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Quaff while thou canst-nother race,

When thou and thine like me are sped, May rescue thee from earth's embrace,

And rhyme and revel with the dead. Why not? since through life's little day

Our leads suchi sad effects produce ; Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs, to be of use.

Newstead Abbey, 1808.

FROM THE TURKISH. Tue chain I gave was fair to view,

The lutc I added sweet in sound, The leart that offer d both was true,

And ill deserved the fate it found. These gifts were charm'd by sceret spell

Thy truth in absence to divine; And they have done their duty well,

Alas! they could not teach thee thine. That chain was firm in every link,

But not to bear a stranger's touch; That lute was sweet-till thou couldst think

In ouier hands its notes were such. Let him, who from thy neck unbound

The chain which shiverd in his crasp, Who saw that lute refuse to sound,

Riestring the chords, renew the clasp. When thou wert changed, they alter'd 100 ;

The chain is broke, the music mute : "T is past-to them and thee adieu

False heart, frail chain, and silent lute.




THERE is a tear for all that dic,

A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
Bat nations swell the funeral

And triumplı weeps above the brave.
For them is sorrow's purest sigh

O'er ocean's leaving bosom sent:
Jn vain their bones unburied lie-

All earth becomes their monument !
A tomb is theirs on every page,

An epitaplı on every tongue;

present hours, the future age,
For them bewail, to them belong.
For them the voice of festul mirth

Grows hush'd, their name the only sound;
While deep remembrance pours to worth

The goblet's tributary round.
A theme to crowds that knew them not,

Lamented by adıniring foes,
Who would not share their glorious lot?

Who would not die the death they chose ?
Aud, gallant Parker! thus enshrined

Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
And early vilour, flowing, find

A model in thy memory.
But there are breasts that bleed with thee

In woe, that glory cannot quell;
Ani sluddering bear of victory,

Wliere que so dear, so dauntless, fell.
Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?

Whou cerse to be thay cherishi's name?
Time capot teaclı forgetfuluess,

While grief's full heart is fed by fame.
Alas! for them, though not for thee,

They cannot chuse but weep the more;
Deep for live dead the grief must be

Who neer gave cause to mourn before.

Tuine cyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,

And the wan lustre of thy features-caught

From contemplation--where serenely wrought, Seems sorrow's softness charmd from its despairllave thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,

Thal--but I know thy blessed bosom fraught

With mines of unalloyd and stainless thoughtI should bave deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care. With such an aspect, by his colours blent,

Wheu froin his beauty-breathing pencil born, (Except that thou hast nothing to repent)

The Magdalen of Guido saw the mornSuch secuni'st thon—but how much more excellent!

With nouglit remorse can claim-nor virtue scorn,



Tey cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, And yet so

lovrly, that if mirth could flush Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, My heart would wish away that ruder glow:And dazle not thy deep-blue eyes, but oh!

While pazing on them sterner eyes will gush,

And into mine my mother's weakness rush, Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow. For, through they long dark lashes low depending,

The soul of melancholy gentleness
Gleams like a seraplı from the sky descending,

Above all pain, yet pilying all distress;
At once such majesty with sweetness blending,

I worship more, but cannot love thee less.

TO A LADY WEEPING. Weer, daughter of a royal line,

A sire's disgrace, a realm's decay; Ali, happy! if cach tear of thine

Could wash a father's fault away! Wrep--for thy tears are virtue's tears

Anpirions to these suffering isles; And be cachi drop, in future years, Repaid thee by thy people's smiles !

March, 1812.



WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,

of woe,

When we two parted

In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been:
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, Eghts, lives, breathes for him alone,
Cohonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth :
While man, vain insect! bopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn :
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise-
I never knew but one, and here he lies.

Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808.

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my browIt felt like the warning

Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-

Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well ; Long, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met

Jo silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee

After long years,
How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.


FAREWELL. FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal avail'd on high, Miue will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky. "T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh :

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in that word-Farewell! -Farewell! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,

Thouclı grief and passion there rebel; I only know we loved in vain

I only seel- Farewell!- Farewell!

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Bright be the place of thy soul!

