Note.
Under severe affliction I cannot make up this sheet as I wish. This day week my second son was brought home with his scull fractured. To-day intelligence has arrived to me of the death of my eldest son.
The necessity I have been under of submitting recently to a surgical operation on myself, with a long summer of sickness to every member of my family, and accumulated troubles of earlier origin, and of another nature, have prevented me too often from satisfying the wishes of readers, and the claims of Correspondents. I crave that they will be pleased to receive this, as a general apology, in lieu of particular notices, and in the stead of promises to effect what I can no longer hope to accomplish, and forbear to attempt.
W. Hone. December 12, 1827.
WINTER FLOWERS.
Chrysanthemum Indicum.
To the Editor.
Sir,—While the praises of our wild, native, simple flowers, the primrose, the violet, the blue bell, and daisy, as well as the blossoms of the hawthorn, wild rose, and honey-suckle, have been said and sung in many a pleasant bit of prose and verse in the pages of your extra-ordinary Every-Day Book, as connected with the lively descriptions given therein of many a rural sport and joyous pastime, enjoyed by our forefathers and foremothers of the “olden time,” particularly in that enlivening and mirth-inspiring month, sweet May; when both young and old feel a renovation of their health and spirits, and hail the return of sunshine, verdure, and flowers; permit me to call the attention of such of your readers as are fond of flowers (and there is no one, who has “music in his soul” and a taste for poetry, that is not) to that highly interesting plant, the Indian Chrysanthemum, which serves, by its gay blossoms, to cheer the gloom, and enliven the sadness of those dreary months, November and December.
Since the introduction of the Camellia and the Dahlia, I know of no plant that produces so striking an effect upon the sight as the Chrysanthemum. We have now about forty distinct varieties of it in the country, for the greater part of which we are indebted to the London Horticultural Society. Many of the flowers are much larger than the largest full-blown Provence rose, highly aromatic, and of extremely bright, vivid, and varied colours; as white, yellow, copper, red, and purple, of all the different gradations of tint, and several of those colours mixed and blended. Some very fine specimens of this flower have been exhibited at the society’s rooms and greenhouse. Nothing, in my opinion, could equal their beauty and splendour; not even the well-known collection of carnations and foreign picotées of my neighbour, Mr. Hogg, the florist.
This flower gives a very gay appearance to the conservatory and the greenhouse at this season of the year, when there is hardly another in blossom; and it may also be introduced into the parlour and drawing-room; for it flowers freely in small sized pots of forty-eight and thirty-two to the cast, requires no particular care, is not impatient of cold, and is easily propagated by dividing the roots, or by cuttings placed under a hand-glass in the months of May or June, which will bloom the following autumn, for it is prodigal of its flowers; the best method is to leave only one flowering stem in a pot.
The facility with which it is propagated will always make the price moderate, and render it attainable by any one; there is much dissimilarity in the form of the flowers, as well as in the formation of the petals—some flowers are only half spread, and have the appearance of tassels, while others are expanded fully, like the Chinese aster; some petals are quilled, some half quilled, some are flat and lanceolated, some crisped and curled, and others are in an imbricated form, decreasing in length towards the centre. There is also some variation in their time of flowering, some come much earlier than others.
This plant is not a stranger to the country, for it was introduced about thirty-five years ago; but the splendid varieties, of which I am speaking, are new, having been brought hither, mostly from China, by the Horticultural Society within these four or five years; and as the society has made a liberal distribution of plants and cuttings to the different nurserymen and florists round London, who are members thereof, they can now be easily obtained. There is little chance of its ever ripening its seed, from its coming into flower at the commencement of winter, so that we can only look for fresh varieties from India or China.
In conclusion, I will just note down a few that particularly engaged my attention, namely:—
The pure or large paper white.
The large white, with yellow tinged flowerets, or petals round the disk or centre.
The early blush.
The golden lotus.
The superb clustered yellow.
The starry purple.
The bright red, approaching to scarlet.
And the brown, red, and purple blended.
I remain, sir, &c.
Jerry Blossom.
Paddington,
December.
