Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

Like the Wormwood Star foretold

etc.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

And thou, too, of the snow-white plume,
Whose realm refused thee even a tomb;
Better hadst 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 roll'd 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 eagle's burning crest

(There with thunder clouds to fan her,
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!

IV.

O'er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps Triumph o'er each levell'd arch-
But let Freedom rejoice,

With her heart in her voice;
But her hand on her 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,
With Capet or Napoleon!
But in equal rights and laws,

Hearts and hands in one great cause-
Freedom such as God hath given

Unto all beneath His heaven,

With their breath, and from their birth,
Though Guilt would sweep it from the earth;
With a fierce and lavish hand
Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter!

V.

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 subdued-
Man inay die-the soul's renew'd:
Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;
Millions breathe but to inherit
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 yet.

TO NAPOLEON.

FROM THE FRENCH.

MUST thou go, my glorious Chief,*

Sever'd from thy faithful few?
Who can tell thy warriors' grief,
Maddening o'er that long adieu?
Woman's love, and friendship's zeal,
Dear as both have been to me-
What are they to all I feel.

With a soldier's faith for thee?

See Rev. viii. 7, etc., The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood,' Ver. 8, And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea and the third part of the sea became blood,' etc. Ver. 10, And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp; and it fell upon the third part of the All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish rivers, and upon the fountains of waters, Ver. 11. officer, who had been exalted from the ranks by And the name of the star is called Wormwood; and Bonaparte. He clung to his master's knees; wrote the third part of the waters became wormwood; and a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to ac many men died of the waters, because they were company him, even in the most menial capacity, which made bitter.' could not be admitted.'

Idol of the soldier's soul!
First in fight, but mightiest now;
Many 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 dying shout was heard,
Blessing him they served so well.
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 thee free!
Oh! although in dungeons pent,
All their chains were light to me,
Gazing on thy soul unbent.
Would the sycophants of him
Now so deaf to duty's prayer,
Were his borrow'd glories dim,
In his native darkness share?
Were that world this hour his own,
All thou calmly dost resign,
Could he purchase with that throne

Hearts 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:
All I ask is to divide

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

His fall, his exile, and his gravé.

And the shorn Sun grew dim in air,
And set while thou wert dwelling there.
Before thee rose, and with thee grew,
A rainbow of the loveliest hue,
Of three bright colours, each divine,*
And fit for that celestial sign;
For Freedom's hand had blended them,
Like tints in an immortal gem.

One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;
One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes;
One, the pure Spirit's veil of white
Had robed in radiance of its light:
The three so mingled did beseem
The texture of a heavenly dream.

Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,
And darkness must again prevail!
But, O thou Rainbow of the free!
Our tears and blood must flow for thee.
When thy bright promise fades away,
Our life is but a load of clay.

And Freedom hallows with her tread
The silent cities of the dead;
For beautiful in death are they
Who proudly fall in her array;
And soon, O Goddess! may we be
For evermore with them or thee!

ON THE STAR OF THE LEGION OF
HONOUR.'

FROM THE FRENCH.

STAR of the brave !-whose beam hath shed
Such 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 set on Earth?

Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays;
Eternity flash'd through thy blaze;
The music of thy martial sphere
Was fame on high and honour liére;
And thy light broke on human eyes,
Like a volcano of the skies.

Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood,
And swept down empires with its flood;
Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base,
As thou didst lighten through all space:

NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL.
FROM THE FRENCH.

FAREWELL to the Land where the gloom of my glory
Arose and o'ershadow'd the earth with her name-
She abandons me now-but the page of her story,
The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame.

I have warr'd with a world which vanquish'd me only
When the meteor of conquest allured me too far;

I have coped with the nations which dread me thus
lonely,

The last single captive to millions in war.

