So reigns he-rais'd by deeds of high renown
And favouring chance, girt with the pomp of war.
But not unvisited, if Fame say true,
Of fearful thoughts, that hover round his couch,
And mar his midnight slumbers; nor secure
From vengeance ever plotting to destroy
His usurpation, and the just disdain
That loyalty and honour feel to bend
Submissive at the shrine of tyrannous power.
Nor think we that the Gods look reekless on,
While he enjoys the throne of lawful kings,
Who hath so oft blasphem'd them, and bow'd down
To monstrous deities: and a day will come
For retribution, when the hand of Heaven
Shall blast his vaunted fortune, and his sword,
Wherein he trusted, shall avenge the blood
That cries against him, proving to vain man,
That, though successful guilt triumphs awhile,
Eternal Justice will at length assert
Its rights, and pure Religion vindicate
Her holy altars and unspotted name.
BE this dark spot for ever to verdure unknown,
For ever by Virtue and Pity untrod;
Unbreath'd be his name, and unhonour'd his stone,
The foe of his Country, his King and his God!
FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ.
SONGSTER Sweet, begin the lay,
Ever new, and ever gay;
Bring the joy-inspiring wine,
Ever fresh and ever fine.
With a heart-alluring lass,
Gaily let the moments pass;
Kisses stealing when you may,
Ever fresh and ever gay.
Gentle boy, whose silver feet
Nimbly move to cadence sweet,
Fill us quick the generous wine,
Ever fresh and ever fine.
How enjoy life's tedious hours
Without wine's seducing powers?
These will make them pass away,
Ever fresh and ever gay.
To me the sweet enchanting maid,
Charms devotes that never fade;
Charms t' inspire her poet's song,
Ever fair and ever young.
Zephyrs! while you gently move
By the mansions of my love,
Softly Hafiz' strains repeat,
Ever new and ever sweet.
To Hope, that brightest star of Love,
I bid a sorrowful farewell,
For here within this silent grove,
As solemn tolls the evening bell,
I'll mourn his loss and sing his knell,
Or on some moss-grown turf repose,
The dewy light of morn to hail,
Where echoes oft repeat my woes,
As sadly sighs the balmy gale,
To hear my lover's funeral knell.
Spirits! if e'er you wander near
My love's unhallow'd grassy bed,
O bear this soul impassion'd tear,
To grace the relics of the dead;
And say that here you saw me dwell,
To weep and sing his funeral knell.
ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser rolling rapidly.
But Linden shew'd another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death, to light
The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd,
To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills, by thunder riven;
Then flew the steed, to battle driven;
And, rolling like the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd their red artillery.
But redder yet their fires shall glow,
On Linden's heights of crimson'd snow,
And bloodier still the torrent flow
Of Iser rolling rapidly.
The combat deepens! On ye brave,
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave Munich, all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry.
"Tis morn;-but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun
Where fiery Frank and furious Hun
Shout in their sulphury canopy.
Few, few shall part where many meet;
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every sod beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
FROM THE SPANISH OF LUPERCIO.
THOU art determin'd to be beautiful
Lyris! and, Lyris, either thou art mad,
Or hast no looking-glass; dost thou not know
Thy paint-beplaster'd forehead, broad and bare,
With not a grey lock left, thy mouth so black,
And that invincible breath. We rightly deem
That with a random hand blind Fortune deals
The lots of life, to thee she gave a boon
That crowds so anxiously and vainly wish,
Old age, and left in thee no trace of youth
Save all its folly and its ignorance.
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