No lovelier spirit than thine
Eer burst from its mortal control,

In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,

As thy soul shall iminorually be; And our sorrow may cease to repine,

When we know that thy God is with thee. Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be : There should not be the shadow of gloom

In aught that reminds us of thee. Young flowers and an evergreen tree

May spring from the spot of thy rest : But nor cypress nor yew let us see ;

For why should we mourn for the blest?

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While that placid sleep came o'er thee

Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over,

Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover

'T was not well to spurn it so. Though the world for this commend thee

Though it smile upon the blow,
Eveu iis praises must offend thee,

Founded on another's woe.
Though my many faults defaced me,

Could no other arm be found
Than the one which once embraced me,

To intlict a cureless wound?
Yet, oh yet, tiyself deceive not,

Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not

Hearts can thus be torn away: Still thine own its life retaineih

Still must mine, ihough bleeding, beat; And the undying thought wluch paineth

Is--that we no more may meet These are words of deeper sorrow

Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow

Wake us from a widow'd bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,

When our child's first accents tlow,
Wilt thou teach her to say « Father!»

Though his care she must forego! When her little hands shall press thee,

When her lip to thine is prest, Think of him wliose prayer shall bless thee,

Think of him thy love had bless'd! Should her liveaments resemble

Those thou never more mayst see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble

Witli a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance tlou knowest,

Ul my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,

Wither-yet with thee they go. Every feeling hath been shaken;

Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thec-by thee forsaken,

Even my soul forsakes me now. But it is done--all words are idle

Words from me are vainer still; But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Forve their way without the will.-
Fare thee well!--tu disunited,

Torn from every nearer tic,
Seard in heart, and lone, and blighted --

More than this I scarce can die.

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TO *** Wuen all around grew drear and dark,

And reason halt withheld lier ray, Aud hope but shed a dying spark

Which more misled my lonely way; Ta that deep midnight of the mind,

And that internal strife of heart, When, dreading to be deemni too kind,

The wcali despair - the coll depart;

Showering down a fiery flood,

Turning rivers into blood. '

The chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo !
When the soldier citizen
Sway'd not o'er his fellow men-
Save in deeds that led them on
Where glory smiled on freedom's son-

Who, of all the despots banded, With that youthful chief competed ? Who could boast o'er France defeated,

Till lone tyranny commanded ?
Till, goaded by ambition's sting,
The hero sunk into the king?
Then he fell;—so perish all,
Who would men by man enthral!

When fortune, changed-and love fled far,

And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary star

Which rose and set not to the last. Oh! blest be thine uobroken light!

That watch'd me as a seraph's eye, And stood between me and the night,

For ever shining sweetly nigh. And when the cloud upon us came,

Which strove to blacken o'er thy rayThen purer spread its gentle flame,

And dash'd the darkness all away. Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,

And teach it what to brave or brook There's more in one soft word of thine,

Than in the world's defied rebuke. Thou stoodst, as stands a lovely tree,

That still unbroke, though gently bent, Still waves with fond fidelity

Its boughs above a monument. The winds might rend- the skies might pour,

But there thou wert-and still wouldst be Devoted in the stormiest hour

To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. But thou and thine shall know no blight,

Whatever fate op me may fall; For heaven in supshine will requite

The kind-and thee the most of all. Then let the ties of baffled love

Be broken---thine will never break; Thy heart can feel - but will not move;

Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. And these, when all was lost beside,

Were found, and still are fixed, in theeAnd bearing still a breast so tried,

Earth is no desert-even to me.

And thou too of the snow-white plume!
Whose realm refused thee even a tomb; ?
Better badst thou still been leading
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;
Such as he of Naples wears,
Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing

On thy war-horse through the ranks,

Like a stream which burst its banks, While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, Shone and shiver'd fast around thee-Of the fate at last which found thee. Was that haughty plume laid low By a slave's dishonest blow? Once-as the moon sways o'er the tide, It rolld in air, the warrior's guide; Through the smoke-created night Of the black and sulphurous fight, The soldier raised his seeking eye To catch that crest's ascendancy, And as it onward rolling rose, So moved his heart upon our foes. There, where death's brief pang was quickest, And the battle's wreck lay thickest, Strew'd beneath the advancing banner

of the cagle's burning crest(There, with thunder-clouds to fan ber,

Who could then her wing arrest

Victory beaming from her breast?) While the broken line enlarging

Fell, or fled along the plain: There be sure was Murat charging!

