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Vain are the searching glance, the love-lorn groan,
I live—but live to penitence alone;
Depriv'd of every joy which life can give,
Most vile, most wretched, most despis'd, I live.

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:
There, where the Eacle dares not soar,
Soon shall the Raven find a safe retreat,
Asgard, farewell! farewell my native seat!

Farewell for ever! yet, whilst life shall roll
Her warm tide thr gh thine injurd chieftain's breast,
Oft will he to ihy memory drop the tear:

Never more shall Odin rest,
Never quaff the sportive bowl,

Or soothe in peace his slothful soul,
Whilst Rome triumphant Jords ii here.

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,
For war, to other realms a toil,

Was but the pastime here;
Skill'd the bold youth to hurl the unerring spear,

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
The bending harvest wav'd its rustling ears:

Rome, through the swarming gate,
Pour'd her ambitious hosts to slaughter forth:

Such was the will of fate!
From the cold regions of the North,

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;
Amid the Scandinavian hills

In clouds she hid her bead;
There the bold, the dariny muse,
Every daring warrior woos;
The sacred lust of deathless fame
Burnt in every warrior's soul:
« Whilst future ages hymn my name,»
The son of Odin cries,
« I shall quaff the foaming bowl
With my forefathers in yon azure skies;
Methinks I see my foeman's skull
With the mantling beverage full;
I hear the shield-roofd hall resound
To martial music's echoing sound;
I see the virgios, valour's meed, -
Death is bliss-I rush to bleed.»

« 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,
Since thus the bard could check the father's tears,

Could soothe his soul to peace,
And never shall the fame of Egill cease.

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?
Then weep not, Thor, thy friend's approaching death,

Let no unmanly lears disgrace
The first of mortal's valiant race:
Dauntless Heimdal, mourn not now,
Balder! clear thy cloudy brow;
I go to happier realms above,
To realms of friendship and of love.

Jomsburg lifts her lofty walls,
Sparta revives on Scandinavia's shore;

Undismay'd each hero falls,
And scorns his death in terror to deplore.

« 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,
And proud oppression laid the Gracchi low:

In vain the timid slaves oppose,
For freedom led their sinewy foes,
For valour fled with liberty:

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;
So with Opin ever dwelling,

Meet him in the shield-roofd hall:
Still shall Odin's fateful lance
Before his daring frieuds advance;
When the bloody fight beginning,
Helms and shields, and hauberks ringing,
Streaming life each fatal wound
Pours its current on the ground;
Still in clouds portentous riding
O'er his comrade host presiding,

Odin, from the stormy air,
O'er your affrighted foes shall scatter wild despair.

'Mid the mighty din of battle,
Whilst contlicting chariots rattle,
Floods of purple slaughter streaming,
Fate-fraught falchions widely gleaming;
When Mista marks her destin'd prey,
When dread and death deform the day;
Happy he amid the strife,
Who pours the current of his life;
Every toil and trouble ending,
Odin from his hall descending,
Shall bear him to his blest retreat,
Shall place him in the warrior's seat.

Not such the destin d joys that wait
The wretched dastard's future fate:
Wild shrieks shall yell in every breath, -
The agonizing shrieks of death.
Adown his wan and livid face
Big drops their painful way shall trace;
Each linb in that tremendous hour
Shall quiver in disease's power.
Grim Hela o'er his couch shall hang,
Scoff at his groans, and point each pang;
No Virgin Goddess him shall call
To join you in the shield-roofd hall;
No Valkery for him prepare
The smiling mead with lovely care:
Sad and score'd the wretch shall lie,
Despairing shriek—despairing die!
No Scald in never-dying lays
Shall rear the temple of his praise;
No Virgin in her vernal bloom
Bedew with tears his high-rear'd tomb;
No Soldier sound his honour'd name;
No
song

shall hand him down to fame;
But rank weeds o'er the inglorious grave
Shall to the blast their high heads wave;
And swept by time's strong stream away,
He soon shall sink-oblivion's prey;
And deep in Nitlehim--dreary cell,
Aye shall his sprite tormented dwell,

Soul of my much-lov'd Freya! yes, I come!

No pale disease's slow-consuming power
Has hastend on thy husband's hour;
Nor pour'd by victor's thirsty hand

Has Opin's life bedew'd the land:
I rush to meet thee by a self-will'd doom.

No more my clattering iron car

Shall rush amid the throng of war;
No more, obedient to my heavenly cause,
Shall crimson conquest stamp his Opin's laws.

I go--go;
Yet shall the nations own my sway
Far as yon orb shall dart his all-enlivening ray:

Big is the death-fraught cloud of woe
That hangs, proud Rome, impending o'er thy wall,
For ODIN shall avenge his ASGARD's fall.
Thus burst from Odin's lips the fated sound,

As high in air he reard the gleaming blade;
His faithful friends around

In silent wonder saw the scene, affray'd:
He, unappalld, towards the skies
Uplifts his death-denouncing cyes;
« Ope wide Valsalla's shield-roofd hall,
Virgins of bliss! obey your master's call;
From these injurious realms below
The sire of nations hastes to go.»

