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Then Jacqueline the silence broke.
While D'Arcy as before looked on,
"His praises from your lips I heard,
And, if in aught his Sire has erred,
She, whom in joy, in grief you nursed;
One-one how young;-nor yet the other old.
Well, well might she believe in you!—
He shook his aged locks of snow;
"Oh no-begone! I'll hear no more."
-Nor can❜st thou, D'Arcy, feel resentment long;
And that dear Saint-may she once more descend
To make our home a heaven!—
But now, in my hands, your's with her's unite.
Nor let the least be sent away.
All hearts shall sing Adieu to sorrow!'
And old and young shall dance to-morrow."
Had Louis then before the gate dismounted,
Like Henry, when he heard recounted t
*Louis the Fourteenth.
+ Alluding to a popular story related of Henry the Fourth of France; similar to ours of "The King and Miller of Mansfield.”
(That night the miller's maid Colette
Sung, while he supped, her chansonnette)
ODE TO SUPERSTITION. *
HENCE, to the realms of Night, dire Demon, hence!
Thy chain of adamant can bind
That little world, the human mind,
And sink its noblest powers to impotence.
Wake the lion's loudest roar,
Clot his shaggy mane with With flashing fury bid his eye-balls shine; Meek is his savage, sullen soul, to thine! Thy touch, thy deadening touch has steeled the breast, Whence, thro' her April-shower, soft Pity smiled; Has closed the heart each godlike virtue blessed, To all the silent pleadings of his child. † At thy command he plants the dagger deep, At thy command exults, tho' Nature bids him weep!
Written in early youth.
+ The sacrifice of Iphigenia.
When, with a frown that froze the peopled earth,
Ha! what withering phantoms glare!
As blows the blast with many a sudden swell, At each dead pause, what shrill-toned voices yell! The sheeted spectre, rising from the tomb, Points to the murderer's stab, and shudders by; In every grove is felt a heavier gloom, That veils its genius from the vulgar eye: The spirit of the water rides the storm, And, thro' the mist, reveals the terrors of his form.
O'er solid seas, where Winter reigns,
* Lucretius, I. 63.