There he ne'er shall charge again!


(FROM THE FRENCY.] We do not curse thee, Waterloo ! Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew; There 't was shed, but is not sunkRising from each gory trunk, Like the water-spout from ocean, With a strong and growing motion : It soars and mingles in the air, With ibar of lost LaBEDOYEREWith that of him whose honour'd grave Contains the « bravest of the brave.» A crimson cloud it spreads and glow But shall return to whence it rose; When 't is full 't will burst asunderNever yet was heard such thunder As then shall shake the world with wonderNever yet was seen such lightning, As o'er beaven shall then be brightning! Like the Wormwood star foretold By the sainted seer of old,

Sec Rer. chap. viii, verses, etc, « The first angel sounded, and There followed hail and fire mingled with blood, . etc.

Verse 8. And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning witb tire was cast into the sca ; and the third part of the sea became blood, etc. Verse 1o.

* And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, buraing as it were a lamp; and it fell upon a third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters.

Verse 1]. And the name of the star is called Wormwood: aud the third part of the waters beramo worm rood ; and many men died of the waters, be ause they were made bitter.

Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the crave and burnt.

Would that I were cold with those,

Since this hour I live to see; When the doubts of coward foes

Scarce dare trust a man with thee, Dreading each should set thice free.

Oh! although in dungeons pent, All their chaios were light to me,

Gazing ou thy soul unbent.

O'er glories gone the invaders marchi,
Weeps triumph o'cr each levell’d arch-
But let Freedom rejoice.
With her heart in her voice;
But, lier hand op hier sword,
Doubly shall she be adored;
France hath twice too well been taught
The « moral lesson» dearly bought ;
Her safety sits not on a throne,
But in cqual rights and laws,
Hearts and hands in one great cause--
Freedom, such as God hath given
Unto all beneath his heaven,
With their breathi, and from their birtlı,
Though Guilt would sweep it from the earth;
With a fierce and lavish land
Scattering naijous' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
lu imperial seas of slaughter!

Would the sycophants of him

Now so deaf to duty's prayer, Were bois borrow'd glories dim,

In his native darkuess share? Were that world this hour his own,

All thou calmly dose resigo, Could be purchase with that throne

llearts like those which still are thine?

My chief, my king, my friend, adieu!

Never did I droop before; Never to my sovereign sue,

As his foes I now implore. ALI ask is to divide

Every peril he must brave, Sharing by the hero's side

His fall, bis cxile, and his grave.

But the heart and the mind,
And the voice of mankind,
Shall arise in communion-
And who shall resist that proud union ?
The time is past when swords subduci-
Man my dic--the soul's repewd:
Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;
Millions breathe but to iplierit
Her for ever bounding spirit:
When once more her hosts assemble.
Tyrants shall believe and tremble.
Smile they at this idle threat?
Crimson tears will follow yel.


STAR of the brave!- whose beam hath shed
Suchi glory o'er the quick and dead-
Thou radiant and adored deceit!
Which millions rush'd in arms to greet,-
Wild meteor of immortal birth!
Why rise in heaven to sel on earth?
Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays;
Eternity blastid through thy blaze!
The music of thy martial spliere
Was fame on high and lionour here;
And thy light broho on buman eyes
Like a volcano of the skies.

(FROM THE FRENCH.] « All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polisl: officer who had been

xalted from the ranks by Bonaparte. Ike (lung to his master's knees; wrote a lurter to Lord heith, entreating permission to: company him, even in the most idenial capacity, which could not be admitted.

Nust thou go, my glorious chief,

Sever'd from thy faithful few? Who can tell thy warrior's grief,

Maddening o'er that long adieu? Woman's love, and friendship's zeal-

Dear as both have been to meWhat are they to all I feel,

With a soldier's faith, for thee?

Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood,
Aod swept down empires with its flood;
Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base,
As thou didst lighten through all space,
And the shorn sun grew dim in air,
And set while thou wert dwelling there.

Idol of the soldier's soul!

First in light, but mightiest now: Meny could a world control:

Thee alone no doom can bow. By thy side for years I dared

Death, and envied those who fell, When their dring shout was heard

Blessing him they served so well..

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1 prirate Letter mm Brueirls.

I The tri- olour.

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