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! Oh! thou hast lost the dearest charm of life, The fondest, tenderest, 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. 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 rend 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 craveDrop the sad tear 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 possest, 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. THE RACE OF ODIN. LOUD was the hostile clang of arms, 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 Rear'd their stern stems, where late The bending harvest wav'd its rustling ears: Pour'd her ambitious hosts to slaughter forth: From the cold regions of the North, At length, on raven wings, shall vengeance come, And justice pour the urn of bitterness on Rome. « Roman! » 't was thus the chief of ASGARD cried, Beyond the reach of Rome; Where, upon some colder shore, Freedom yet thy force shall brave, Freedom yet shall find a home: There, where the Eagle 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 through thine injur'd chieftain's breast, Oft will he to thy memory drop the tear: Never more shall ODIN rest, Never quaff the sportive bowl, Or soothe in peace his slothful soul, Whilst Rome triumphant lords it 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, 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. Freedom, with joy, beheld the noble race, And fill'd each bosom 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. From Helicon's meandering rills The inspiring goddess fled; In clouds she hid her head; « Whilst future ages hymn my name,» The son of ODIN cries, «I shall quaff the foaming bowl With my forefathers in yon azure skies; I hear the shield-roof'd hall resound See where the murderer EGILL stands, Their swift revolving course have run, And never shall the fame of EGILL cease. Dark was the dungeon, damp the ground, Beneath the reach of cheering day, 712 Where REGNER dying lay; Poisonous adders all around On the expiring warrior hung, Yet the full stream of verse flow'd from his dauntless SOUL of THE DEATH OF ODIN. my much-lov'd FREYA! yes, I come! I rush to meet thee by a self-will'd doom. Shall rush amid the throng of war; 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, In silent wonder saw the scene, affray'd: Say, faulters now your chieftain's breath? Or chills pale terror now his death-like face? The first of mortal's valiant race: I go to happier realms above, To realms of friendship and of love. This unmanly grief dispelling, So with ODIN ever dwelling, Meet him in the shield-roofd hall: Still shall ODIN'S fateful lance Before his daring friends advance; Helms and shields, and hauberks ringing, O'er your affrighted foes shall scatter wild despair. 'Mid the mighty din of battle, Who pours the current of his life; Not such the destin'd joys that wait Big drops their painful way shall trace; Trample on the opposing foe; Be like the raging torrent's force, So spake the dauntless chief, and pierc'd his breast, TO INDOLENCE. I Do not woo thy presence, INDOLENCE! I will not ask to wear thy fett' ring flowers, Faint plays the heartless smile! Pale, sickly as the unkindly shaded fruit, No sunny hues of health; There is no radiance in thy listless eye, Its sudden glances with life. That, rushing from the hills, speeds on its foaming I do not wish upon thy downy couch, course. Haste, my sons, to war's alarms, Feed the raven with your spoil; ye shall hear dark HELA's call, And virgins waft ye to my hall; There, wrapt in clouds, the shadowy throng The first of warriors now, and then their god; The Druid throng shall fall away, No more upon the sacred stone, The vanquish'd ODIN, Rome, shall cause thy fall, Yet, my faithful friends, beware Luxury's enerving snare; 'T was this that shook our ASGARD'S dome, That drove us from our native home; 'T was this that smooth'd the way for victor Rome: Gaul's fruitful plains invite your sway, Conquest points the destin'd way; Conquest shall attend your call, As in a conscious dream To doze away the hours, Recibio un Cavallero, paraque cultivasse sus tierras, a un Quintero, y para pagarle algo adelantado le pidio fiador, y no teniendo quien le fiasse, le prometio delante del sepulcro de San Isidro, que cumpliria su palabra, y si no, que el santo le castigasse: con lo qual el Cavallero le pago toda su soldada, ye le fió. Mas desegradecido aquel hombre, no baciendo caso de su promessa, se huyo, sin acabar de servir el tiempo concertado. Passo de noche sin reparar en ella, por la Iglesia de San Andres, donde estaba el cuerpo del siervo de Dios. Fue cosa maravellosa, que andando corriendo toda la coche, no se aparto de la Iglesia, sino que toda se le fue en dar mil bueltas al rededor de ella, hasta que por la manana, yendo And your success shall gild still more VALHALLA's hall. el amo a quexarse de San Isidro, y pedirle campliesse su fianza, halló à su Quintero alli, 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 sù trabajo.