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Vain are the searching glance, the love-lorn groan,
Too well thy deep regret, thy grief, are known, Too true I judge thy sorrows by my own! Ol! thou hast lost the dearest charm of life, The fondest, lenderest, loveliest, more than wife; One who, with every virtue, only knew The fault, if fault it be, of loving you; One whose soft bosom seem'd as made to share Thine every joy, and solace every care; For crimes like these secluded, doom'd to know The aggravated weight of guilt and woe.
Where, upon some colder shore,
Freedom yet thy force shall brave,
Freedom yet shall find a home:
Farewell for ever! yet, whilst life shall roll
Never more shall Odin rest,
Or soothe in peace his slothful soul,
Triumph in thy victor might,
Mock the chief of Asgard's flight; But soon the seeds of vengeance shall be sown, And Odin's race hurl down thy blood-cemented throne.»
Nurtur'd by Scandinavia's hardy soil,
Strong grew the vigorous plant;
Danger could ne'er the nation daunt,
Was but the pastime here;
To wield the falchion, to direct the dart, Firm was each warrior's frame, yet gentle was his heart.
Still dear, still lov'd, I learnt to sin of thee, Learn, thou seducer, penitence from me! Oh! that my soul this last pure joy may know, Sometimes to soothe the dreadful hour of woe: Henry! by all the love my life has shown, By all the sinful raptures we have known, By all the parting pangs that read my breast, Hear, my lov'd lord, and grant my last request; And, when the last tremendous hour shall come, When all my woes are buried in the tomb, Then grant the only boon this wretch shall crave Drop the sad lear to dew my humble grave; Pause o'er the turf in fullness bent of woe, And think who lies so cold and pale below! Think from the grave she speaks the last decree, « What I am now-soon, HENRY, thou must be!» Then be this voice of wonted power 10ssest, To melt thy heart, and triumph in thy breast : So should my prayers with just success be crown'd, Should Henry learn remorse from ROSAMUND; Then shall thy sorrow and repentance prove, That even death was weak to end our love.
Freedom, with joy, beheld the noble race,
And fill'd each boson with her vivid fire; Nor vice, nor luxury, debase
The free-born offspring of the free-born sire; There genuine Poesy, in freedom bright, Diffus d o'er all her clear, her all-enlivening light.
THE RACE OF ODIN. Loud was the hostile clang of arms,
And hoarse the hollow sound, When POMPEY scatter'd wild alarms
The ravag'd East around.
The crimson deluge dreadful dy'd the ground: An iron forest of destructive spears
Reard their stern stems, where late
Rome, through the swarming gate,
Such was the will of fate!
At length, on raven wings, shall vengeance come, And justice pour the urn of bitterness on Rome.
From Helicon's meandering rills
The inspiring goddess fled;
In clouds she hid her bead;
« Roman! » 't was thus the chief of Asgard cried,
« Ambitious Roman! triumph for a while; Trample on freedom in thy victor pride; Yet, though now thy fortune smile,
Though MITARIDATES fly forlorn,
Once thy dread, but now thy scorn, Odin will never live a shameful slave; Some region will he yet explore,
Beyond the reach of Rome;
See where the murderer Egill stands,
He grasps the harp with skilful hands, And pours the soul-emoving tide of song; Mute admiration holds the listening throng:
The royal sire forgets his murder'd son; Eric forgives; a thousand years
Their swift revolving course have run,
Could soothe his soul to peace,
Dark was the dungeon, damp the ground,
Beneath the reach of cheering day,
Where REGNER dying lay; Poisonous adders all around
On the expiring warrior hung, Yet the full stream of verse tlow'd from his dauntless
tongue : • We fought with swords,» the warrior cry'd, « We fought with swords,» he said-he died.
Say, faulters now your chieftain's breath?
Or chills pale terror now his death-like face?
Let no unmanly lears disgrace
Jomsburg lifts her lofty walls,
Undismay'd each hero falls,
« Strike, THORChill, strike! drive deep the blow, Jomsburg's sons shall not complain,
Never shall the brave appear Bound in slavery's shameful chain:
Freedom ev'n in death is dear. Strike, THORCHILL, strike! drive deep the blow, We joy to quit this world of woe;
We rush to seize the seats above, And gain the warrior's mecd of happiness and love.»
