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But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first : I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nurst,
And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 't is doom'd to know the worst,
And break at once-or yield to song.
I SAW THEE WEEP. I saw thee weep-the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue; And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew;
Beside thee ceased to shine,
That fill'd that glance of thine.
A deep and mellow die,
Can banish from the sky,
Their own pure joy impart;
That lightens o'er the heart.
Bid the prophet's form appear.
King, behold the phantom seer !" Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud: Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud: Death stood all glassy in his fired eye; His hand was wither'd and his veins were dry;
His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there,
“Why is my sleep disquieted ?
THY DAYS ARE DONE. Tay days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's s'rains record
And the falchion by thy side
An age shall fleet like earthly year;
Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing,
O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall Ay; A nameless and eternal thing,
Forgetting what it was to die.
"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER.”
FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine,
And health and youth possess'd me;
And lovely forms caress'd me;
And felt my soul grow tender;
Was mine of regal splendour.
Remembrance can discover,
Would lure me to live over.
Of pleasure unembitter'd;
That gall’d not while it glitter'd.
FISION OF BELSHAZZAR. The king was on his throne,
The satraps throng'd the hall; A thousand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold,
In Judah deem'd divine Jchovah's vessels hoid
The godless heathen's wine!
In that same hour and hall,
The fingers of a hand Came forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand : The fingers of a man;
A solitary hand Along the letters ran,
And traced them like a wand.
The serpent of the field, by art
And spells, is won from harming; But that which coils around the heart,
Oh! who hatła power of charning? It will not list to wisdom's lore,
Nor music's voice can lure it; But there it stings for evermore
The soul that must endure it.
The monarch saw, and shook,
And bade no more rejoice ; All bloodless wax'd his look,
And tremulous his voice. " Let the men of lore appear,
The wisest of the earth, And expound the words of fear,
Which mar our royal mirth."
That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel, On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
Ilad reflected the last beam of day as it blazed; So gleams the past, the light of other days,
While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays; Of the rays froni the mountain that shone on thy shrine. A night-beam sorrow watcheth to behold,
And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
But I mark'd not the twilight beam melting away;
And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head! WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU
But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane
The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign;
DOWN AND WEPT. If the exile on earth is an outcast on high,
We sat down and wept by the waters Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.
Of Babel, and thought of the day
Were scatter'd all weeping away.
Which roll'd on in freedom below,
That triumph the stranger shall know !
May this right hand be wither'd for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
On the willow that harp is suspended,-
Oh Salem ! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended, Ah, couldst thou—thou wouldst pardon now,
But left me that token of thee:
With the voice of the spoiler hy me!
The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.– THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And this dark heart is vainly craving
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; For her who soars alone above,
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, And leaves my soul unworthy saving. When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. She's gone, who shared my diadem!
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, She sunk, with her my joys entombing; That host with their banners at sunset were seen: I swept that flower from Judah's stem
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, Whose leaves for me alone were blooming. That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,
For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, This bosom's desolation dooming;
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And I have earn'd those tortures well,
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride: ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, JERUSALEM BY TITUS.
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome And there lay the rider distorted and pale, I beheld thee, oh Sion! when render'd to Rome: With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; *T was thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home, And the widows of Ashur arc loud in their wail, And forgot for a moment my bondage to come ; And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; I beheld bụt the death-fire that fed on thy fane, And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain. 'Liuth nielted like snow in the glance of the Lord !
FROM JOB. A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld The face of immortality unveildDeep sleep came down on every eye save mineAnd there it stood, -all formless—but divine: Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake; And as my damp hair slitfen'd, thus it spake:
" Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
* Expende Annibalem :---quot libras in duce summo Lnvenies?"
JUVENAL, Sat. X.
"The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the Italians, and by the provincials of Gaul; his moral virlues and military talents were loudly celebrated ; and those who derived any private benefit from his government anRounced in prophetic brains the restoration of public felicily.
By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very ambiguous stato, between an emperor and La exile, lill
GIBBON'S Decline and Fall, vol. vi. p. 220.
ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. T is done—but yesterday a king!
And arm'd with kings to strive-
So abject-yet alive!
And can he thus survive?
Who bow'd so low the knee?
Thou taught'st the rest to see. With might unquestion’d,--power to saveThine only gift hath been the grave
To those that worshipp'd thce; Nor, till thy fall, could mortals
guess Ambition's less than littleness ! Thanks for that lesson-it will teach
To after-warriors more
And vainly preach'd before.
That led them to adore
The triumph and the vanity,
The rapture of the strife-
To thee the breath of life;
Wherewith renown was rise-
The victor overthrown! The arbiter of others' fate
A suppliant for his own!
Or dread of death alone?
Dream'd not of the rebound;
Alone-how look'd he round ?Thou, in the sternness of thy strength, An equal deed hast done at length,
And darker fate hast found :
Was slaked with blood of Rome, Threw down the dagger_dared depart,
In savage grandeur, home.
Yet left him such a doom!
Had lost its quickening spell,
An empire for a cell;
His dotage trifled well:
1 Certaminis gaudiu, the expression of Attila, in nis iam rangue to his army, previous to the battle of Chalona, gives in Cassiodorus.
Unless, like he of Babylon,
Life will not long contine
Wilt thou withstand the shock? And share with him, the unforgiven,
His vulture and his rock? Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst, And that last act, though not thy worsi,
The very fiend's arch mock ;3 He in his fall preserved his pride, And, if a mortal, had as proudly died !
DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SCRIDAX
SPOKEN AT DRURY-LANE THEATEE.
Yet better had he never known
The thunderbolt is wrung-
To which thy weakness clung;
To see thine own unstrung;
Who thus can hoard his own!
And thank'd him for a throne!
In humblest guise have shown.
Nor written thus in vain-
Or deepen every stain.
To shame the worlu vain-
Is vile as vulgar clay;
To all that pass away;
To dazzle and dismay;
Thy still imperial bride;
Still clings she to thy side ?
Thou throneless homicide ?
And gaze upon the sea;
It ne'er was ruled by thee!
That earth is now as free!
What thoughts will there be thine,
Bu onie--" The world was mine:"
When the last sunshine of expiring day
Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time or light and darkness forns an arch sublime,
Who hath not shared that calm so still and deep, The voiceless thought which would not speak bul weep A holy concord-and a bright regret,
A glorious sympathy witlı suns that set ?
Even as the tenderness that hour instils
Set with their su—but still have left behind
2 " The fend's arch mockTo lip a wanton, and suppose her chaste."
( The cage of Bajuzet, by order of Tamerlane.