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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,
Focus at once of all the rays of Fame!
The flash of Wit-the bright Intelligence,
The beam of Song – the blaze of Eloquence,
Set with their Sun-but still have left
behind

The enduring produce of immortal Mind;
Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon,
A deathless part of him who died too soon.
But small that portion of the wondrous
whole,

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,
The matchless dialogue-the deathless wit,
Which knew not what it was to intermit;
The glowing portraits, fresh from life that
bring

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,
Here in their first abode you still may meet,
Bright with the hues of his Promethean heat,
A halo of the light of other days,
Which still the splendour of its orb betrays.

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
Stands sentinel-accuser-judge-and spy,
The foe the fool the jealous and the vain,
The envious who but breathe in others' pain,
Behold the host! delighting to deprave,
Who track the steps of Glory to the grave,
Watch every fault that daring Genius owes
Half to the ardour which its birth bestows,
Distort the truth, accumulate the lie,
And pile the Pyramid of Calumny!
These are his portion – but if join’d to these
Gaunt Poverty should league with deep
Disease,

If the high Spirit must forget to soar,
And stoop to strive with Misery at the door,
To soothe Indignity- and face to face
Meet sordid Rage-and wrestle with Dis-
grace,

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.
By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds
borne,
Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that

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.

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The eye the same, except in tears.
How welcome those untrodden spheres!
How sweet this very hour to die!
To soar from earth, and find all fears
Lost in thy light-Eternity!

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
Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills
That gush on holy ground;
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by:—

A step as fleet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah witness'd there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight
Inhabitants more fair.

The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah's statelier maids are gone!

More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scatter'd race;
For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace:

It cannot quit its place of birth,
It will not live in other earth.

But we must wander witheringly,
In other lands to die;
And where our fathers' ashes be,

Our own may never lie:
Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.

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!

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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:
Thyself-none living see and not expire!

Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear!
Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppres-
sors' spear:
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod!
How long thy temple worshipless, oh God!

VII.

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER.

SINCE Our country, our God-Oh, my Sire!
Demand that thy Daughter expire;
Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow—
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more :
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow!

And of this, oh, my Father! be sure-
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere it flow,
And the last thought that soothes me below.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent!
I have won the great battle for thee,
And my Father and Country are free!

When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd,
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd,
Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died!

VIIL

On! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:
And oft by yon blue gushing stream

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,
Will this unteach us to complain?
That death nor heeds nor hears distress:

Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou--who tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

IX.

My Soul is dark.-Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling

Its melting murmurs o'er mine car.
If in this heart a hope be dear,

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,
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 'tis doom'd to know the worst,
And break at once-or yield to song.

X.

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:

I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;

It could not match the living rays

That fill'd that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow die,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.

XL

THY Days are done, thy fame begun ;
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,
The slaughters of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom he restored!

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death!

The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath :
Within our veins its currents be,

Thy spirit on our breath!

Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word!
Thy fall, the theme of choral song
From virgin-voices pour'd!
To weep would do thy glory wrong!
Thou shalt not be deplored.

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,
At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.

"Why is my sleep disquieted?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is it thou, oh King? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine, to-morrow, when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
Fare thee well, but for a day;
Then we mix our mouldering clay.
Thou, thy race, lie pale and low,
Pierced by shafts of many a bow:
And the falchion by thy side

To thy heart thy hand shall guide:
Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
Son and sire, the house of Saul!"

XIV.

"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER."

FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine,
And health and youth possess'd me;
My goblets blush'd from every vine,

And lovely forms caress'd me;
I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes,
And felt my soul grow tender;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendour.

I strive to number o'er what days

Remembrance can discover,
Which all that life or earth displays
Would lure me to live over.

There rose no day, there roll'd no hour
Of pleasure unembitter'd;
And not a trapping deck'd my power
That gall'd not while it glitter'd.

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;
WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay,
His hand was wither'd and his veins were dry; Ah, whither strays the immortal mind?
His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there, | It cannot die, it cannot stay,

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,
All, all in earth, or skies display'd,
Shall it survey, shall it recal:
Each fainter trace that memory holds,
So darkly of departed years,
In one broad glance the soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.

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,
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 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.”

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