Garrick Plays.
No. XLIV.
[From “Blurt, Master Constable:” a Comedy by T. Middleton, 1602.]
Lover kept awake by Love.
Ah! how can I sleep? he, who truly loves,
Burns out the day in idle fantasies;
And when the lamb bleating doth bid good night
Unto the closing day, then tears begin
To keep quick time unto the owl, whose voice
Shrieks like the bellman in the lover’s ears:
Love’s eye the jewel of sleep oh! seldom wears.
The early lark is waken’d from her bed,
Being only by Love’s plaints disquieted;
And singing in the morning’s ear she weeps,
Being deep in love, at Lovers’ broken sleeps.
But say a golden slumber chance to tie
With silken strings the cover of Love’s eye;
Then dreams, magician-like, mocking present
Pleasures, whose fading leaves more discontent.
Violetta comes to seek her Husband at the house of a Curtizan.
Violetta.—Imperia, the Curtizan.
Vio. By your leave, sweet Beauty, pardon my excuse, which sought entrance into this house: good Sweetness, have you not a Property here, improper to your house; my husband?
Imp. Hah! your husband here?
Vio. Nay, be as you seem to be, White Dove, without gall. Do not mock me, fairest Venetian. Come, I know he is here. I do not blame him, for your beauty gilds over his error. ’Troth, I am right glad that you, my Countrywoman, have received the pawn of his affections. You cannot be hardhearted, loving him; nor hate me, for I love him too. Since we both love him, let us not leave him, till we have called home the ill husbandry of a sweet Straggler. Prithee, good wench, use him well.
Imp. So, so, so—
Vio. If he deserve not to be used well (as I’d be loth he should deserve it), I’ll engage myself, dear Beauty, to thine honest heart: give me leave to love him, and I’ll give him a kind of leave to love thee. I know he hears me. I prithee try my eyes, if they know him; that have almost drowned themselves in their own saltwater, because they cannot see him. In troth, I’ll not chide him. If I speak words rougher than soft kisses, my penance shall be to see him kiss thee, yet to hold my peace.
Good Partner, lodge me in thy private bed;
Where, in supposed folly, he may end
Determin’d Sin. Thou smilest. I know thou wilt.
What looseness may term dotage,—truly read,
Is Love ripe-gather’d, not soon withered.
Imp. Good troth, pretty Wedlock, thou makest my little eyes smart with washing themselves in brine. I mar such a sweet face!—and wipe off that dainty red! and make Cupid toll the bell for your love-sick heart!—no, no, no—if he were Jove’s own ingle Ganymede—fie, fie, fie—I’ll none. Your Chamber-fellow is within. Thou shalt enjoy him.
Vio. Star of Venetian Beauty, thanks!
[From “Hoffman’s Tragedy, or Revenge for a Father,” 1631. Author Unknown.]
The Sons of the Duke of Saxony run away with Lucibel, the Duke of Austria’s Daughter.—The two Dukes, in separate pursuit of their children, meet at the Cell of a Hermit: in which Hermit, Saxony recognises a banished Brother; at which surprised, all three are reconciled.
Austria. That should be Saxon’s tongue.
Saxony. Indeed I am the Duke of Saxony.
Austria. Then thou art father to lascivious sons,
That have made Austria childless.
Saxony. Oh subtle Duke,
Thy craft appears in framing the excuse.
Thou dost accuse my young sons’ innocence.
I sent them to get knowledge, learn the tongues,
Not to be metamorphosed with the view
Of flattering Beauty—peradventure painted.
Austria. No, I defy thee, John of Saxony.
My Lucibel for beauty needs no art;
Nor, do I think, the beauties of her mind
Ever inclin’d to this ignoble course,
But by the charms and forcings of thy sons.
Saxony. O would thou would’st maintain thy words, proud Duke!
Hermit. I hope, great princes, neither of you dare
Commit a deed so sacrilegious.
This holy Cell
Is dedicated to the Prince of Peace.
The foot of man never profan’d this floor;
Nor doth wrath here with his consuming voice
Affright these buildings. Charity with Prayer,
Humility with Abstinence combined,
Are here the guardians of a grieved mind.