Farewell to thee, France I when thy diadem crown'd

me,

I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth;
But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found
thee,

Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won:
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was
blasted,

Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on victory's sun!
Farewell to thee, France !-But when Liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then,-
The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though wither'd, thy tear will unfold it again.
Yet, yet I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice-
There are links which must break in the chain that has
bound us,

At Waterloo, one man was seen whose left arm was shattered by a cannon ball, to wrench it off with the other, and throwing it up in the air, exclaimed to his comrades, "Vive l'Empereur, jusqu'à la mort !" There were many other instances of the like. This, Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!

however, you may depend on as true,-Private Letter from Brussels.

* The tricolour,

POEMS TO THYRZA.

1811 TO 1812.

TO THYRZA.

WITHOUT a stone to mark the spot,

And say, what Truth might well have said, By all, save one, perchance forgot,

Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?

By many a shore and many a sea
Divided, yet beloved in vain;
The past, the future fled to thee,

To bid us meet-no-ne'er again!

Could this have been-a word, a look, That softly said, 'We part in peace,' Had taught my bosom how to brook, With fainter sighs, thy soul's release.

And didst thou not, since Death for thee Prepared a light and pangless dart, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see,

Who held, and holds thee in his heart?

Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here,
Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye,
In that dread hour ere death appear,
When silent sorrow fears to sigh,

Till all was past? But when no more
'Twas thine to reck of human woe,
Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flow'd as fast-as now they flow.
Shall they not flow, when many a day
In these, to me, deserted towers,
Ere call'd but for a time away,
Affection's mingling tears were ours?
Ours too the glance none saw beside,
The smile none else might understand;
The whisper'd thoughts of hearts allied,
The pressure of the thrilling hand;

The kiss, so guiltless and refined,

That Love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind, Even passion blush'd to plead for more.

The tone, that taught me to rejoice,
When prone, unlike thee, to repine;
The song, celestial from thy voice,

But sweet to me from none but thine;

The pledge we wore--I wear it still,

But where is thine ?-Ah! where art thou?

Oft have I borne the weight of ill,

But never bent beneath till now!

Well hast thou left in life's best bloom
The cup of woe for me to drain.
If rest alone be in the tomb,

I would not wish thee here again.

But if in worlds more blest than this
Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere,
Impart some portion of thy bliss,
To wean me from mine anguish here.

Teach me too early taught by thee!

To bear, forgiving and forgiven: On earth thy love was such to me; It fain would form my hope in heaven!

AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE!
AWAY, away, ye notes of woe!

Be silent, thou once soothing strain,
Or I must flee from hence-for, oh!
I dare not trust those sounds again,
To me they speak of brighter days--
But lull the chords, for now, alas!
I must not think, I may not gaze,
On what I am-on what I was.

The voice that made those sounds more sweet
Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled;
And now their softest notes repeat

A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!
Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee,
Beloved dust! since dust thou art;
And all that once was harmony
Is worse than discord to my heart.
'Tis silent all!-but on my ear
The well-remember'd echoes thrill;
I hear a voice I would not hear,
A voice that now might well be still :
Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake,
Even slumber owns its gentle tone,
Till consciousness will vainly wake

To listen, though the dream be flown.

Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,

Thou art but now a lovely dream; A star that trembled o'er the deep, Then turn'd from earth its tender beam. But he who through life's dreary way Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath, Will long lament the vanish'd ray

That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.

ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE.

ONE struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain;
One last long sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.
It suits me well to mingle now

With things that never pleased before:
Though every joy is fled below,

What future grief can touch me more!

Then bring me wine, the banquet bring ;
Man was not form'd to live alone:
I'll be that light, unmeaning thing

That smiles with all, and weeps with none. It was not thus in days more dear,

It never would have been, but thou Hast fled, and left me lonely here, Thou'rt nothing-all are nothing now.

In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!

The smile that sorrow fain would wear But mocks the woe that lurks beneath, Like roses o'er a sepulchre. Though gay companions o'er the bowl Dispel awhile the sense of ill; Though pleasure fires the maddening soul, The heart,-the heart is lonely still!