The destin'd hour at length is come, And vengeful heaven decrees the queen of cities' doom; No longer heaven withholds the avenging blow
From those proud domes whence BRUTUS tled ;
Where just Currea bow'd his head,
In vain the timid slaves oppose,
Rome bows her lofty walls,
The imperial city falls, « She falls—and lo, the world again is free!»
THE DEATH OF ODIN.
This unmanly grief dispelling,
List to glory's rapturous call;
Meet him in the shield-roofd hall:
Odin, from the stormy air,
'Mid the mighty din of battle,
Not such the destin d joys that wait
shall hand him down to fame;
Soul of my much-lov'd Freya! yes, I come!
No pale disease's slow-consuming power
Has Opin's life bedew'd the land:
No more my clattering iron car
Shall rush amid the throng of war;
Big is the death-fraught cloud of woe
As high in air he reard the gleaming blade;
In silent wonder saw the scene, affray'd:
Where grim Remorse for ever wakes,
So spake the dauntless chief, and pierc'd his breast, Where Anguish feeds her torturing snakes,
Then rush'd to seize the seat of endless rest.
I do not woo thy presence, INDOLENCE!
Goddess, I would not rank
A votary in thy train.
I will not ask to wear thy feti' ring flowers,
O thou on whose cold lips For sad is HELA's cold abode.
Faint plays the heartless smile! Spread then the Gothic banners to the sky,
| Pale, sickly as the unkindly shaded fruit, Lift your sable banners high;
Thy languid check displays. Yoke your coursers to the car,
hues of health; Strike the sounding shield of war; Go, my lov'd companions, go,
There is no radiance in thy listless eye, Trample on the opposing foe;
No active joy that fires
Its sudden glances with life.
As in a conscious dream
To doze away the hours,
Dead to all noble purposes
man, Joy amid the warlike toil,
Useless among mankind,
To live, unworthy life.
But to thy sister Leisure I would
The supplicating prayer,
And woo her aid benign:
Nymph, on whose sunny cheek the hue of health "Till wearied with the friendly fight,
Blooms like the ruddy fruit
Matur'd by southern rays,
Whose eye beam sparkles to the speaking heart,
Like the reflected noon song The Scald repeat the deathless sound:
Quick glancing on the waves. Then, Toon, when thou from fight shall cease,
Her would I pray that not for ever thus
The ungentle voice of toil
Might claim my daily task,
So should my hand a votive temple rear, Let vengeance glow in every breast;
Through many a distant age Let conquest fell the Roman wall,
That undestroy'd should stand. Reverge on Rome my Asgard's fall.
Long should the stately monument proclaim The Druid throng shall fall away,
That no ungrateful heart
Goddess! received thy boop.
OLD CHRISTOVAL'S ADVICE,
AND THE REASON WHY HE GAVE IT.
Recibio un Cavallero, paraque cultivasse sus tierras, a un QuinYet, my faithful friends, beware
tero, y para pagarle algo adelantado le pidio fiador, y no teniendo Luxury's enerving snare;
quien le fiasse, le prometio delante del sepulcro de San Isidro, que 'T was this that shook our Asgard's dome,
cumpliria $a palabra, y si no, que el santo lo castigasse: con lo
qual el Cavallero le pago toda su soldada, ye le fió. Mas desegraThat drove us from our native home;
decido aquel hombre, no baciundo caso do su promessa, se huyo, 'T was this that smoothid the way for victor Rome: sin acabar de servir el tiempo concertado. Passo de no he sin reGaul's fruitful plains invite your sway,
parar en ella, por la Iglesia de San Andres, donde estaba el cuerpo
del siervo de Dios. Fue cosa maravellosa, que andando corriendo Conquest points the destin'd way;
toda la coche, no se aparto de la Iglesia, sino que toda so le fuo in Conquest sha:l attend your call,
dar mil bucltas al rededor de ella, hasta que por la mañana, yendo And your success shall gilu still more Valhalla's hall. el amo a quexarso de San Isidro, y pedirle cumpliesse su tianza,
halló à su Quintero olli, dando mas y mas bueltas, sin poderse haver apartado de aquel sitio. Pidio perdon al santo, y a su amo, al qual satisfizo despues enteramente poc su trabajo.-Flos Sanctorum, por ALON 20 DE VILLEGAS.
