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That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU
DEEMST IT TO BE.
. If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee! If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free! If the exile on earth is an outcast on high, Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die. I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow, As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know; In his hand is my heart and my hope-and in thine The land and the life which for him I resign.
HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE.
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee
The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding; Revenge is lost in agony,
And wild remorse to rage succeeding. Oh, Mariamne! where art thou ?
Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading : Ah, couldst thou-thou wouldst pardon now,
Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding. And is she dead ?--and did they dare
Obey my frenzy's jealous raving?
The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving: But thou art cold, my murder d love!
And this dark heart is vainly craving For her who soars alone above,
And leaves my soul unworthy saving. She's gone, who shared
diadem! She sunk, with her my joys entombing : I swept that flower from Judali's stem
Whose leaves for me alone were blooming. And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,
This boson's desolation dooming: And I have earn'd those tortures well,
Which unconsumed are still consuming
On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN
Of Babel, and thought of the day
Made Salem's higle places his prey;
Were scatter'd all weeping away.
Which roll'd on in freedorn below,
That triumph the stranger shall know!
Erc it string our high harp for the foe!
Ob Salem! its sound should be free;
But left me that token of thee :
With the voice of the spoiler by me!
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold: And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That lost with their banners at sunset were seen : Like the leaves of the forest whieu autumn hath blosa, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, Aud breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the
eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chull, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew sull. And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, liut Girough it there roll'd not the breath of his pride And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, ind cold as the spray of the rock-bearing surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew ou bois brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trunpet uablowa. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the swort. liath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord'
ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF
JERUSALEM BY TITTS.
From the last bill that looks on thy once holy dome
FROM JOB. A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld The face of immortality unveild; Deep sleep came down on every eye save mineAnd there it stood, -all formless—but divine · Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake; And as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake :
« Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
• Expende Annibalem :--quot libras in duce summo Invenies !
JUVEXAL, Sat. X.
• The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the Italians, and by the provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues and military talents were loudly celebrated ; and those who derived any private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains the restoration of publie felicity.
By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very ambiguous state, between an emperor and an exile, till
GIBBON'S Decline and Fall, vol. vi, p. 220.
ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 'T is done—but yesterday a king!
And arm d with kings to striveAnd now thou art a nameless thing
So abject-yet alive!
And can he thus survive?
Who bow'd so low the knee?
Thou taught'st the rest to see.
To those that worshipp'd thee;
To after-warriors more
And vainly preachid before.
That led them to adore
The triumph, and the vanity,
The rapture of the strife-
To thee the breath of life;
Wherewith renown was rife ---
The victor overthrown! The arbiter of others' fate
A suppliant for his own!
Or dread of death alone ?
Dream'd not of the rebound;
Alone- how look'd be round ?-
And darker fate hast found:
Was slaked with blood of Rome, Threw down the dagger-dared depart,
In savage grandeur, home.
Yet left him such a doom!
Had lost its quickening spell,
An empire for a cell;
His dotage trifled well :
"Certaminis gaudia, the expression of Attila, in bis barangae to his army, previous 10 the battle of Chalons, given in Cassiodorus.
Milo. 1 Sylla. 4 Cbarles V.
Yet better liad he neither known
The thunderbolt is wrungi
To which thy weakness clung:
To see thine own unstrung;
Who thus can hoard his own!
And thank'd him for a throne !
In humblest guise have shown.
Nor written thus in vain
Or deepen every stain.
To share the world again
Is vile as vulgar clay;
To all that pass away;
To dazzle and dismay;
Thy still imperial bride;
Still clings she to thy side ?
Thou throneless liomicide?
And yaze upon the sea;
It neer was ruled by thee!
That carth is now as free!
What thoughts will there be thine,
But onc--«The world was mine.»
Unless, like he of Babylon,
Life will not long confine
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
Nis vulture and his rock?
The very fiend's arch mock;?
DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAS,
SPOKEN AT DRCRY-LANE TIIEATRE.
WIEN the last sun-shine of expiring day
away, Who hath not felt the softness of the hour Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower? With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes, While Nature makes that melancholy pause Her breathing inoment on the bridge where Time Of light and darkocss forms ao arch sublime, Who hath not shared that calm so still and deep, The voiceless thought which would not speak but weer, A holy concord and a bright regret,
glorious sympathy with suns that set?