Austria. Father, we obey thy holy voice.
Duke John of Saxony, receive my faith;
Till our ears hear the true course, which thy sons
Have taken with me fond and misled child,
I proclaim truce. Why dost thou sullen stand?
If thou mean peace, give me thy princely hand.
Saxony. Thus do I plight thee truth, and promise peace.
Austria. Nay, but thy eyes agree not with thy heart.
In vows of combination there’s a grace,
That shews th’ intention in the outward face.
Look chearfully, or I expect no league.
Saxony. First give me leave to view awhile the person
Of this Hermit.—Austria, view him well.
Is he not like my brother Roderic?
Austria. He’s like him. But I heard, he lost his life
Long since in Persia by the Sophy’s wars.
Hermit. I heard so much, my Lord. But that report
Was purely feign’d; spread by my erring tongue,
As double as my heart, when I was young.
I am that Roderic, that aspired thy throne;
That vile false brother, that with rebel breath,
Drawn sword, and treach’rous heart, threaten’d your death.
Saxony. My brother!—nay then i’ faith, old John lay by
Thy sorrowing thoughts; turn to thy wonted vein,
And be mad John of Saxony again.
Mad Roderic, art alive?—my mother’s son,
Her joy, and her last birth!—oh, she conjured me
To use thee thus; [embracing him] and yet I banish’d thee.—
Body o’ me! I was unkind, I know;
But thou deservd’st it then: but let it go.
Say thou wilt leave this life, thus truly idle,
And live a Statesman; thou shalt share in reign,
Commanding all but me thy Sovereign.
Hermit. I thank your Highness; I will think on it
But for my sins this sufferance is more fit.
Saxony. Tut, tittle tattle, tell not me of sin.—
Now, Austria, once again thy princely hand:
I’ll look thee in the face, and smile; and swear.
If any of my sons have wrong’d thy child,
I’ll help thee in revenging it myself.
But if, as I believe, they mean but honour,
(As it appeareth by these Jousts proclaim’d),
Then thou shalt be content to name[506] him thine,
And thy fair daughter I’ll account as mine.
Austria. Agreed.
Saxony. Ah, Austria! ’twas a world, when you and I
Ran these careers; but now we are stiff and dry.
Austria. I’m glad you are so pleasant, good my Lord.
Saxony. ’Twas my old mood: but I was soon turn’d sad,
With over-grieving for this long lost Lad,—
And now the Boy is grown as old as I;
His very face as full of gravity.
C. L.
[506] By one of the Duke’s sons (her Lover) in honour of Lucibel.
Discoveries
OF THE
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. XV.
Ancient Surgery.
Mr. Bernard, principal surgeon to king William, affirms respecting ancient surgical skill as follows:—
There is no doubt but the perfection to which surgery has been carried in these last ages, is principally owing to the discoveries which have been made in anatomy. But the art of curing wounds, to which all the other parts ought to give way, remains almost in the same state in which the ancients transmitted it to us.
