Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright,

In the days of delusion by fancy combined With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, Abandon'd my soul, like a dream of the night, And leave but a desert behind.

Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns
When the faint and the feeble deplore;
Be strong as the rock of the ocean, that stems
A thousand wild waves on the shore!

Through the perils of chance and the scowl of disdain,

May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate! Yea! even the name I have worshipp'd in vain Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again: To bear is to conquer our fate,

How glorious is thy girdle cast O'er mountain tower, and town, Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,

A thousand fathoms down!

As fresh in yon horizon dark,

As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam.

For, faithful to its sacred page,

Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man.

TO THE RAINBOW. TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky, When storms prepare to part,

I ask not proud Philosophy

To teach me what thou art

Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given

For happy spirits to alight,

Betwixt the earth and heaven.

Can all that Optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so,

As when I dreamt of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow?

When Science from Creation's face

Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws!

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.

When o'er the green undeluged earth
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine,
How came the world's grey fathers forth
To watch thy sacred sign!

And when its yellow lustre smiled
O'er mountains yet untrod,
Each mother held aloft her child
To bless the bow of God.

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
The first made anthem rang,
On earth deliver'd from the deep,
And the first poet sang.

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye
Unraptured greet thy beam:
Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the poet's theme!

The earth to thee her incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings,

When glittering in the freshen'd fields The snowy mushroom springs.

THE LAST MAN.

ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The Sun himself must die,

Before this mortal shall assume

Its Immortality!

I saw a vision in my sleep,

That gave my spirit strength to sweep
Adown the gulf of Time!

I saw the last of human mould,
That shall Creation's death behold,
As Adam saw her prime!

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan,
The skeletons of nations were

Around that lonely man!
Some had expired in fight,-the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some!
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;
And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb!

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high,
That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm pass'd by,

Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun,
Thy face is cold, thy race is run,

"Tis Mercy bids thee go;

For thou ten thousand thousand years
Hast seen the tide of human tears,
That shall no longer flow.

What though beneath thee man put forth
His pomp, his pride, his skill;

And arts that made fire, flood, and earth
The vassals of his will;-

Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrowned king of day:

For all those trophied arts

And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Heal'd not a passion or a pang

Entail'd on human hearts.

Go-let oblivion's curtain fall
Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall

Life's tragedy again.

Its piteous pageants bring not back, Nor waken flesh, upon the rack

Of pain anew to writhe;

Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd,

Or mown in battle by the sword, Like grass beneath the scythe.

Ev'n I am weary in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumless agonies,
Behold not me expire.

My lips that speak thy dirge of death-
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To see thou shalt not boast.

The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,The majesty of Darkness shall

Receive my parting ghost!

This spirit shall return to Him

That gave its heavenly spark; Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim When thou thyself art dark! No! it shall live again, and shine In bliss unknown to beams of thine; By him recall'd to breath, Who captive led captivity, Who robb'd the grave of Victory,And took the sting from Death!

Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up
On Nature's awful waste,
To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste-
Go, tell the Night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On Earth's sepulchral clod,

The dark'ning universe defy
To quench his Immortality,

Or shake his trust in God!

VALEDICTORY STANZAS

To J. P. KEMBLE, Esq.

Composed for a Public Meeting, held June 1817.

PRIDE of the British stage,

A long and last adieu!

Whose image brought th' heroic age
Revived to Fancy's view.

Like fields refresh'd with dewy light
When the sun smiles his last,

Thy parting presence makes more bright
Our memory of the past;

And memory conjures feelings up

That wine or music need not swell,

As high we lift the festal cup

To Kemble-fare thee well!

His was the spell o'er hearts
Which only Acting lends,
The youngest of the sister Arts,
Where all their beauty blends:
For ill can Poetry express

Full many a tone of thought sublime, And Painting, mute and motionless, Steals but a glance of time.

But by the mighty actor brought, Illusion's perfect triumphs come,Verse ceases to be airy thought,

And Sculpture to be dumb.

Time may again revive,

But ne'er eclipse the charm, When Cato spoke in him alive,

Or Hotspur kindled warm. What soul was not resign'd entire

To the deep sorrows of the Moor,What English heart was not on fire With him at Azincour? And yet a majesty possess'd

His transport's most impetuous tone, And to each passion of his breast The Graces gave their zone.

High were the task-too high,
Ye conscious bosoms here!
In words to paint your memory
Of Kemble and of Lear;

But who forgets that white discrowned head, Those bursts of Reason's half-extinguish'd glare

Those tears upon Cordelia's bosom shed,
In doubt more touching than despair,
If 't was reality he felt?

Had Shakspeare's self amidst you been,
Friends, he had seen you melt,

And triumph'd to have seen!

And there was many an hour
Of blended kindred fame,
When Siddons's auxiliar power
And sister magic came.
Together at the Muse's side

The tragic paragons had grown—
They were the children of her pride,
The columns of her throne;

And undivided favor ran

From heart to heart in their applause, Save for the gallantry of man

In lovelier woman's cause.

Fair as some classic dome,

Robust and richly graced,
Your Kemble's spirit was the home
Of genius and of taste:
Taste, like the silent dial's power,
That when supernal light is given,
Can measure inspiration's hour,

And tell its height in heaven.
At once ennobled and correct,
His mien survey'd the tragic page,
And what the actor could effect,
The scholar could presage.