A deathless part of him who died too soon,
The fiend's arch mock-
The te of Rajazrt, ts order of Tamerlane.
When the loud cry of trampled flindostan'
Ye orators! whom yet our councils yield, Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man,
Mouro for the veteran hero of your field! His was the thunder-bis the avenging rod,
The worthy rival of the wondrous Three!
Whose words were sparks of immortality!
Ye men of wit and social eloquence!
He was your brother-bear his ashes hence! The matchless dialogue--the deathless wit,
While powers of mind almost of boundless range, Which knew not what it was to intermit;
Complete in kind-as various in their change, The glowing portraits, fresh from life that bring
While eloquence-wit--poesy—and mirth, Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring;
That humbler harmonist of care on earth, These wondrous beings of his fancy, wrought
Survive within our souls-while lives our sense To fulness by the fiat of his thought,
Of pride in merit's proud pre-eminence, Here in their first abode you still may meet,
Long shall we seek his likeness—long in vain, Bright with the hues of his Promethean heal;
And turn to all of him which may remain, A halo of the light of other days,
Sighing that Nature form d but one such map,
Ind broke the die-in moulding Sheridan!
THE IRISH AVATAR.
Ens the Daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave, Still let them pause-Ah! little do they know
And her ashes still float to their home o'er the tide, That what to them seem'd vice might be but woe.
Lo! George the triumphant speeds over the wave, Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze
To the long-cherish'd Isle which he loved like his-Is fix'd for ever to detract or praise;
bride. Repose denies her requiem to his name,
True, the great of her bright and brief era are gone, And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. The secret enemy whose sleepless eye
The rainbow-like epoch where Freedom could pause Stands sentinel-accuser-judge—and spy,
For the few little years, out of centuries won, The foe-the fool- the jealous—and the vain,
Which betray d not, or crush'd not, or wept not her The envious who but breathe in others' pain, Behold the host ! delighting to deprave,
True, the chains of the Catholic clank o'er his rags, Who track the steps of glory to the grave,
The castle still stands, and the senate 's no more, Watch every fault that daring genius owes
And the famine, which dwelt on her freedomless crags Walf to the ardour which its birth bestows,
Is extending its steps to her desolate shore.
To her desolate shore-where the emigrant stands These are his portion-but if join'd to these
For a moment to gaze ere he flies from his hearth; Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease,
Tears fall on his chain, though it drops from his hands, If the high spirit must forget to soar,
For the dungeon he quits is the place of his birth. And stoop to strive with misery at the door, To soothe indignity--and face to face
But he comes! the Messiah of royalty comes! Meet sordid rage--and wrestle with disgrace,
Like a goodly Leviathan rolla from the waves ! To find in hope but the renew'd caress,
Then receive him as best such an advent becomes, The serpent-fold of further faithlessness,
With a legion of cooks, and an army of slaves ! If such may be the ills wbich men assail,
He comes in the promise and bloom of three-score, What marvel if at last the mightiest fail?
To perform in the pageant the sovereign's partBreasts to whom all the strength of feeling given
But long live the Shamrock which shadows him o'er! Bear hearts electric-charged with fire from heaven,
Could the Green in his hat be transferr'd to his heart! Black with the rude collision, inly torn, By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne, Could that long-wither'd spot but be verdant again, Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst
And a new spring of noble affections ariseThoughts which have turn'd to thunder-scorch-and | Then might Freedom forgive thee this dance in thy chain, burst.
And this shout of thy slavery which saddens the skies. But far from us and from our mimic scene
Is it madness or meanness which clings to thee bow? Such things should be-if such have ever been;
Were he God--as he is but the commonest clay, Ours be the gender wish, the kinder task,
With scarce fewer wrinkles than sins on his browTo give the tribute Glory need not ask,
Such servile devotion might shame him away. To mourn the vanish'd beam- and add our mite of praise in payment of a long delight.
Ay, roar in his train! let thine orators lash Sce Fox, Barke, and Pitt's eulogy on Mr Sheridan's speech on the
Their fanciful spirits to pamper his pride-charges ohibited against Mr Hastings in the House of Commons. Not thus did thy GRATTAN indignantly flash Mr Pitt entreated the House to adjourn, to give time for a calmer
(lis soul o'er the freedom implored and denied. consideration of the question than could theu occur after tbe immediato effect of that oration.