Celsus and other ancients have described a mode of operating for the stone, although it must be owned that a method, deserving the preference in many respects, and known by the name of magnus apparatus or the grand operation, was the invention of Johannes de Romanis, of Cremona, who lived at Rome in the year 1520, and published his work at Venice in 1535. The instrument that we make use of in trepanning was doubtless first used by the ancients, and only rendered more perfect by Woodall and Fabricius. Tapping, likewise, is in all respects an invention of theirs. Laryngotomy, or the opening of the larynx in the quinsey, was practised by them with success; an operation which, though safe and needful, is out of use at present. Galen, in particular, supported by reason, experience, and the authority of Asclepiades, justly applauds it as the ultimate resource in the case of a quinsey. Hernia intestalis, with the distinguishing differences of the several species of that malady, and their method of cure, are exactly described by the ancients. They also cured the pterygion and cataract, and treated the maladies of the eye as judiciously as modern oculists. The opening of an artery and of the jugular vein is no more a modern invention, than the application of the ligature in the case of an aneurism, which was not well understood by Frederic Ruysch, the celebrated anatomist of Holland. The extirpation of the amygdales, or of the uvula, is not at all a late invention, though it must be owned the efficacious cauteries now used in the case of the former, were neither practised nor known by the ancients. The method we now use of treating the fistula lacrymalis, a cure so nice and difficult, is precisely that of the ancients, with the addition that Fabricius made of the cannula for applying the cautery. As to the real caustic, which makes a considerable article in surgery, although Costeus, Fienus, and Severinus have written amply on that subject, yet it is evident from a single aphorism of Hippocrates, that this great physician knew the use of it as well as those who have come after him: and besides, it is frequently spoken of in the writings of all the other ancients, who without doubt used it with great success in many cases where we have left it off, or know not how to apply it. The cure of the varices by incision appears, from the works of Celsus and Paulus Eginetus, to have been a familiar practice among the ancients. The ancients describe the mode of curing the polypus of the ear, a malady little understood by the moderns. They were likewise well acquainted with all kind of fractures and luxations, and the means of remedying them; as well as with all the sorts of sutures in use among us, besides many we have lost. The various amputations of limbs, breasts, &c. were performed among them as frequently and with as great success as we can pretend to. As to the art of bandaging, the ancients knew it so well, and to such a degree of perfection, that we have not added any thing considerable to what Galen taught in his excellent tract on that subject. As to remedies externally applied, we are indebted to them for having instructed us in the nature and properties of those we now use; and in general methods of cure, particularly of wounds of the head, the moderns, who have written most judiciously upon it, thought they could do no better service to posterity, than comment upon that admirable book which Hippocrates wrote on this subject.
Ancient Chemistry.
It is agreed almost by all, that chemistry was first cultivated in Egypt, the country of Cham, of whom it is supposed primarily to have taken its name, Χημεῑα, Chemia, sive Chamia, the science of Cham. Tubal-Cain, and those who with him found out the way of working in brass and iron, must have been able chemists; for it was impossible to work upon these metals, without first knowing the art of digging them out of the mine, of excavating them, and of refining and separating them from the ore.
Potable Gold.
From the story of the golden fleece, the golden apples that grew in the gardens of the Hesperides, and the reports of Manethon and Josephus with relation to Seth’s pillars, deductions have been made in favour of the translation of metals; but to come to real and established facts, it appears that Moses broke the golden calf, reduced it into powder, to be mingled with water, and gave it to the Israelites to drink: in one word, he rendered gold potable.
It was objected within a century, that this operation was impracticable, and by some it was affirmed as having been impossible. But the famous Joel Langelotte affirms in his works, that gold may be entirely dissolved by attrition alone; and the ingenious Homberg assures us, that by pounding for a long while certain metals, and even gold itself, in plain water, those bodies have been so entirely dissolved as to become potable. Frederic III., king of Denmark, being curious to ascertain the fact, engaged some able chemists of his time to attempt it. After many trials they at last succeeded, but it was in following the method of Moses; by first of all reducing the gold into small parts by means of fire, and then pounding it in a mortar with water, till it was so far dissolved as to become potable. This fact is unquestionable; and probably Moses, who was instructed in all the learning of the Egyptians, became acquainted with the method from that ancient and erudite people, from whom the most eminent philosophers of Greece derived their knowledge.
Mummies.
The art of embalming bodies, and of preserving them for many ages, never could have been carried so far as it was by the Egyptians, without the greatest skill in chemistry. Yet all the essays to restore it have proved ineffectual; reiterated analyses of mummies have failed to discover the ingredients of which they were composed. There were also, in those mummies of Egypt, many things besides, which fall within the verge of chemistry: such as their gilding,[507] so very fresh, as if it were but of fifty years’ standing; and their stained silk, vivid in its colours at the end of three thousand years. In the British Museum there is a mummy covered all over with fillets of granulated glass, various in colour, which shows that at that time they understood not only the making of glass, but could paint it to their liking. These glass ornaments are tinged with the same colours, and set off in the same taste, as the dyes in which almost all other mummies are painted.
Painting on Cloth.
Their manner of painting upon linen was, by first drawing upon it the outlines of the design, and then filling each compartment of it with different sorts of gums, proper to absorb the various colours; so that none of them could be distinguished from the whiteness of the cloth. They then dipped it for a moment in a caldron full of boiling liquor prepared for the purpose; and drew it thence, painted in all the colours they intended. These colours neither decayed by time, nor moved in the washing; the caustic impregnating the liquor wherein it was dipped, having penetrated and fixed every colour intimately through the whole contexture of the cloth.
Imitation of Precious Stones.
The preceding instance is sufficient to prove that chemistry had made great progress among the Egyptians. History affords similar instances of extraordinary attainment by this wonderful people, who were so ingenious and industrious, that even their lame, blind, and maimed were in constant employment. With all this, they were so noble-minded, as to inscribe their discoveries in the arts and sciences upon pillars reared in holy places, in order to omit nothing that might contribute to the public utility. The emperor Adrian attests this in a letter to the consul Servianus, upon presenting him with three curious cups of glass, which, like a pigeon’s neck, reflected, on whatever side they were viewed, a variety of colours, representing those of the precious stone called obsidianum, and which some commentators have imagined to be cat’s-eye, and others the opal. In this art of imitating precious stones, the Greeks, who derived their knowledge from the Egyptians, were also very skilful. They could give to a composition of crystal all the different tints of any precious stone they wanted to imitate. They remarkably excelled in an exact imitation of the ruby, the hyacinth, the emerald, and the sapphire.
Gold—Nitre—Artificial Hatching, &c.
Diodorus Siculus says, that some of the Egyptian kings had the art of extracting gold from a sort of white marble. Strabo reports their manner of preparing nitre, and mentions the considerable number of mortars of granite, for chemical purposes, that were to be seen in his time at Memphis. They likewise, by artificial means, hatched the eggs of hens, geese, and other fowls, at all seasons.
Medical Chemistry.
Egyptian pharmacy depended much upon chemistry; witness their extracted oils, and their preparations of opium, for alleviating acute pains, or relieving the mind from melancholy thoughts. Homer introduces Helen as ministering to Telemachus a medical preparation of this kind. They also made a composition or preparation of clay or fuller’s earth, adapted to the relief of many disorders, particularly where it was requisite to render the fleshy parts dry, as in dropsy, &c. They had different methods of composing salts, nitre, and alum, sal cyrenaïc or ammoniac, so called from being found in the environs of the temple of Jupiter Ammon. They made use of the litharge of silver, the rust of iron, and calcined alum, in the cure of ulcers, cuts, boils, defluctions of the eyes, pains of the head, &c.; and of pitch against the bite of serpents. They successfully applied caustics. They knew every different way of preparing plants, or herbs, or grain, whether for medicine or beverage. Beer, in particular, had its origin among them. Their unguents were of the highest estimation, and most lasting; and their use of remedies, taken from metallic substances, is so manifest in the writings of Pliny and Dioscorides, that it would be needless, and indeed tedious, to enter upon them. The latter especially often mentions their metallic preparations of burnt lead, ceruse, verdigrise, and burnt antimony, for plasters and other external applications.
All these chemical preparations the Egyptians were acquainted with in their pharmacy. The subsequent practice of the Greeks and Romans presents a field too vast to be observed on. Hippocrates, the contemporary and friend of Democritus, was remarkably assiduous in the cultivation of chemistry. He not only understood its general principles, but was an adept in many of its most useful parts. Galen knew that the energy of fire might be applied to many useful purposes; and that, by the instrumentality of it, many secrets in nature were to be discovered, which otherwise must for ever lie hid; and he instances this in several places of his works. Dioscorides has transmitted to us many of the mineral operations of the ancients, and in particular that of extracting quicksilver from cinnabar; which is, in effect, an exact description of distillation.
[507] The ancients also understood gilding with beaten, or water gold.—Æs inaurari argento vivo, legitimum erat. Plin. Hist. Natur. lib. xxxiii. c. 3. Vitruv. lib. vii. c. 8.
