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The pledge we wore-I wear it still,
But where is thine ?-ah, where art thou? On have I borne the weight of ill,
But never bent beneath till now! Well hast thou left in life's best bloom
The cup of woe for me to drain. If rest alone be in the lomb,
I would not wish thee here again; But if in worlds more blest than this
Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere, Impart some portion of thy bliss,
To wean me from mine anguish here. Teach me—too early tanghe by thee !
To bear, forgiving and forgiven: On earth thy love was such to me,
It fain would form my hope in heaven!
Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;
Man was not form'd to live alone: I'll be that light unmeaning thing
That smiles with all and weeps with none. It was not thus in days more dear,
It never would have been, but thou Hast fied, and left me lonely here;
Thou 'rt nothing, all are nothing now. In vain my lyre would lightly breathe !
The smile that sorrow fain would wear, But mocks the woe that lurks beneath,
Like roses o'er a scpulchre.
Dispel a while the sense of ill;
The heart-the heart is lonely suli! On many a lone and lovely night
It soothed to gaze upon the sky; For then I decm'd the heavenly light
Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye; And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the Ægean wave, “Now Thyrza gazes on that moon—"
Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave!
STANZAS. Away, away, ye notos of woe!
Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Or I must fee from hence, for, oh!
I dare not trust those sounds again. To me they speak of brighter days
But lull the chords, for now, alas! I must not think, I may not gaze
On what I am, on what I was. I'he voice that made those sounds more sweet
Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled;
A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!
Beloved dust! since dust thou art;
Is worse than discord to my heart ! Tis silent all !—but on my ear
The well-remember'd echoes thrill; I hear a voice I would not hear,
A voice that now might well be still ; Yet oft my doubting soul 't will shake:
Even slumber owns its gentle tone, Till consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown. Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
Thou art but now a lovely dream; A star that trembled o'er the deep,
Then turn'd from earth its tender beam. But he who through life's dreary way
Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath, Will long lament the vanish'd ray
That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.
When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed,
And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, " "T is comfort still," I faintly said,
“That Thyrza cannot know my pains :" Like freedom to the time-worn slave,
A boon 't is idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave
My life when Thyrza ceased to live! My Thyrza's pledge in better days,
When love and life alike were new, How different now thou nicet'st my gaze!
How tinged by time with sorrow's hue! The heart that gave itself with thee
Is silent-ah, were mine as still ! Though cold as even the dead can be,
It feels, it sickens with the chill.
Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!
Though painful, welcome to my breast! Still, still, preserve that love unbroken,
Or break the heart to which thou 'rt prest' Time tempers love, but not removes,
More hallow'd when its hope is fled: Oh! what are thousand living loves
To that which cannot quit the dead?
TO THYRZA. ONE struggle more, and I am freo
From pangs that rend my heart in twain, One last long sigh to love and thee,
Thien back 10 busy life again. It suits me well to mingle now
With things that never pleased before: Though every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more?
EUTHANASIA. When time, or soon or late, shall bring
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion ! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed! No band of friends or heirs be there,
To wecp or wish the coming blow; No maiden, with dishevell d hair,
To feel, or feign, decorous woe.
But silent let me sink to earth,
With no officious mourners near : I would not mar one hour of mirth,
Nor starile friendship with a fear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour
Could nobly check ils useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power
In her who lives and him who dics. T were sweet, my Psyche, to the last
Thy features still serene to see : Forgetful of its struggles past,
Even Pain itself should smile on thee.
But vain the wish--for Beauty stiil
Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will,
Deceive in life, unman in death.
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine;
Shall never more be thine.
Nor need I to repine
Must fall the earliest prey ;
The leaves must drop away:
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
To see thy beauties fade;
Had worn a deeper shade:
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
My tears might well be shed,
One vigil o'er thy bed ;
Uphold thy drooping head;
Then lonely be my latest hour,
Without regret, without a groan ! For thousands death hath ceased to lour,
And pain been transient or unknown. " Ay, but to die, and go,” alas !
