’Tis as the war-flag closely furl'd When reason reigns within ; Oh, 'tis the world, the bitter world That makes ambition sin.
Ah, see the brilliant smile is dead! The hand is dropp'd, the joy is fled! Some thought has indistinctly shown, As in a misty glass,
Where all the cares that wait a throne, And youthful hopes and virtues flown, In dim confusion pass ;
With comrades slain, a fearful band, Brothers who roam a foreign strand, A fond forsaken wife,
A bleeding world, a suffering land, His sorrows and his life.
Well may he sigh! but that convulsion A deeper anguish caused;
Almost it seemed in dread revulsion That Nature's functions paused.
His brow was wet, his hair upraised, His hands were clench'd, his look was
The empress trembled as she gazed.
At Palm's dread spectre doth he quake?
Comes D'Enghien thus his soul to shake? No; to the consciences of kings Flattery her deadly opiate brings; Though doom'd untried, by impious men, Yet murder shall be justice then.
In all his pomp of power array'd, The monarch deems himself betray'd; Hemm'd in by guards and armed bands, Chain'd in the senate-hall he stands;
All whom he hated, all he loved
Were there, and all his fall approved. E'en the betrayer's self stood nigh, With jeering tongue, and scornful eye, And thrice he strove to strike him dead, And thrice the grinning traitor fled; And Frenchmen thrice, with fickle breath, Shouted, "Napoleon to the death!" That horror's pass'd: Memory again Binds Fancy in her spell-fraught chain. The vision changed, and changed his look, Though still his form with chillness shook, Though still uprose his coal-black hair, 'Twas anguish still-but not despair. He seem'd through realms of frost to stray Where endless forests barr'd his way; Forests of pines, whose snow mass made In noontide clear a midnight shade. A sense of solitary care,
Silence and deathlike cold were there. And still he thought at every step His jaded steed was forced to leap ; Something he could not move nor kill, Some fell obstruction met him still. At length full in the monarch's way A Gallic soldier dying lay; Napoleon stopp'd and strove to cheer; The warrior's death-groan met his ear, The warrior's death-glance met his eye, That groan, that glance he could not fly! A bitter curse they seem'd to shroud. He gallop'd on, he shouted loud,- But still the groan he cannot fly, But still the glance is in his eye. "Awake! awake!" and at her touch The hero started from his couch:
Awhile he stood and shook with dread; "'Tis but a dream!" at length he said; "'Tis but a bubble of the brain!" He said yet fear'd to sleep again.
BY MISS LANDON, (L. E. L.)
These old remembrances-they are to me The heart's best intercourse; I love to feel The griefs, the happiness, the wayward fates Of those that have been, for these memories Hallow the spot whereon they linger, and Waken our kindliest sympathies."
'HE shore was reef'd with rocks, whose rugged sides
Were venturous footing for the fowler's step:
They were shaped out in wild and curious forms,
Above all jagged and broken, but below
The waves had worn the shaggy points away; For there they rave incessantly. When last I pass'd along the beach, it was at eve, A summer's eve, stormy, but beautiful; I could but look upon the western sky, The rest was hidden from my view; but there The day had spent its glory. One rich light Broke through the shadow of the tempest's wing, While the black clouds, with gold and purple edged, Caught every moment warmer hues, until 'Twas all one sparkling arch, and, like a king In triumph o'er his foes, the Sun-god sought The blue depths of the sea; the waters yet Were ruffled with the storm, and the white foam
Yet floated on the billows, while the wind Murmur'd at times like to an angry child, Who sobs even in his slumber. Mid the rocks That rose stern barriers to the rebel waves, There was one spot less rugged than the rest; Some firs had taken root there, and waved o'er The entrance of a cave, where Grecian bards Had said some Sea-maid dwelt, and deck'd the place With ocean treasures, for the walls were bright With crystal spar-in sooth, it seem'd just form'd For some fair daughter of the main; at noon Here she might bind her hair with shells, and wake Her golden harp. But now a legend's told Of human love and sorrow-it is call'd The Cavern of the Pirate's Love :-her fate Is soon and sadly told: she follow'd one, A lawless wanderer of the deep, for whom She left her father's halls. A little while She might know happiness-it is the heart That gives the colour to our destiny.
But lovely things are fleeting-blushes, sighs,
The hours of youth, smiles, hopes, and minstrel dreams, Spring days and blossoms, music's tones, are all
Most fugitive; and swifter still than these
Will love dissolve into forgetfulness.
She was deserted. For a while this cave Was her sad refuge; for a while the rocks Echoed her wild complainings. I can deem How she would gaze upon the sea, and think Each passing cloud her lover's bark, till, hope Sicken'd of its own vanity, and life
Sicken'd with hope, she pass'd and left a tale, A melancholy tale, just fit to tell
On such an eve as this, when sky and sea Are sleeping in the mute and mournful calm Of passion sunk to rest.
HOU com'st, fair bark, in gallant pride,
Thy swan-white sails exulting spread; Nor I the graceful triumph chide,
For silent are the tears I shed.
Erewhile, when thou wert distant far, Wandering on ocean's pathless waste, I hail'd thee as my pilot star—
By thee my devious course was traced.
To thee, as to a hallow'd shrine,
My sighs, my prayers were all address'd; Thy pride, thy honour seem'd but mine, And in thy safety was my rest.
But now, though trophies deck thy brow, A mournful wreck alone I see; For he who warm'd each ardent vow, No more a welcome asks of me.
He should have lived!-for fortune owed
The kind redress withheld too long,
Whilst he life's dark and dreary road
Had still beguiled with Hope's sweet song.
He should have lived!-in suffering school'd, But ne'er with fancied wrongs oppress'd;
For nature still o'er sorrow ruled,
And peace his guileless soul possess'd.
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