These were his traits of worth:

And must we lose them now!

And shall the scene no more show forth His sternly-pleasing brow!

Alas, the moral brings a tear!

"Tis all a transient hour below; And we that would detain thee here, Ourselves as fleetly go!

But my soul revived at seeing
Ocean, like an emerald-spark,
Kindle, while an air-dropt being
Smiling steer'd my bark.
Heaven-like-yet he look'd as human
As supernal beauty can,
More compassionate than woman,
Lordly more than man.
And as some sweet clarion's breath
Stirs the soldier's scorn of death-
So his accents bade me brook
The spectre's eyes of icy look,
Till it shut them-turn'd its head,
Like a beaten foe, and fled.

"Types not this," I said, "fair spirit!
That my death-hour is not come?
Say, what days shall I inherit?—
Tell my soul their sum."
"No," he said, "yon phantom's aspect,
Trust me, would appal thee worse,
Held in clearly measured prospect:
Ask not for a curse?
Make not, for I overhear
Thine unspoken thoughts as clear
As thy mortal ear could catch

The close-brought tickings of a watch—
Make not the untold request

That's now

revolving in thy breast.

SONG OF HYBRIAS THE CRETAN.
My wealth's a burly spear and brand,
And a right good shield of hides untann'd,
Which on my arm I buckle:

With these I plow, I reap, I sow,

With these I make the sweet vintage flow, And all around me truckle.

But your wights that take no pride to wield A massy spear and well-made shield,

Nor joy to draw the sword: Oh, I bring those heartless, hapless drones, Down in a trice on their marrow-bones, To call me King and Lord.

FRAGMENT

FROM THE GREEK OF ALCMAN.

THE mountain summits sleep:-glens, cliffs, and

caves,

Are silent-all the black earth's reptile broodThe bees-the wild beasts of the mountain wood: In depths beneath the dark-red ocean's waves

Its monsters rest, whilst wrapt in bower and spray Each bird is hush'd that stretch'd its pinions to the day.

MARTIAL ELEGY

FROM THE GREEK OF TYRTEUS.

How glorious fall the valiant, sword in hand,
In front of battle for their native land!
But oh! what ills await the wretch that yields,
A recreant outcast from his country's fields!
The mother whom he loves shall quit her home,

An aged father at his side shall roam;
His little ones shall weeping with him go,
And a young wife participate his woe;
While scorn'd and scowl'd upon by every face,
They pine for food, and beg from place to place.

Stain of his breed! dishonoring manhood's form, All ills shall cleave to him:-Affliction's storm Shall blind him wandering in the vale of years, Till, lost to all but ignominious fears,

He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name,
And children, like himself, inured to shame.

But we will combat for our fathers' land,
And we will drain the life-blood where we stand
To save our children:-fight ye side by side,
And serried close, ye men of youthful pride,
Disdaining fear, and deeming light the cost
Of life itself in glorious battle lost.

Leave not our sires to stern th' unequal fight,
Whose limbs are nerved no more with buoyant might;
Nor, lagging backward, let the younger breast
Permit the man of age (a sight unbless'd)

His hoary head dishevell'd in the dust,
And venerable bosom bleeding bare.

But youth's fair form, though fall'n, is ever fair,
And beautiful in death the boy appears,
The hero boy, that dies in blooming years:
In man's regret he lives, and woman's tears,
More sacred than in life, and lovelier far, -
For having perish'd in the front of war.

SPECIMENS OF TRANSLATION FROM MEDEA.

Σκαίους δε λεγων, κουδέν τι σοφους
Τους προσθε βροτους ουκ αν αμάρτοις.

Medea, v. 194, p. 63, Glasg. edit.

TELL me, ye bards, whose skill sublime
First charm'd the ear of youthful Time,
With numbers wrapt in heavenly fire,
Who bade delighted echo swell
The trembling transports of the lyre,
The murmur of the shell-
Why to the burst of Joy alone
Accords sweet Music's soothing tone?
Why can no bard, with magic strain,
In slumbers steep the heart of pain?
While varied tones obey your sweep,
The mild, the plaintive, and the deep,
Bends not despairing Grief to hear
Your golden lute, with ravish'd ear?
Oh! has your sweetest shell no power to bind
The fiercer pangs that shake the mind,
And lull the wrath at whose command
Murder bares her gory hand?

When, flush'd with joy, the rosy throng
Weave the light dance, ye swell the song!
Cease ye vain warblers! cease to charm
The breast with other raptures warm!
Cease! till your hand with magic strain
In slumbers steep the heart of pain!

SPEECH OF THE CHORUS IN THE SAME TRAGEDY,

TO DISSUADE MEDEA FROM HER PURPOSE OF PUTTING HER CHILDREN TO DEATH, AND FLYING FOR PROTECTION TO ATHENS.

STROPHE I.

O HAGGARD queen! to Athens dost thou guide
Thy glowing chariot, steep'd in kindred gore;
Or seek to hide thy damned parricide

Where Peace and Mercy dwell for evermore?
The land where Truth, pure, precious, and sublime,
Wooes the deep silence of sequester'd bowers,
And warriors, matchless since the first of time,
Rear their bright banners o'er unconquer'd towers!

Where joyous youth, to Music's mellow strain,
Twines in the dance with nymphs for ever fair,
While spring eternal, on the lilied plain,
Waves amber radiance through the fields of air!