For the Table Book.
TALES OF TINMOUTHE PRIORIE.
No. II.
THE WIZARD’S CAVE.
“Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds
Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.
And when they shewed me this abhorred pit,
They told me, here, at dead time of night,
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,
Would make such fearful and confused cries,
As any mortal body, hearing it,
Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.”
Titus Andronicus.
Young Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight,
Far fam’d for his valour in border-fight,
Sat prattling so sweet on his mother’s knee,
As his arms twin’d her neck of pure ivory.
Now tell me, dear mother, young Walter said,
Some feat to be done by the bow or the blade,
Where foe may be quell’d or some charm be undone;
Or lady, or treasure, or fame may be won.
The lady, she gaz’d on her war-born child,
And smooth’d down his ringlets, and kiss’d him, and smil’d;
And she told him high deeds of the Percy brave,
Where the lance e’er could pierce, or the helm-plume wave.
And she told wild tales, all of magic spell,
Where treasures were hidden in mountain or dell;
Where wizards, for ages, kept beauty in thrall
’Neath the mould’ring damp of their dank donjon wall.
———But list thee, my Walter, by Tinmouthe’s towers grey,
Where chant the cowl’d monks all by night and by day;
In a cavern of rock scoop’d under the sea,
Lye treasures in keeping of Sorcery.
It avails not the Cross, ever sainted and true,
It avails not the pray’rs of the prior Sir Hugh,
It avails not, O dread! Holy Virgin’s care,
Great treasure long held by dark Sathan is there.
Far, far ’neath the sea, in a deep rocky cell,
Bound down by the chains of the strongest spell,
Lies the key of gold countless as sands on the shore,
And there it will rest ’till old time is no more.
Nay, say not so, mother, can heart that is bold
Not win from the fiend all this ill-gotten gold?
Can no lion-soul’d knight, with his harness true,
Do more than cowl’d monks with their beads e’er can do?
Now hush thee young Walter, how like to thy sire!
Thy heart is too reckless, thine eye full of fire:
When reason with courage can help thee in need,
I will tell how the treasure from spell may be freed.
Full many a long summer with scented breath,
Saw the flowers blossom wild on the north mountain heath;
And the fleetest in chase and the stoutest in fight,
Grew young Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight.
Full many a long winter of sleet and of snow,
Swept through the cold valleys where pines only grow;
But heedless of sleet, snow, or howling blast,
Young Walter e’er brav’d them, the first and the last.
Who is that young knight in the Percy’s band?
Who wieldeth the falchion with master hand?
Who strideth the war-steed in border fight?
——’Tis Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight!
Thy promise, dear mother, I claim from thee now,
When my reason can act with my blade and my bow;
But the lady she wept o’er bold Walter her son,
For peril is great where renown can be won.
And the lady she told what to brave knights befell,
Who reckless of life sought the dark treasure cell;
Who failing to conquer the fiends of the cave,
For ever must dwell ’neath the green ocean wave.
No tears the bold bent of young Walter could turn,
And he laugh’d at her fears, as in veriest scorn—
—— Then prepare thy good harness, my bonny brave son,
Prepare for thy task on the eve of Saint John.
O loud was the green ocean’s howling din,
When the eve of Saint John was usher’d in:
And the shrieks of the sea-gulls, high whirling in air,
Spread far o’er the land like the screams of despair.
The monks at their vespers sing loud and shrill,
But the gusts of the north wind are louder still
And the hymn to the Virgin is lost in the roar
Of the billows that foam on the whiten’d shore.
Deep sinks the mail’d heel of the knight in the sand,
As he seeks the dark cell, arm’d with basnet and brand;
And clank rings the steel of his aventayle bright,
As he springs up the rocks in the darkness of night.
His plume it is raven and waves o’er his crest,
And quails not the heart-blood that flows in his breast:
Unblenched his proud eye that shines calm and serene,
And floats in the storm his bright mantel of green.
