A mighty Spirit is eclipsed-a Power Hath pass'd from day to darkness-to whose hour Of light no likeness is bequeath'd-no name, The enduring produce of immortal Mind; These sparkling segments of that circling soul, Which all embraced-and lighten'd over all, To cheer-to pierce-to please-or to appal. From the charm'd council to the festive board, Of human feelings the unbounded lord; In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied, The praised the proud-who made his praise their pride. When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man, His was the thunder-his the avenging rod, The wrath-the delegated voice of God! Which shook the nations through his lipsand blazed Till vanquish'd senates trembled as they praised. And here, oh! here, where yet all young and warm The gay creations of his spirit charm, Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring; These wondrous beings of his Fancy, wrought To fulness by the fiat of his thought, But should there be to whom the fatal blight Of failing Wisdom yields a base delight, Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone Jar in the music which was born their own, Still let them pause-Ah! little do they know That what to them seem'd Vice might be but Woe. Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze Is fix'd for ever to detract or praise; Repose denies her requiem to his name, And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. The secret enemy whose sleepless eye If the high Spirit must forget to soar, To find in Hope but the renew'd caress, The serpent-fold of further Faithlessness,If such may be the ills which men assail, What marvel if at last the mightiest fail? Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling given Bear hearts electric-charged with fire from lieaven, Black with the rude collision, inly torn. nurst Thoughts which have turn'd to thunderscorch and burst. But far from us and from our mimic scene Such things should be-if such have ever been; Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task, To give the tribute Glory need not ask, To mourn the vanish'd beam – and add our mite Of praise in payment of a long delight. Ye Orators! whom yet our council yield, Mourn for the veteran Hero of your field! The worthy rival of the wondrous Three! Whose words were sparks of Immortality! Ye Bards! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear, He was your Master-emulate him here! Ye men of wit and social eloquence! He was your Brother-bear his ashes hence! While Powers of Mind almost of boundless range, Complete in kind-as various in their change, While Eloquence_Wit-Poesy_and Mirth, That humbler Harmonist of care on Earth, Survive within our souls—while lives our sense Of pride in Merit's proud pre-eminence, Long shall we seek his likeness-long in vain, And turn to all of him which may remain, Sighing that Nature form'd but one such man. And broke the die – in moulding Sheridan! HEBREW MELODIES. The eye the same, except in tears. It must be so: 'tis not for self That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulph, Yet cling to Being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think To hold each heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink, And soul in soul grow deathless theirs! IV. THE wild Gazelle on Judah's hills A step as fleet, an eye more bright, The cedars wave on Lebanon, More blest each palm that shades those plains Than Israel's scatter'd race; In solitary grace: It cannot quit its place of birth, But we must wander witheringly, Our own may never lie: V. OH! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream: Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell; Mourn-where their God hath dwelt the Godless dwell! On Jordan's banks the Arabs' camels stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep Yet there—even there--Oh God! thy thunders sleep: There where thy finger scorch'd the tabletstone! There where thy shadow to thy people shone! Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire: Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear! VII. JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. SINCE Our country, our God-Oh, my Sire! And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And of this, oh, my Father! be sure- Though the virgins of Salem lament, When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd, VIIL On! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread: Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away; we know that tears are vain, Or make one mourner weep the less? IX. My Soul is dark.-Oh! quickly string Its melting murmurs o'er mine car. That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain: But bid the strain be wild and deep, And ached in sleepless silence long; X. I SAW thee weep-the big bright tear I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze It could not match the living rays That fill'd that glance of thine. As clouds from yonder sun receive XL THY Days are done, thy fame begun ; Though thou art fall'n, while we are free The generous blood that flow'd from thee Thy spirit on our breath! Thy name, our charging hosts along, XIL SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE. WARRIORS and Chiefs! should the shaft or the sword Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path: Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath! Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet! Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet. Farewell to others, but never we part, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway; Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day! XIII. SAUL THOU, whose spell can raise the dead, Bid the prophet's form appear. "Samuel, raise thy buried head! King, behold the phantom-seer!" Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud: Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud. Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare: From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame, Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents came. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak, "Why is my sleep disquieted? To thy heart thy hand shall guide: XIV. "ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER." FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine, And lovely forms caress'd me; I strive to number o'er what days Remembrance can discover, There rose no day, there roll'd no hour The serpent of the field, by art And spells, is won from harming; But that which coils around the heart, Oh! who hath power of charming? 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. XV. Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye; But leaves its darken'd dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace By steps each planet's heavenly way? Or fill at once the realms of space, A thing of eyes, that all survey? Eternal, boundless, undecay'd, A thought unseen, but seeing all, Before Creation peopled earth, Its eye shall roll through chaos back; And where the furthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track. And where the future mars or makes, Its glance dilate o'er all to be, While sun is quench'd or system breaks, Fix'd in its own eternity. Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die. XVI. VISION 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 divineJehovah's vessels hold The godless Heathen's wine! In that same hour and hall, And traced them like a wand. The monarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice; The wisest of the earth, |