O WHAT a loud and fearful shriek was there, As though a thousand souls one death-groan poured! Ah me! they saw beneath a hireling's sword Their Kosciusko fall! Through the swart air (As pauses the tired Cossac's barbarous yell Of triumph) on the chill and midnight gale Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell
The dirge of murdered Hope! while Freedom pale Bends in such anguish o'er her destined bier, As if from eldest time some Spirit meek Had gathered in a mystic urn each tear That ever on a Patriot's furrowed cheek
Fit channel found, and she had drained the bowl In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul!
As when far off the warbled strains are heard That soar on Morning's wing the vales among, Within his cage the imprisoned matin bird Swells the full chorus with a generous song: He bathes no pinion in the dewy light, No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he shares, Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight: His fellows' freedom soothes the captive's cares!
Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling voice Life's better sun from that long wintry night, Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice, And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might: For lo! the morning struggles into day,
And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the ray!
Nor Stanhope! with the Patriot's doubtful name I mock thy worth-Friend of the Human Race! Since, scorning Faction's low and partial aim, Aloof thou wendest in thy stately pace,
Thyself redeeming from that leprous stain,
Nobility and aye unterrify'd
Pourest thine Abdiel warnings on the train That sit complotting with rebellious pride
'Gainst her," who from the Almighty's bosom leapt With whirlwind arm, fierce Minister of Love! Wherefore, ere Virtue o'er thy tomb hath wept, Angels shall lead thee to the Throne above: And thou from forth its clouds shalt hear the voice, Champion of Freedom and her God! rejoice!
THOU gentle look, that didst my soul beguile, Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile!
As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam: What time, in sickly mood, at parting day I lay me down and think of happier years; Of Joys, that glimmered in Hope's twilight ray, Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.
O pleasant days of Hope-for ever gone !— Could I recall you !—But that thought is vain. Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone
To lure the fleet-winged Travellers back again: Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam Like the bright Rainbow on a willowy stream.
PALE Roamer through the night! thou poor Forlorn! Remorse that man on his death-bed possess,
Who in the credulous hour of tenderness
Betrayed, then cast thee forth to want and scorn! The world is pitiless: the chaste one's pride Mimic of Virtue scowls on thy distress: Thy Loves and they, that envied thee, deride: And Vice alone will shelter wretchedness!
O! I could weep to think, that there should be Cold-bosomed lewd ones, who endure to place Foul offerings on the shrine of misery, And force from famine the caress of Love; May He shed healing on thy sore disgrace, He, the great Comforter that rules above!
SWEET Mercy! how my very heart has bled To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy gray hairs Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head. My Father! throw away this tattered vest That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child:
And thou shalt talk, in our fire-side's recess, Of purple pride, that scowls on wretchedness. He did not so, the Galilean mild,
Who met the Lazars turned from rich men's doors,
And called them Friends, and healed their noisome
MILD Splendour of the various-vested Night! Mother of wildly-working visions! hail! I watch thy gliding, while with watery light Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil; And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud Behind the gathered blackness lost on high; And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud Thy placid lightning o'er the awakened sky. Ah such is Hope! as changeful and as fair! Now dimly peering on the wistful sight; Now hid behind the dragon-winged Despair But soon emerging in her radiant might She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight.
THOU bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile,
And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while
Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.
Why didst thou listen to Hope's whisper bland? Or, listening, why forget the healing tale, When Jealousy with feverous fancies pale Jarred thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand?
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