Chapter 2

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 was lonely. 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 him do 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 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.

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.

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 it not?” “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.
See there, 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—the
independence 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 and dear 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 arm
yourselves, 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!”