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Farewell to thee, France!-but when Liberty rallies
There are links which must break in the chain that hath
Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!
THERE'S NOT A JOY THE WORLD CAN Give.
THERE'S not a joy the world can give like that it takes
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.
Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of hap-
Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:
Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And tho' the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.
Tho' wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,
Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;
'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey be neath.
Oh could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish tho'
So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow
THE FAREWELL TO MY HARP.
DEAR Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Island Harp! I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song!
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness
Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy numbers,
Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone;
AND THOU ART DEAD.
AND thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed;
There is an eye which could not brook
I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
It is enough for me to prove
To me there needs no stone to tell
"Tis Nothing that I lov'd so well.
Yet did I love thee to the last
Who didst not change through all the past,
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'd away:
I might have watch'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
And yet it were a greater grief
I know not if I could have borne
The night that follow'd such a morn
Thy day without a cloud hath past,
As stars that shoot along the sky
As once I wept, if I could weep,
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
Yet how much less it were to gain,
The all of thine that cannot die