1

course.

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.
Where Disappointment and Delay
For ever guard the doleful way;
Amid the joyless land of woc

TO INDOLENCE.
Keen and bleak the chill blasts blow;
Drives the tempest, pours the rain,

I do not woo thy presence, INDOLENCE!
Showers the hail with force amain;

Goddess, I would not rank
Yell the night-birds as they fly

A votary in thy train.
Flitting in the misty sky;
Glows the adder, swells the toad,

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,

No sunny

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
Be like the raging torrent's force,

Its sudden glances with life.
That, rushing from the hills, speeds on its foaming I do not wish upon thy downy couch,

As in a conscious dream

To doze away the hours,
Haste, my sons, to war's alarms,
Triumph in the clang of arms;

Dead to all noble purposes

of

man, Joy amid the warlike toil,

Useless among mankind,
Feed the raven with your spoil;

To live, unworthy life.
Go, prepare the eagle's food,
Go, and drench the wolf with blood,

But to thy sister Leisure I would

pour Till

ye
shall bear dark Hela's call,

The supplicating prayer,
And virgins waft ye to my hall;

And woo her aid benign:
There, wrapt in clouds, the shadowy throng
To airy combat glide along;

Nymph, on whose sunny cheek the hue of health "Till wearied with the friendly fight,

Blooms like the ruddy fruit
SEkimner's flesh recruits their might;

Matur'd by southern rays,
There, whilst I grasp the Roman skull,
With lıydromel sweet-smiling full,

Whose eye beam sparkles to the speaking heart,
The festive shall echo round,

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
When death shall lay that arm in peace,

The ungentle voice of toil
Still shall the nations fear thy nod,
The first of warriors now, and then their god;

Might claim my daily task,
But be each hcart with rage possest,

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
And sink beneath your victor sway;

Goddess! received thy boop.
No more shall nations how the knee,
Vanquish'd TARANIS, to thee;
No more upon the sacred stone,

OLD CHRISTOVAL'S ADVICE,
TENTATES, shall thy victims groan;
The vanquish'd Odin, Rome, shall cause thy fall,

AND THE REASON WHY HE GAVE IT.
And his destruction shake thy proud imperial wall.

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!
For remember it is by the mercy of God

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:
When my master came up-what! Christoral,

You are here betimes, he said.
I have been idle good master! I cried,

Good master and I have been wrong,
And I have been running round the church

In penance all night long.
Jf thou hast been idle, Henrique said,

Go home and thy fault amend;
I will not oppress thee, Christoval,

May the Saint thy labour befriend. Homeward I went a penitent,

And I never was idle more; St Isidro blest

my industry,
As he punishd my fault before.
When my debtor was poor, Old Christoval said,

I have never exacted my due,
I remembered Henrique was good to me

And copied his goodness too.
When my neighbour has sinn'd, Old Christoval said,

I have ever forgiven his sin,
For I thought of the night by St Andres' church,

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,
We stood by the porch of St Andres' church,

And it was on St Isidro's day.
Accept for my surety St Isidro,

I ventured to make reply, The Saint in Ilcaven may perlaps be my friend,

But friendless on earth am I.

VERSES

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,
It chanced by St Andres' church

The road 1 bad chosen lay.
As I pass'd the door I thought what I had swore

Upon St Isidro's day,
And I seem'd to fear because he was near,

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,
I had, I found, been runuing round

And round the church all night.

BENEDICT.

BENEDICT.

Rejoicing, o'er the desolated earth,
As at an altar wet with human blood,

You squalling imp, lie still! Is n't it enough
And flaming with the fire of cities burnt,

To eat two pounds for a breakfast, but again,
Sing their mad hymns of triumph, hymns to God Before the Sun's half risen, I must hear
O'er the destruction of his gracious works,

This cry?-as though your stomach was as emply
Hymns to the Father o'er his slaughter'd sons. As old Karl's head, that yonder limps along
Detested be their sword, abhorr'd their name,

Mouthing his crust. I'll haste to llocklestad !
And scorn'd the tongues that praise them! Happier, A short mile only.
Thou,

Enter FATHER KARL.
Of Peace and Science friend, hast held thy course

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?
Approve thee; then shall those high sounds of praise What have you in your basket ?
Which thou hast heard, be as sweet harmony,
Beyond this concave to the starry sphere

Stand aside!
Ascending, where the spirits of the blest

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!
She rises not above this earthly spot;

My business is important.
And then her voice, transient and valueless,
Speaks only to the herd. With other praise,

What! about
And worthier duty may she tend on thee;

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.

BENEDICT.

Father, stand aside!
I hate this parley. Stand aside, I say!

KARL.
THE KILLCROP.

Good Benedict, be not o'ercome by rage,
A SCENE BETWEEN BENEDICT, A GERMAN PEASANT,

But listen to an old man.- What is 't there
AND FATHER KARL, AN OLD NEIGHBOUR.

Within your basket?

KARL.

BENEDICT.

'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.

D
ye

know the differcoce 'twixt the Moon and Stars ?

KARL

Such

BENEDICT.

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