If thy debtor be poor, old Christoval cried,
Exact not too hardly thy due, For he who preserves a poor man from want
May preserve him from wickedness 100.
If thy neighbour should sin, old Christoval cried,
Never never unmerciful be!
That thou art not as wicked as he.
I shook like a palsy and fell on my knees,
And for pardon devoutly I pray'd:
You are here betimes, he said.
Good master and I have been wrong,
In penance all night long.
Go home and thy fault amend;
May the Saint thy labour befriend. Homeward I went a penitent,
And I never was idle more; St Isidro blest
I have never exacted my due,
And copied his goodness too.
I have ever forgiven his sin,
And remember'd what I might have been.
At sixty and seven the hope of heaven
Is my comfort, Old Christoval cried, But if God had cut me off in my youth
I might not have gone there when I died.
You shall have the farm, young Christoval,
My good master Henrique said; But a surety provide, io whom I can confide,
That duly the rent shall be paid.
I was poor and I had not a friend on earth,
And I knew not what to say,
And it was on St Isidro's day.
I ventured to make reply, The Saint in Ilcaven may perlaps be my friend,
But friendless on earth am I.
We enter'd the church and came to his grave,
And I fell on my bended knee; I am friendless, holy St Isidro,
And I venture to call upon thee.
I call upon thee my surety to be,
Thou knowest my honest intent, And if ever 1 break my plighted word,
Let thy vengeance make me repent!
I was idle, the day of payment came on,
And I had not the money in store, I fear'd the wrath of St Isidro
But I fear'd Henrique more.
On a dark night I took my fliglit
And hastily fled away,
The road 1 bad chosen lay.
Upon St Isidro's day,
And faster I hasten'd away.
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN ADDRESSED TO HIS GRACE THB DUKE OF PORTLAND, CHANCELLOR OF
THE UNIVERSITY, ETC. ON HIS INSTALLATION, 1793. In evil hour, and with unlallowed voice Profaning the pure gift of Poesy, Did he begin to sing, he first who sung Of arms, and combats, and the proud array Of warriors on the embattled plain, and rais'd The aspiring spirit to hopes of fair renown By deeds of violence. For since that time The imperious victor, oft, unsatisfied With bloody spoil and tyrannous conquest, dares To challenge fame and honour; and loo oft The Poet bending low to lawless power Hath paid unseemly reverence, yea, and brought Streams, clearest of the Aonian fount, to wash Blood-staind ambition. If the stroke of war Fell certain on the guilty head, none else; If they that make the cause might taste the effect, And drink themselves the bitter cup they mix, Then might the Bard (though child of Peace) delight To twine fresh wreaths around the conqueror's brow, Or haply strike his high-toned harp to swell The trumpet's martial sound, and bid them on, Whom Justice arms for vengeance: but, alas! That undistinguishing and deathful storm Beats heaviest on the exposed ingocent; And they that stir its fury, while it raves, Stand at safe distance; send their mandate forth Unto the mortal ministers that wait To do their bidding. Ah, who then regards The widow's tears, the friendless orphan's cry, And famine, and the ghastly train of woes That follow at the docked heels of war? They in the pomp and pride of victory
So all night long I hurried on,
Pacing full many a mile, I knew not bis avenging bad
Was on me all the while.
Weary I was, and safe I thought,
But when it was day-light,
And round the church all night.
Rejoicing, o'er the desolated earth,
You squalling imp, lie still! Is n't it enough
To eat two pounds for a breakfast, but again,
This cry?-as though your stomach was as emply
Mouthing his crust. I'll haste to llocklestad !
Enter FATHER KARL.