Now leaping, now swarving the slipp’ry steep,
One spring and the knight gains the first cavern keep;
The lightnings flash round him with madd’ning glare,
And the thunderbolts hiss through the midnight air.
Down deep in the rock winds the pathway drear,
And the yells of the spirits seem near and more near,
And the flames from their eye-balls burn ghastly blue
As they dance round the knight with a wild halloo.
Fierce dragons with scales of bright burnished brass,
Stand belching red fire where the warrior must pass;
But rushes he on with his brand and his shield,
And with loud shrieks of laughter they vanish and yield.
Huge hell-dogs come baying with murd’rous notes,
Sulphureous flames in their gaping throats;
And they spring to, but shrinks not, brave Walter the Knight,
And again all is sunk in the darkness of night.
Still down winds the warrior in pathway of stone,
Now menac’d with spirits, now dark and alone;
Till far in the gloom of the murky air
A pond’rous lamp sheds unearthly glare.
Then eager the knight presses on to the flame,
Holy mother!—Why shudders his stalwart frame?
A wide chasm opes ’neath his wond’ring view,
And now what availeth his falchion true.
Loudly the caverns with laughter ring,
And the eyeless spectres forward spring:
Now shrive thee young Walter, one moment of fear,
And thy doom is to dwell ’neath the ocean drear.
One instant Sir Walter looks down from the brink
Of the bottomless chasm, then ceases to shrink;
Doffs hauberk and basnet, full fearless and fast,
And darts like an eagle the hell-gulf past.
Forefend thee, good knight, but the demon fell
Now rises to crush thee from nethermost hell;
And monsters most horrible hiss thee around,
And coil round thy limbs from the slimy ground.
A noise, as if worlds in dire conflict crash,
Is heard ’mid the vast ocean’s billowy splash;
But it quails not the heart of Sir Robert’s brave son,
He will conquer the fiend on the eve of Saint John.
He seizes the bugle with golden chain,
To sound it aloud once, twice, and again;
It turns to a snake in his startled grasp,
And its mouthpiece is arm’d with the sting of the asp.
In vain is hell’s rage, strike fierce as it may
The Wizard well knows ’tis the end of his sway;
For the bugle is fill’d with the warrior’s breath,
And thrice sounded loud in the caverns of death.
The magic cock crows from a brazen bill,
And it shakes its broad wings, as it shouts so shrill
And down sinks in lightning the demon array,
And the gates of the cavern in thunder give way.
Twelve pillars of jasper their columns uprear,
Twelve stately pillars of crystal clear,
With topaz and amethyst, sparkles the floor,
And the bright beryls stud the thick golden door.
Twelve golden lamps, from the fretted doom,
Shed a radiant light through the cavern gloom,
Twelve altars of onyx their incense fling
Round the jewell’d throne of an eastern king.
It may not be sung what treasures were seen,
Gold heap’d upon gold, and emeralds green,
And diamonds, and rubies, and sapphires untold,
Rewarded the courage of Walter the Bold.
A hundred strong castles, a hundred domains,
With far spreading forests and wide flowery plains,
Claim one for their lord, fairly purchas’d by right,
Hight Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight.
The tradition of the “Wizard’s Cave” is as familiar to the inhabitants and visitors of Tynemouth, as “household words.” Daily, during the summer season, even fair damsels are seen risking their slender necks, to ascertain, by adventurous exploration, whether young Walter the knight might not, in his hurry, have passed over some of the treasures of the cave: but alas! Time on this, as on other things, has laid his heavy hand; for the falling in of the rock and earth, and peradventure the machinations of the discomfited “spirits,” have, one or both, stopped up the dark passage of the cavern at the depth of ten or twelve feet. The entrance of the cave, now well known by the name of “Jingling Geordie’s Hole,” is partly formed by the solid rock and partly by masonry, and can be reached with some little danger about half way up the precipitous cliff on which Tynemouth castle and priory stand. It commands a beautiful haven, or sandy bay, on the north of Tynemouth promontory, badly sheltered on both sides by fearful beds of black rocks, on which the ocean beats with a perpetual murmur.
London, Dec. 4, 1827. Αλφα