Fox, Pitt, Barke.
Ever-glorious GRATTAN! the best of the good!
So simple in lieart, so sublime in the rest! With all which Demosthenes wanted, endued,
And his rival or victor in all lie possess'd.
when the Isle which should blush for his birth, Deep, deep, as the gore which he shed on her soil, Seems proud of the reptile which crawl from her earth,
And for murder repays him with shouts and a sinile!
The fancy, the manhood, the fire of her race-
If she ever gave birth to a being so base.
Ere Tully arose in the zenith of Rome,
Though unequall'd, preceded, the task was begun-
the first, last, the saviour, the One!
With the skill of an Orpheus to soften the brute; If she did - let her long-boasted proverb be hushid,
With the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankiud; Which proclaims that from ERIN no reprile can Eveu Tyranny listening sate inelied or mute,
springAnd Corruption shrunk scorch'd from the glance of See the cold-blooded serpent, with venom full flush d, his mind.
Still warming its folds in the breast of a king! But back to our theme! back to despots and slaves! Shout, drink, feast, and flatter! Oh! Erin, how los
Feasts furnishi'd by Famine! rejoicings by Pain! Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyranny, till True Freedom but welcomes, while slavery still raves, Thy welcome of tyralis hath plunged thee below
When a week's Saturnalia bath loosen'd her chain, The depth of thy deep in a deeper gulpla still. Let the poor squalid splendour thy wreck can afforit My vcice, though but humble, was raised for the righi, (As the bankrupt's profusion his ruin would bide;
My vote, as a freeman's, still voted thee free, Gild over the palace, Lo! Erin, thy lord!
This band, though but focble, would arm, in thy fight, Kiss his foot with thy blessings denied!
And this heart, though outworn, had a throb sull
for thee! Or if freedom past hope be extorted at last, If the Idol of Brass find his feet are of clay,
Yes, I loved thice and thinc, though thou art not my Must what terror or policy wring forth be class'd
land; With what monarchs ne'er give, but as wolves yicle I have known noble hearts and great souls in thy -00,
And I wept with the world o'er the patriot band Each brute hath its nature, a king's is to reign,
Who are gone, but I weep them no longer as once. To reign! in that word see, ye ages, coinpriscil For happy are they now reposing afar,The cause of the curses all annals contain,
Thy Grattan, thy Cunnan, thy SHERIDAN, al From Cesar the dreaded, to George the despised! Who, for years, were the chiefs in the eloquent war,
And redeemd, if they have not retarded, thy fall. Wear, Fingal, thy trapping! O'CONNELL, proclaim His accomplishments! llis!!! and thy country con Yes, happy are they in their cold English graves! vince
Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of to-day, Half an age's contempt was an error of Fame,
Nor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing slaves And that«lalis the rascaliest sweetest young Prince!» Be stamp'd in the turf o'er their fetterless clay. Will thy yard of blue riband, poor Fingal, recal
Till now I had envied thy sons and their shore, The felters from millions of Catholic limbs?
Thonslı their virtues were hunted, their liberties ticu, Or, las it not bound thee the fastest of all
There was something so warm and sublune in the core The slaves, who now hail their betrayer with hymnis ?
Of au Irishnan's heart, that I envy-thy dead. Ay! « Build him a dwelling!» let each give his mite!
Or, if auglit in my bosom can quench for an hour Till, like Babel, the new royal dome hath arisen!
My contempt for a nation so servile, though sore, Let thy beggars and Helots their piltance unite
Which though frod like the worm will not turn upou And a palace bestow for a poor-bouse and prison!
"T is the glory of Grattan, and genius of Moore! Spread-spread, for Vitellius, the royal repast,
Sept. 16th, 1821.
Till they groan like thy people, clarough ages of woe! I boundary between the things miswamed Let the wine llow around the old Bacchanals thrope, Death and cristence: sleep bath its own world, Like their blood which has flow'd, and which yei las Sud a wide realm of wild reality, to flow.
And dreams in their developement have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; But let not his name be thine idol alone
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, On his right hand behold a SEJAnus appears! They take a weijlit from off our waking toils, Thine own CASTLEREAGII! let himn soill be thine own! They do divide our being; they become
wretch, never named but withe curses and jerry! ! portion of ourselves as of our time,