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Nor cause for such: they call'd me inad--and why? Thy brother hates—but I can not detest,
Thou pitiest not-but I can not forsake.
Look on a love which knows not to despair, Not less because I suffer it uubent.
But all unquench'd is still my better part, That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind,
Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind :
As dwells the gather'd lightning in its cloud, But let them go, or torture as they will,
Encompass'd with its dark and rolling shroud,
Till struck,--forth flies the all-ethereal dart! My heart can multiply thine image still; Successful love may sate itself away,
And thus at the collision of thy name The wretched are the faithful; 't is their fate
The vivid thought still flashes through my frame. To have all feeling save the one decay,
And for a moment all things as they were
Flit by me;—they are gone-I am the same. And every passion into one dilate, As rapid rivers into ocean pour;
And yet my love without ambition grew;
I knew thy state, my station, and I knew But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.
A princess was no love-mate for a bard;
I told it not, I breathed it not, it was
Sufficient to itself, its own reward;
And if my eyes reveal'd it, they, alas! Of minds and bodies in captivity.
Were punishi'd by the silentness of thine, And hark! the lash and the increasing howl,
And yet I did not venture to repine. And the half inarticulate blasphemy!
Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine, There be some bere with worse than frenzy foul, Worshipp'd at holy distance, and around Some who do still goad on the o'er-laboard mind, Hallow'd and meekly kiss'd the saintly ground; And dim the little light that's left behind
Not for thou wert a princess, but that love With needless torture, as their tyrant will
Had robed thee with a glory, and array'd Is wound up to the lust of doing ill:
Thy lineaments in beauty that dismay'dWith these and with their victims am I classid, Oh! not dismay'd-but awed, like One above; *Mid sounds and sights like these long years have passid ; And in that sweet severity there was *Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close : A something which all softuess did surpassSo let it be- for then I shall repose.
I know not how-thy genius master'd mine
My star stood still before thee:- if it were
l'resumptuous thus to love without design, I have been patient, let me be so yet;
That sad fatality hath cost me dear; I had forgotten half I would forget,
But thou art dearest still, and I should be But it revives--oh! would it were my lot
Fit for this cell, which wrongs me, but for thee. To be forgelful as I am forgot!~
The very love which lock'd me to my chain Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell
Hath lighten'd half its weight; and for the rest, In this vast lazar-house of many woes?
Though heavy, lent me vigour to sustain, Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind,
And look to thee with undivided breast,
And foil the ingenuity of pain.
It is no marvel-from my very birth
My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods ;- And mingle with whate' er I saw on earth ; While all can hear, none heed his neighbour's call- Of objects all inanimate I made None! save that One, the veriest wretch of all,
Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers, Who was not made to be the mate of these,
And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise, Nor bound between distraction and disease.
Where I did lay me down within the shade Feel I not wroth with those who placed me here? Of waving frees, and dream'd uncounted hours, Who have debased me in the minds of men, Though I was chid for wandering; and the wise Debarring me the usage of my own,
Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said Blighting my life in best of its career,
Of such materials wretched men were made, Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear? And such a truant boy would end in woe, Would I not pay them back these pangs again, And that the only lesson was a blow; And teach them inward sorrow's stilled groan? And then they smole me, and I did not weep, The struggle to be calm, and cold distress,
But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt Which undermines our stoical success ?
Return'd and wept alone, and dream'd again No!-still too proud to be viudictive-I
The visions which arise without a sleep. Hlave pardou'd princes' insults, and would die. And with my years my soul began to pant Yes, sister of my sovereign! for thy sake
With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain ; I weed all bitterness from out my breast
And the whole heart exhaled into one want, It hath no business where thou art a guest,
But undefined and wandering, till the day
I found the thing I sought--and that was thice ;
bier. What though he perish, he may lift his eye And with a dying glance upbraid the sky?-I will not raise my own in such reproof, Although it is clouded by my dungeon roof.
VIII. Yet do I feel at times my mind decline, But with a sense of its decay:-1 sce Lowonted lights alony my prison shine, And a strange demon, who is vexing me With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below The feeling of the healthful and the free; But much to one, who long hath suffer'd so, Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, And all that may be borne, or can debase. I thought mine enemies had been but man, But spirits may be leagued with them-all earila Abandons-Ileaven forgets me;-in the dearth Of such defence the powers of evil can, It may be, tempt me further, and prevail Against the outworn creature they assail. Why in this furnace is my spirit proved Like steel in tempering fire! because I loved ! Because I loved what not to love, and see, Was more or less than mortal, and than me.
IX. I once was quick in feeling-that is o'er ;My scars are callous, or I should have dashid My brain against these bars as the sun flash d In mockery through them ;-if I bear and bore The much I have recounted, and the more Which liath no words, 't is that I would not die And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame Stainp madness deep into my memory, And woo compassion to a blighted namne, Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim. No-it shall be immortal !-and I make A future temple of my present cell, Which nations yet shall visit for my
THE subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, the lou. D. Kinnaird, for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been published, with the music, arranged by Mr Brauam and Mr NATIAN.
And all that is best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow d 10 that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express llow pure,
low dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A heari whose love is innocent!
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. She walks in beauty, like the night
of cloudless cimes and starry skies,
But we must wander witheringly,
In other lands to die;
Our own may never lie:
THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT. Tue harp the monarch minstrel swept,
The king of men, the loved of Heaven, Which Music hallow'd while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given.
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven! It softend men of iron mould,
It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not, fired not to the tone,
Till David's lyre grew mightier than bis throne! It told the triumphs of our king,
It wafted glory to our God;
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode ! Since then, though heard on earth no more,
Devotion and her daughter Love
To sounds that seem as from above,
OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. On! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell Mourn—where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell ! And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet? And Judah's melody once more rejoice The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice? Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, How shall ye flee away and be at rest ! The wild-dove hath ber nest, the fox his cave, Mankind their country—Israel but the grave!