-Flos Sanctorum, por ALONZO 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 too. If thy neighbour should sin, old Christoval cried, For remember it is by the mercy of God At sixty and seven the hope of heaven You shall have the farm, young Christoval, My good master Henrique said; But a surety provide, in 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 Heaven may perhaps 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, I call And I venture to call upon thee. upon thee my surety to be, Thou knowest my honest intent, I was idle, the day of payment came on, I fear'd the wrath of St Isidro But I fear'd Henrique more. On a dark night I took my flight It chanced by St Andres' church The road I had 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. So all night long I hurried on, I knew not his avenging hand- Weary I was, and safe I thought, I had, I found, been running round I shook like a palsy and fell on my knees, And for pardon devoutly I pray'd: When my master came up-what! Christoval, I have been idle good master! I cried, If thou hast been idle, Henrique said, I will not oppress thee, Christoval, Homeward I went a penitent, And I never was idle more; St Isidro blest my industry, As he punish'd my fault before. When my debtor was poor, Old Christoval said, I remembered Henrique was good to me When my neighbour has sinn'd, Old Christoval said, For I thought of the night by St Andres' church, And remember'd what I might have been. VERSES INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN ADDRESSED TO HIS GRACE UNIVERSITY, ETC. ON HIS INSTALLATION, 1793. 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 If they that make the cause might taste the effect, Or haply strike his high-toned harp to swell And they that stir its fury, while it raves, Stand at safe distance; send their mandate forth To do their bidding. Ah, who then regards Rejoicing, o'er the desolated earth, And scorn'd the tongues that praise them! Happier, Of Peace and Science friend, hast held thy course THE KILLCROP. A SCENE BETWEEN BENEDICT, A GERMAN PEASANT, Eight years since (said Luther), at Dessaw, I did see and touch a changed childe, which was twelv years of age; Hee had his eies and all his members like another childe: Hee did nothing but feed, and would eat as much as two clowns, or threshers, were able to eat.When one touched it, then it cried out: When any evil happened 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 Anhalt, if I were Prince of that countrie, so would I venture Homicidium thereon, and would throw it into the River Moldaw. I admonished the people dwelling in that place devoutly to praie to God to take away the Divel; the same was done accordingly, and the second year after the Changeling died. In Saxonia, near unto Halberstad, was a man that also had a besides, devoured very much. This man was advised that hee A child! you dreaming grey-beard! Killcrop, who sucked the mother and five other women drie: and Nothing will you believe like other people. Why, 't is a Killcrop, certain, manifest; The man being much affrighed thereat, threw the childe, with the basket, over the bridg into the water. Whereupon the two Divels flew away together, and cried, Ho, Ho, Ho, tumbling themselvs one over another, and so vanished. Such Changelings and Killcrops (said Luther) supponit Satan in locum verorum filiorum; for the Devil hath this power, that hee changeth children, and instead thereof laieth Divels in the cradles, which prosper not, onely they feed and suck: but such Changelings live not above eighteen or nineteen years. It oftentimes falleth out, that the children of women in childe-bed are changed, and KARL. Why, Benedict, this is most wonderful [Looks at the basket. A finer child ne'er breath'd! Thou art mistaken, Benedict! thine eyes BENEDICT. Divels are laid in their stead, the mothers in such sort are sucked The diff'rence! mercy on us! D'ye know the difference 'twixt the Moon and Stars? |