On many a lone and lovely night

It soothed to gaze upon the sky; For then I deem'd the heavenly light Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye : And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon, When sailing o'er the Ægean wave, 'Now Thyrza gazes on that moon'

Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave!

When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, ''Tis comfort still,' I faintly said,

'That Thyrza cannot know my pains :'
Like freedom to the time-worn slave,
A boon 'tis idle then to give,
Relenting Nature vainly gave

My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!

My Thyrza's pledge in better days,

When love and life alike were new! How different now thou meet'st my gaze! How tinged by time with sorrow's hue! The heart that gave itself with thee Is silent-ah, were mine as still! Though cold as e'en the dead can be, It feels, it sickens with the chil.

Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!
Though painful, welcome to my breast!
Still, still preserve that love unbroken,

Or break the heart to which thou'rt pressed.
Time tempers love, but not removes,
More hallow'd when its hope is fled:
Oh! what are thousand living loves

To that which cannot quit the dead?

EUTHANASIA.

WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion may thy languid wing

Wave gently o'er my dying bed!

No band of friends or heirs be there,
To weep, or wish, the coming blow:
No maiden, with dishevell'd hair,
To feel, or feign, decorous woe.

But silent let me sink to earth,

With no officious mourners near: I would not mar one hour of mirth, Nor startle friendship with a tear.

Yet Love, if Love in such an hour

Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power

In her who lives, and him who dies.

'Twere sweet, my Psyche, to the last Thy features still serene to see:

Forgetful of its struggle past,

E'en Pain itself should smile on thee.

But vain the wish-for Beauty still

Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death.

Then lonely be my latest hour,

Without regret, without a groan;

For thousands Death hath ceased to lower, And pain been transient or unknown.

'Ay, but to die, and go,' alas!

Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was

Ere born to life and living woe!

Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,
Count o'er thy days from anguish free.
And know, whatever thou hast been,
'Tis something better not to be,

AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG
AND FAIR.

'Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!'

AND thou art dead, as young and fair

As aught of mortal birth;

And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though earth received them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;

There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:

That what I loved, and long must love,

It is enough for me to prove

Like common earth can rot;

To me there needs no stone to tell, 'Tis nothing that I loved so well.

Yet did I love thee to the last

As fervently as thou,

Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.

The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow:

And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine:

The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
Shall never more be thine.

The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;

Nor need I to repine

That all those charms have pass'd away; I might have watch'd through long decay.

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,

Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.

I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade; The night that followed such a morn Had worn a deeper shade:

Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd, And thou wert lovely to the last :

Extinguish'd, not decay'd;

As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;

To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain, Than thus remember thee! The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity Returns again to me,

And more thy buried love endears Than aught, except its living years.

IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF
MEN.

IF sometimes in the haunts of men
Thine image from my breast may fade,
The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade:
And now that sad and silent hour

Thus much of thee can still restore,
And sorrow unobserved may pour

The plaint she dare not speak before.

Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile

I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And, self-condemn'd, appear to smile,
Unfaithful to thy memory!

Nor deem that memory less dear,

That then I seem not to repine;

I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.

If not the goblet pass unquaft'd,
It is not drain'd to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
That brings a Lethe for despair.
And could Oblivion set my soul
From all her troubled visions free,
I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl

That drown'd a single thought of thee.
For wert thou vanish'd from my mind,

Where could my vacant bosom turn?
And who would then remain behind
To honour thine abandon'd Urn?
No, no-it is my sorrow's pride
That last dear duty to fulfil;
Though all the world forget beside,
'Tis meet that I remember still.

For well I know, that such had been
Thy gentle care for him, who now
Unmourn'd shall quit this mortal scene,
Where none regarded him but thou:
And, oh! I feel in that was given

A blessing never meant for me;
Thou wert too like a dream of heaven
For earthly Love to merit thee,

« ZurückWeiter »