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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.
ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART.
THERE is a tear for all that dic,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
O'er ocean's leaving bosom sent:
All earth becomes their monument !
An epitaplı on every tongue;
present hours, the future age,
Grows hush'd, their name the only sound;
The goblet's tributary round.
Lamented by adıniring foes,
Who would not die the death they chose ?
Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
A model in thy memory.
In woe, that glory cannot quell;
Wliere que so dear, so dauntless, fell.
Whou cerse to be thay cherishi's name?
While grief's full heart is fed by fame.
They cannot chuse but weep the more;
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
Above all pain, yet pilying all distress;
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 !
ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEW FOUNDLAND DOG.
WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
When we two parted
In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Colder thy kiss;
Sorrow to this.
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp
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.
A knell to mine ear;
Why wert thou so dear?
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.
After long years,
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!
Bright be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
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?
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,
Founded on another's woe.
Could no other arm be found
To intlict a cureless wound?
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;
Wake us from a widow'd bed.
When our child's first accents tlow,
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,
Witli a pulse yet true to me.
Ul my madness none can know;
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.-
Torn from every nearer tic,
More than this I scarce can die.
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,
Who, of all the despots banded, With that youthful chief competed ? Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone tyranny commanded ?
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!
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,
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,
ON THE STAR OF « THE LEGION OF HONOUR.
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
(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,
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..
1. A Waterloo, De man was seen, rhose left arm wis latiered by a cannonball, to wrenchis off with the other, and throwing it np in the air, por laimed to bis comrades, Vive Lapteur ju qu'a la mort." Tb.p. were many other instances of the litic; this you may, however, depend on a true
1 prirate Letter mm Brueirls.
I The tri- olour.