his life was spent in
disseminating his views. He travelled much
in the South and Southwest, preaching, arid
debating in public with his opponents. In
1823, he established a monthly magazine, first
entitled the Christian Baptist, and after-
wards the Millennial Harbinger, which ex-
tended to fqrty-qne volumes and to which Mr.
pampbell was a prolific contributor. He was

Online LibraryThomas Patrick HughesAlden's cyclopedia of universal literature: presenting biographical and ... → online text (page 8 of 38)