KARL. Blameless and pure, and such is thy renown.
Benedict, how now ! And let that secret voice within thy breast
Earnest and out of breath, why in this haste?
No moment this for converse.
Ask to-morrow, Hear it well-pleas'd. For Fame can enter leaven,
And I will answer you, but I am now If Truth and Virtue lead her; else forbid,
About to punish Belzebub. Take care!
My business is important.
To punish the Arch-Fiend old Belzebub? Follow thee still with honour, such as Time
A thing most rare.-But can't I lend a hand Shall never violate, and with just applause,
On this occasion ? Such as the wise and good might love to share.
Father, stand aside!
Good Benedict, be not o'ercome by rage,
But listen to an old man.- What is 't there
Within your basket?
'Tis the Devil's changeling: Eight years since (sa id Lutber), at Dessaw, I did see and touch a changed childe, which was twelv years of age; Hee bad his eies and A thumping Killcrop! all his members like another childe: Mec did nothing but feed, and
[Uncovers the basket. would eat as much as two clowns, or threshers, were able to eat.
Yes, 'tween you and I, When one touched it, then it cried out: When any evil happened
[Whispering. in the Hous, then it laughed and was joiful; but when all went well
, then it cried, and was very sad. I told the Prince of Anbon Our neighbour Balderic's changed for his son Will. if I were Prince of that countrie, so would I venture Homicidium
KARL. thereon, and would throw it into the River Moldaw. I admonisbed the people dwelling in that place devoutly to praio to God to take a fine one too.
An idle thought! I say it is a child, away the Divel; the same was done accordingly, and the second year after the Changeling diod.
BENEDICT. In Saronin, near unto Ialberstad, was a non that also had a
A child! you dreaming grey-beard ! Killcrop, who sucked the mother and five other women drie: and Nothing will you believe like other people. besides, devoured very much. This man was advised that hee should in bis pilgrimago at Halberstad make a promiss of the Kill
Did ever mortal man see child like this? crop to the Virgin Marie, and should caus bim there to bee rocked. Why, 't is a Killcrop, certain, manifest; This advice the man followed, and carried the changeling sthithur Look there! I'd rather see a dead pig snap in a basket. But going over a river, beeing upon the bridg, another At the butcher's knife, than call this thing a child. Divel that was below in the river called and said Killcrop, Killcrop! Then the childe in the basket (wbich never before spake one word)
View how he stares! I'm no young cub, d' ye see. answered, Ho, Ho, The Divel in the water asked further, Whither art thou going? The childo in the basket said, I am going towards Why, Benedict, this is most wonderful Hocklesuad to our loving Mother to be rocked. The man being mach affrighed thereat, threw the childe, with
To my plain mind. I've often heard of Killcrops, the basket, over ibe bridg into the water. Whereupon the two Di
And laugh'd at the tale most heartily; but now vels flew away together, and cried, Ho, Ho, Ilo, lumbling themselvs I'll mark him well, and see if there's any
truth one over another, and so vanished.
In these said creatures, Such Changelings and Killcrops (said Luther) supponit Satan in
(Looks at the basket. locum verorum filiorum; for the Devil bath this power, that hee
A finer child ne'er breath'd ! changeth children, and instead thereof laieth Divels in the cradles, which prosper not, onely they feed and suck: but sach Changelings Thou art mistaken, Benedict! thine eyes live not above eighteen or nineteen years. It oftentimes falleih Sec things confused! But let me hear thee say out, that the children of women in childe- bed are changed, and what are the sigus by which thou know'st the difDivels are laid in their stead, the mothers in such sort are sucked out, ibat afterwards they are able to give suck go more.
ference Changelings (said Luther) are also baptized, in regard that thoy can- Twixt Crop and Child. not be known the first year; but are known only by sucking the mothers drie.-LUTHE's Divine Discourses, folio, p. 387.
The diff'rence! mercy on us ! In justico however to Luther, it sbould be remembered, ibat ibis That I should talk to such a Hereticsuperstition was common to the age in which he lived.
know the differcoce 'twixt the Moon and Stars ?