IF THAT HIGH WORLD. Ir that high world, which lies beyond
Our own, surviving love endears; If there the cherish d heart be fond,
The eye the same, except in tearsHow welcome those untrodden spheres !
How sweet this very hour to die ! To soar from earth, and find all fears
Lost in thy light-Eternity! It must be so: 't is not for self
That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulf,
Yet cling to being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think
To hold each heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink,
And soul in soul grow deathless theirs !
ON JORDAN'S BANKS. On Jordan's banks the Arabs' camels stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steepYet there-even there-Oh God! thy thunders sleep : There—where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone ! There-- where thy shadow to thy people shone! Thy glory shrouded in its carb of fire : Thyself -none living see and not expire! Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear! Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear : How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod? How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God!
THE WILD GAZELLE.
Exulting yet may bound,
That gush on holy ground;
May glance in tameless transport by: A step as fleet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah witness'd there; And o'er her scenes of lost delight
Inhabitants more fair.
Than Israel's scatter d race;
In solitary grace:
JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. Since our country, our God-Oh, my sire! Demand that thy daughter expire; Sioce thy triumph was bought by thy vowStrike the bosom that's bared for thee now! And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And the mountains bebold me no more : If the hand that I love lay me low, There cannot be pain in the blow! And of this, oh, my father ! be sureThat the blood of thy child is as pure As the blessing I beg ere it flow, And the last thought that soothes me below. Though the virgins of Salem lament, Be the judge and the hero unbent! I have won the great battle for thee, And my father and country are free! When this blood of thy giving hath gushd, When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd, Let my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died !
The triumphs of her chosen sop,
The slaughters of his sword! The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom he restored!
OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.
On! spatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
Shall sorrow lean her drooping head,
And lingering pause, and lightly tread,
Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away! we know that tears are vain,
That death or heeds nor hears distress :
Or make one mourner weep the less?
Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death! The generous blood that flowd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath :
Thy spirit on our breath :
Shall be the battle-word!
From virgin voices pour'd!
Thou shall not be deplored.
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.
MY SOUL IS DARK. My soul is dark. -Oh! quickly string
The barp 1 yet can brook to lear; And let thy gentle lingers tling
Jis meliing murmurs o'er minc ear. If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 'T will flow, and cease to burn my
brain : But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first: I tell thee, minstre), I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nurst,
And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 't is doom'd to know the worst,
And break at once-or yield to song.
I SAW THEE WEEP.
I saw thee weep-the big briclit tear
Camc o'er that cye of blue;
A violet dropping dew:
Beside thee ceased to shine,
That filled that glance of thine.
A deep and mellow dye, Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Cau banish from the sky,
Their own purr joy import;
That lightens o'er the licart.
Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the propliet's form appear. « Samuel, raise thy buried head!
king, behold the plantom seer!» Earth yawn'd; be stood the centre of a cloud: Light changed its huc, retiring from his shroud : Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye ; llis hand was withier'd and lis veins were dry; Ilis foot, iu bony whiteness, glitter'd there, Shrunken and sinewless, and ghasily bare : From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame. Like cavernd winds, the hollow accents came. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as fills the oak, At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.
my sleep disquieted ? Who is he that calls the dead? Kit thou, oli king? Behold, Bloodlessire these limbs, and cold : Such are mine; and such shall be Thine, to-morrow, when with me: Ere the coming day is done, Such shalt thou be, such thy son. Fare thee well, but for a day; Then we mix our mouldering clay. Thou, iby race, lic pale and low, Pierced by shafts of many a bow:
THY DAYS ARE DONE.
Tuy days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's straius record
And the falchion by thy side
Au age shall fleet like earthly year;
Ius years as moments shall endure. Away, a way, without a wing,
O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing,
Forgetting what it was to die.
* ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER.” Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine,
And health and youth possess'd me;
And lovely forms caress'd me;
And felt my soul grow tender;
Was mine of regal splendour.
Remembrance can discover,
Would lure me to live over.
Of pleasure unem bitter'd;
That galld not while it glitter'd.
And spells, is won from barming;
Oh! who hath power of charming?
Nor music's voice can lure it;
The soul that must endure it.
VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. Tue king was on his throne,
The satraps throng'd the hall;
O'er that high festival.
In Judah deemd divine-
The godless heathen's wine!
The fingers of a hand
Aud wrote as if on sand :
A solitary hand
And traced them like a wand. The monarch saw, and shook,
And bade no more rejoice; All bloodless wax'd his look,
Aud tremulous his voice. « Let the men of lore appear,
The wisest of the earth,
Which mar our royal mirth.» Chaldea's seers are good,
But here they have no skill ; And the unknown letters stood,
Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age
Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not safe,
They saw-but knew no more. A captive in the land,
A stranger and a youth, lle heard the king's command,
He saw ibat writing's truth. The lamps around were bright,
The prophecy in view; He read it on that night,
The morrow proved it true. « Belshazzar's grave is made,
His kingdom pass'd away; He, in the balance weighid,
Is light and worthless clay. The shroud, his robe of state,
His canopy, the stone; The Mede is at his gale!
The Persian on his throne »
WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING
Ah, whither strays the immortal mind?
But leaves its darkeu'd dust behind.
By steps each planet's heavenly way?
A thing of eyes, that all survey!
A thought unseen, but seeing all,
Shall it survey, shall it recal:
So darkly of departed years,
And all, that was, at once appears.
Its eye shall roll through chaos back :
The spirit trace its rising track.
Ils glance dilate o'er all to be,
Fix'd in its own eternity.
It lives all passionless and pure :
SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS! Sun of the sleepless ! melancholy star! Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,