Where all have gone, and all must go ! To be the nothing that I was
Ere born to life and living woe!
Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,
Count o'er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast been,
'T is something better not to be.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
Returns again to me,
As aught of mortal birth ;
Too soon relurn'd to earth!
In carelessness or mirth,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
So I behold them not:
Like common earth can rot;
As servently as thou,
And canst not alter now.
Nor falsehood disavow:
If sometimes in the haunts of men
Thine image from my breast may fade, The lonely hour presents again
The semblance of thy gentlc shade: And now that sad and silent hour
Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour
The plaint she dare not speak before.
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile,
I waste one tlmught I owe to thee, And, self-condemu'd, appear to smile.
Unfaithful to thy memory!
Nor deem that memory less dear,
That then I seem not to repine; I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.
If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such a heart; The fault was Nature's fauli, not thine,
Which made thee fickle as thou art.
As rolls the ocean's changing tide,
So human feelings ebb and flow; And who would in a breast confide
Where stormy passions ever glow?
If not the goblet pass unquaff’d,
It is not drain'd to banish care,
That brings a Lethe for despair.
From all her troubled visions free, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl
That drown'd a single thought of thee. For wert thou banish'd from my mind,
Where could my vacant bosom turn? And who would then remain behind
To honour thine abandon'd urn ? No, no—it is my sorrow's pride
That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside,
'Tis mect that I remember still.
It boots not that, together bred,
Our childish days were days of joy; My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.
And when we bid adieu to youth,
Slaves to the specious world's control, We sigh a long farewell to truth;
That world corrupts the noblest soul. Ah, joyous season! when the mind
Dares all things boldly but to lie; When thoughi, ere spoke, is unconfined,
And sparkles in the placid eye.
For well I know, that such had been
Thy gentle care for him, who now Unmourn'd shall quit this mortal scene,
Where none regarded him, but thou : And, oh! I feel in that was given
A blessing never meant for me; Thou wert loo like a dream of heaven,
For earthly love to merit thee. Alarch 14th, 1812.
Not so in man's maturer years,
When man himself is but a tool; When interest sways our hopes and fears,
And all must love or hate by rule.
With fools in kindred vice the same,
We learn at length our faults to blend, And those, and those alonc, may claim
The prostituted name of friend.
ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS
That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain?
Alike been all employ'd in vain ?
Such is the common lot of man:
Can we then 'scape from folly free? Can we reverse the general plan,
Nor be what all in turn must be?
Yet precious seems each shatter'd part,
And every fragment dearer grown, Since he who wcars thee feels thou art
A fitter emblem of his own.
No, for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been; Man and the world I so much hate,
I care not when I quit the scene.
But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Wilt shine awhile, and pass away; As glow-worms sparkle through the night
But dare not stand the test of day.
TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND.
Were firmest friends, at least in name,
Preserved our feelings long the same.
Alas! whenever folly calls
Where parasites and princes meet, (For cherish'd first in royal halls,
The welcome vices kindly greet),
But now, like me, too well thou know'st
What trifles of the heart recall; And those who once have loved the most
Too soon forget they loved at all.
Even now tnou 'rt nightly seen to add
One insect to the fluttering crowd; And still thy trifling heart is glad,
To join the vain and court the proud,
And such the change the heart displays,
So irail is early friendship's reign, A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,
Will view thy mind estranged again.
There dost thou glide from fair to fair,
Still simpering on with eager baste, As flies along the gay parterre,
That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. But say,
To death even hours like these must rola;
Ah! then repeat those accents never; Or change “my lite" into "my soul!"
Which, like my love, exists for ever.
what nymph will prize the flame Which seems, as marshy vapours move, To flit along from dame to dame,
An ignis-fatuus gleam of love? What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
Will deign to own a kindred care? Who will debase his manly mind,
For friendship every fool may share? In time forbear; amidst the throng
No more so base a thing be seen; No more so idly pass along:
Be something, any thing, but—mean.
IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND. WHEN from the heart where Sorrow sits,
Her dusky shadow mounts too higa, And o'er the changing aspect fits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye; Heed not that groom, which soon shall sink :
My thoughts their dungeon know loo well; Back to my breast the wanderers shrink
And droop within their silent cell.
That I should thus be happy tov;
Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Some pangs to view his happier lot:
Would hate him, if he loved thee not ! When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break; But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it, for its mother's sake.
Its father in its face to see ;
And they were all to love and me.
While thou art blest, I 'll not repine; Bore near thee I can never stay ;
My hcart would soon again bc thine. I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; Nor knew, till sea:ed by thy side,
My heart in all, save hope, the same. Yet was I calm : I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were a crime
We met, and not a nerve was shook. I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there: One only feeling couldst thou trace
The sulien calmness of despair. Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
My foolish heart, be still, or break.
THEATRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812.
Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!)
Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her fall;
Yes—it shall be—the magic of that name Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame; On the same spot still consecrates the scene, And bids the Drama be where she hath been : This fabric's birth attests the potent spellIndulge our honest pride, and say, How well !
As soars this fane to emulate the last,
But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom
FROM THE PORTUGUESE. Is moments to delig!it devoted,
“My life!" with tenderest tone, you cry; Dear words on which my heart had doted, If you:h could neither fade nor die.
2 x ? 72
Dear are the days which made our annals bright, That beam hath sunk; and now thou art Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley ceased to write.
A blank; a thing to count and curse Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs,
Through each dull, tedious trifling part, Vain of our ancestry, as they of theirs ;
Which all regret, yet all rehearse. While thus remembrance borrows Banquo's glass, One scene even thou canst not deform; To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass,
The limit of thy sloth or speed, And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine
When future wanderers bear the storm Immortal names, emblazon'd on our line,
Which we shall sleep too sound to heed: Pause—ere their feebler offspring you condemn,
And I can smile to think how weak Reflect how hard the task to rival them!
Thine efforts shortly shall be shown,
When all the vengeance thou canst wreak Friends of the stage! to whom both players and plays Must sall upon-a nameless stone! Must sue alike for pardon or for praise, Whose judging voice and eye alone direct The boundless power to cherish or reject; If e'er frivolity has led to fame,
TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG And made us blush that you forbore to blame;
An! Love was never yet without If e'er the sinking stage could condescend
The pang, the agony, the doubl, To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend,
Which rends my lieart with ceaseless sigh, Al past reproach may present scenes refute,
While day and night roll darkling by.
Without one friend to hear my woe,
I faint, I die beneath the blow. So pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
That Love had arrows, well I knew : And reason's voice be echo'd back by ours !
Alas! I find them poison'd too. This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd,
Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net, The Drama's homage by her herald paid,
Which Love around your haunts hath se Receive our welcome too, whose every tone
Or, circled by his fatal fire, Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own.
Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire. The curtain rises—may our stage unfold
A bird of free and careless wing Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old !
Was I, through many a siniling spring; Britons our judges, Nature for our guide,
But caught within the subtle snare, Siill may we please-long, long may you preside!
I burn, and feebly fiutter there.
Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain, TO TIME.
Can neither feel nor pity pain,
The cold repulse, the look askance,
The lightning of love's angry glance.
In Aattering dreams I deem'd thee mine;
Now hope, and he who hoped, decline;
Like melting wax, or withering flower,
My light of life! ah, tell me why
That pouting lip, and alter'd eye?
My bird of love! my beauteous mate!
And art thou changed, and canst thou hate ?
Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erfiow: To them be joy or rest, on me
What wretch with me would barter woe? Thy future ills shall press in vain ;
My bird ! relent: one note could give
A charm, to bid thy lover live.
My curdling blood, my maddening brain,
In silent anguish I sustain !
And still thy heart, without partaking
One pang, exults—while mine is breaking
Pour me the poison ; fear not thou !
Thou canst not murder more than now:
I've lived to curse my natal day,
And love, that thus can lingering slay.
My wounded soul, my bleeding breast,
Can patience preach thee into rest ?
Alas! too late I dearly know,
That joy is harbinger of woe.