« AnteriorContinuar »
And yon high-hanging forest to the wind
Thy sickening eye at every step revolts
From scenes of vice and wretchedness; reflect
INSCRIPTION FOR A MONUMENT AT SILBURY-HILL.
THIS mound in some remote and dateless day
The Bard has harped, but perished is the song
The wind that passes and is heard no more.
Go, Traveller, and remember when the pomp
Lives in the eternal register of Heaven.
* The Northern Nations distinguished the two periods when the bodies of the dead were consumed by fire, and when they were buried beneath the tumuli so common in this country, by the Age of Fire and the Age of Hills.
TO sigh yet feel no pain,
To weep yet scarce know why,
To kneel at many a shrine
Yet lay the heart on none,
To think all other charms divine
This is love, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.
To keep one sacred flame,
Thro' life unchill'd unmov'd,
To love in wintry age the same
To feel that we adore,
To such refin'd excess,
That tho' the heart would break with more,
We could not live with less;
This is love, faithful love,
Such as saints might feel above.
ADDRESS TO THE MOON, IN IMITATION OF WILSON.
COME forth sweet spirit from thy cloudy cave,
So wild the hurried glimpses of thy face,
WRITTEN ON THE BLANK-LEAF OF A LADY'S COMMON PLACE-BOOK.
THERE is one leaf reserved for me,
Where no impression yet is seen,
COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE.
COME, send round the wine, and leave points of belief
This moment's a flower too fair and brief,
To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the schools. Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue;
But, while they are fill'd from the same bright bowl, The fool who would quarrel for difference of hue Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul.
Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side
From the heretic girl of my soul shall I fly,
To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss?
Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this!
BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
OF Nelson and the North,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold determin'd hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.
Like leviathan's afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:
It was ten of April morn by the chime:
There was silence deep as death;
But the might of England flush'd
And her van the fleeter rush'd
O'er the deadly space between.
'Hearts of oak,' our captains cried!" when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.