If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee."
Shakspeare

BORN in the garret, in the kitchen bred,
Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head;
Next for some gracious service unexprest,
Next--for
And from its wages only to be guess'd-
Raised from the toilet to the table,-where
Her wondering betters wait behind her chair.
With eye unmoved, and forehead unabash'd,
She dines from off the plate she lately wash'd.
Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie—
The genial confidante, and general spy-
Who could, ye gods! her next employment guess-
An only infant's earliest governess!

She taught the child to read, and taught so well,
That she herself, by teaching, learn'd to spell.
An adept next in penmanship she grows,
As many a nameless slander deftly shows :
What she had made the pupil of her art,
None know-but that high Soul secured the heart,
And panted for the truth it could not hear,
With longing breast and undeluded ear.
Foil'd was perversion by that youthful mind,
Which Flattery fool'd not-Baseness could not blind
Deceit infect not-near Contagion soil-
Indulgence weaken-nor Example spoil-
Nor master'd Science tempt her to look down
On humbler talents with a pitying frown-
Nor Genius swell-nor Beauty render vain-
Nor Envy ruffle to retaliate pain-

Nor Fortune change-Pride raise-nor Passion bow
Nor Virtue teach austerity-till now.
Serenely purest of her sex that live,

But wanting one sweet weakness-to forgive,
Too shock'd at faults her soul can never know,
She deems that all could be like her below:
Foe to all vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend,
For Virtue pardons those she would amend.

But to the theme :-now laid aside too long, The baleful burden of this honest song

* Mrs. Charlmont.

TO

Though all her former functions are no more,
She rules the circle which she served before.

If mothers-none know why-before her quake;
If daughters dread her for the mothers' sake;
If early habits-those false links, which bind
At times the loftiest to the meanest mind-
Have given her power too deeply to instil
The angry essence of her deadly will;
If like a snake she steal within your walls,
Till the black slime betray her as she crawls;
If like a viper to the heart she wind,

And leave the venom there she did not find;
What marvel that this hag of hatred works
Eternal evil latent as she lurks,

To make a Pandemonium where she dwells,
And reign the Hecate of domestic hells?
Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints.
With all the kind mendacity of hints,

While mingling 'truth with falsehood-sneers with smiles

A thread of candor with a web of wiles;

A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming,
To hide her bloodless heart's soul harden'd scheming;
A lip of lies-a face form'd to conceal;
And, without feeling, mock at all who feel :
With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown;
A cheek of parchment-and an eye of stone.
Mark, how the channels of her yellow blood
Ooze through her skin, and stagnate there to mud,
Cased like the centipede in saffron mail,
Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale-
(For drawn from reptiles only may we trace
Congenial colors in that soul or face)-
Look on her features! and behold her mind
As in a mirror of itself defined:
Look on the picture! deem it not o'ercharged-
There is no trait which might not be enlarged:
Yet true to "Nature's journeymen," who made
This monster when their mistress left off trade-
This female dog-star of her little sky,
Where all beneath her influence droop or die.

Oh! wretch without a tear-without a thought,
Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought-
The time shall come, nor long remote, when thou
Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now;
Feel for thy vile self-loving self in vain,
And turn thee howling in unpitied pain.
May the strong curse of crush'd affections light
Back on thy bosom with reflected blight!
And make thee in thy leprosy of mind
As loathsome to thyself as to mankind!
Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate,
Black-as thy will for others would create:
Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust,
And thy soul welter in its hideous crust.
Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed,-

The widow'd couch of fire, that thou hast spread!
Ther, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with

prayer,

Look on thine earthly victims-and despair!
Down to the dust!-and,' as thou rott'st away,
Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay.
But for the love I bore, and still must bear,
To her thy malice from all ties would tear-
Thy name-thy human name—to every eye
The climax of all scorn should hang on high,
Exalted o'er thy less abhorr'd compeers-
And festering in the infamy of years.

WHEN all around grew drear and dark, And reason half withheld her rayAnd hope but shed a dying spark Which more misled my lonely way;

In that deep midnight of the mind, And that internal strife of heart, When dreading to be deem'd too kind, The weak despair-the cold depart;

When fortune changed-and love fled far, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast. Thou wert the solitary star

Which rose and set not to the last.

Oh! blest be thine unbroken light!
That watch'd me as a seraph's eye,
And stood between me and the night,
For ever shining sweetly nigh.

And when the cloud upon us came,
Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray-
Then purer spread its gentle flame,

And dash'd the darkness all away.

Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,

And teach it what to brave or brookThere's more in one soft word of thine Than in the world's defied rebuke.

Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree, That still unbroke, though gently bent, Still waves with fond fidelity

Its boughs above a monument.

The winds might rend-the skies might pow, But there thou wert-and still would'st be Devoted in the stormiest hour

To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.

But thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall ;

For heaven in sunshine will requite
The kind-and thee the most of all.

Then let the ties of baffled love

Be broken-thine will never break; Thy heart can feel--but will not move; Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. And these, when all was lost beside, Were found and still are fix'd in theeAnd bearing still a breast so tried, Earth is no desert-ev'n to me.

ODE.

[FROM THE FRENCH.]
I.

We do not curse thee, Waterloo !
Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew;
There 'twas shed, but is not sunk-
Rising from each gory trunk,

His sister, Mrs. Leigh.

grave

Like the water-spout from ocean,
With a strong and growing motion-
It soars, and mingles in the air,
With that of lost LABEDOYERE-
With that of him whose honor'd
Contains the "bravest of the brave.'
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose;
When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder-
Never yet was heard such thunder

As then shall shake the world with wonder-
Never yet was seen such lightning

As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!
Like the Wormwood Star foretold

By the sainted Seer of old,
Show'ring down a fiery flood,
Turning rivers into blood.*

II.

The Chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo!

When the soldier citizen

Sway'd not o'er his fellow men-
Save in deeds that led them on
Where glory smiled on Freedom's son-
Who, of all the despot's banded,

With that youthful chief competed ?
Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone Tyranny commanded?
Till, goaded by ambition's sting,

The Hero sunk into the King?

Then he fell :-So perish all,

Who would men by man enthral!

III.

And thou too of the snow-white plume!
Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb
Better hadst thou still been leading
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;
Such as he of Naples wears,
Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing

On thy war-horse through the ranks,
Like a stream which burst its banks,
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,
Shone and shiver'd fast around thee—
Of the fate at last which found thee:
Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave's dishonest blow?

Once-as the moon sways o'er the tide,
It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,
The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendancy,—

ee Rev. chap. viii. verse 7, &c. "The first angel sounded, and there ed hail and fire mingled with blood," &c.

se 8. "And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain ag with fire was cast into the sea; and the third part of the sea became Verse 10. "And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from earn, burning as it were a lamp; and it fell upon the third part of the Avent, and upon the fountains of waters."

Verse 11. "And the name of the star is called Wormwood; and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, ecause they were made bitter.”

† Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burnt.

And, as it onward rolling rose,

So moved his heart upon our foes,

There, where death's brief pang was quickest,
And the battle's wreck lay thickest,
Strew'd beneath the advancing banner

Of the eagle's burning crest-
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,
Who could then her wing arrest-
Victory beaming from her breast?)
While the broken line enlarging
Fell, or fled along the plain;
There be sure was MURAT charging!
There he ne'er shall charge again!

IV.

O'er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps Triumph o'er each levell'd arch-
But let Freedom rejoice,

With her heart in her voice;

But, her hand on her sword,
Doubly shall she be adored;
France has twice too well been taught
The "moral lesson" dearly bought-
Her safety sits not on a throne,
With CAPET or NAPOLEON!
But in equal rights and laws,

Hearts and hands in one great cause-
Freedom, such as God hath given

Unto all beneath his heaven,

With their breath, and from their birth, Though Guilt would sweep it from the earth;

With a fierce and lavish hand

Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter!

V.

But the heart and the mind,
And the voice of mankind,
Shall arise in communion-

And who shall resist that proud union?
The time is past when swords subdued-
Man may die-the soul's renew'd:
Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;
Millions breathe but to inherit
Her for ever bounding spirit-
When once more her hosts assemble,
Tyrants shall believe and tremble-
Smile they at this idle threat?
Crimson tears will follow yet

FROM THE FRENCH.

ALL WEPT, BUT PARTICULARLY SAVARY, AND A POLISH OFFICER WHO HAD BEEN EXALTED FROM THE RANKS BY BONAPARTE. HE CLUNG TO HIS MASTER'S KNEES; WROTE A LETTER TO LORD KEITH, ENTREATING PERMISSION TO ACCOMPANY HIM, IN THE MOST MENIAL CAPACITY, WHICH COULD NOT BE ADMITTED.'

MUST thou go, my glorious Chief, Sever'd from thy faithful few? Who can tell thy warrior's grief, Maddening o'er that long adieu ?

Farewell to thee, France!-but when Liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then-
The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though wither'd, thy tears will unfold it again—
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice-
There are links which must break in the chain that
has bound us,

Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice.

WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF "THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY."

ABSENT or present, still to thee,

My friend, what magic spells belong!
As all can tell, who share, like me,
In turn thy converse, and thy song.
But when the dreaded hour shall come
By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh,
And "MEMORY" o'er her Druid's tomb
Shall weep that aught of thee can die,
How fondly will she then repay

Thy homage offer'd at her shrine,
And blend, while ages roll away,
Her name immortally with thine !
April 19th, 1812.

SONNET.

ROUSSEAU-Voltaire-our Gibbon-and de Staël-
*Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore,
Thy shore of names like these! wert thou no more,
Their memory thy remembrance would recall;
To them thy banks were lovely as to all,

But they have made them lovelier, for the lore
Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core
Of human hearts the ruin of a wall

Where dwelt the wise and wond'rous; but by thee
How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel,
In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea,
The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal,
Which of the heirs of immortality

Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real!

Then when nature around me is smiling,
The last smile which answers to mine,
I do not believe it beguiling,

Because it reminds me of thine;
And when winds are at war with the ocean,
As the breasts I believed in with me,
If their billows excite an emotion,

It is that they bear me from thee.

Though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd, And its fragments are sunk in the wave, Though I feel that my soul is deliver'd

To pain-it shall not be its slave. There is many a pang to pursue me:

They may crush, but they shall not contemnThey may torture, but shall not subdue me'Tis of thee that I think-not of them.

Though human, thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake,
Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me,
Though slander'd, thou never couldst shake,-
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,
Though parted, it was not to fly,
Though watchful, it was not to defame me,
Nor mute, that the world might belie.

Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,
Nor the war of the many with one-
If my soul was not fitted to prize it,
'Twas folly not sooner to shun:
And if dearly that error hath cost me,
And more than I once could foresee,
I have found that, whatever it lost me,
It could not deprive me of thee.

From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd, Thus much I at least may recall,

It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd Deserved to be dearest of all:

In the desert a fountain is springing,

In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee.