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Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
“ IIonest-honest lago I
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee." Every inmost thought could show!
Shakspeare Then thou would'st at last discover 'Twas not well to spurn it so.
Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred,
Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head; Though the world for this commend thee Next--for some gracious service unexprest, Though it smile upon the blow,
And from its wages only to be guess'd Even its praises must offend thee,
Raised from the toilet to the table,—where Founded on another's wo
Her wondering betters wait behind her chair.
With eye unmoved, and forehead unabash’d, Though my many faults defaced me, She dines from off the plate she lately wash’d. Could no other arm be found,
Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie-
Who could, ye gods! her next employment guess
An only infant's earliest governess! Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;
She taught the child to read, and taught so well, Love may sink by slow decay,
That she herself, by teaching, learn’d to spell. But by sudden wrench, believe not
An adept next in penmanship she grows, Hearts can thus be torn away:
As many a nameless slander deftly shows :
What she had made the pupil of her art, Still thine own its life retaineth
None know-but that high Soul secured the heart, Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And panted for the truth it could not hear, And the undying thought which paineth With longing breast and undeluded ear. Is—that we no more may meet.
Foil'd was perversion by that youthful mind,
Which Flattery fool'd not-Baseness could not blind, These are words of deeper sorrow
Deceit infect not-near Contagion soilThan the wail above the dead;
Indulgence weaken--nor Example spoilBoth shall live, but every morrow
Nor master'd Science tempt her to look down Wake us froin a widow'd bed.
On humbler talents with a pitying frown
Nor Genius swell--nor Beauty render vainAnd when thou would'st solace gather, Nor Envy ruffle to retaliate pain
When our child's first accents flow, Nor Fortune change-Pride raise-nor Passion bow Wilt thou teach her to say “Father!” Nor Virtue teach austerity--till now. Though his care she must forego ?
Serenely purest of her sex that live,
But wanting one sweet weakness-to forgive, When her little hands shail press thee, Too shock'd at faults her soul can never know, When her lip to thine is prest,
She deems that all could be like her below: Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, Foe to all vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend, Think of him thy love had bless'd!
For Virtue pardons those she would amend.
But to the theme :-now laid aside too long,
Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou never more may'st see Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.
* Mrs. Charlmont.
Though all her former functions are no more,
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 rayThen 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 poi,
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 baffied love
Be broken-thine will never break; Thy heart can feel--but will not move;
Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.
Oh! wretch without a tear-without a thought,
And these, when all was lost beside,
Were found and still are fix'd in the And bearing still a breast so tried,
Earth is no desert-ev'n to me.
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
Look on thine earthly victims-and despair !
We do not curse thee, Waterloo !
* His sister, Mrs. Leigh.
Like the water-spout from ocean,
And, as it onward rolling rose, With a strong and growing motion
So moved his heart upon our foes, It soars, and mingles in the air,
There, where death's brief pang was quickest, With that of lost LABEDOYERE
And the battle's wreck lay thickest, With that of him whose honor'd grave
Strew'd beneath the advancing banner Contains the “bravest of the brave.”
Of the eagle's burning crestA crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her, But shall return to whence it rose;
Who could then her wing arrest When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder
Victory beaming from her breast?) Never yet was heard such thunder
While the broken line enlarging As then shah shake the world with wonder
Fell, or fled along the plain; Never yet was seen such lightning
There be sure was MURAT charging!
There he ne'er shall charge again!
O'er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps Triumph o'er each levell’d arch-
But, her hand on her sword,
Doubly shall she be adored; Vanquishers of Waterloo !
France has twice too well been taught When the soldier citizen
The “moral lesson” dearly boughtSway'd not o'er his fellow men
Her safety sits not on a throne, Save in deeds that led them on
With CAPET or NAPOLEON! Where glory smiled on Freedom's son
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, Till, goaded by ambition's sting,
Though Guilt would sweep it from the earth; The Hero sunk into the King ?
With a fierce and lavish hand Then he fell :-So perish all,
Scattering nations' wealth like sand; Who would men by man enthral!
Pouring nations' blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter!
But the heart and the mind,
And the voice of mankind, France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Shall arise in communionThan sold thyself to death and shame
And who shall resist that proud union ? For a meanly royal name;
The time is past when swords subduedSuch as he of Naples wears,
Man may die-the soul's renew'd: Who thy blood-bought title bears.
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 To catch that crest's ascendancy,
POLISH OFFICER WHO HAD BEEN EXALTED FROM
THE RANKS BY BONAPARTE. HE CLUNG TO HIS en Nev, chap. viii. verse 7, &c. « The first angel sounded, and there
MASTER'S KNEES; WROTE A LETTER TO LORD mai er hail and fire mingled with blood," &c.
KEITH, ENTREATING PERMISSION TO ACCOMPANY I se 8. “And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain plog with fire was cast into the sea ; and the third part of the sea became IIM, IN THE MOST MENIAL CAPACITY, WHICH von ,"
COULD NOT BE ADMITTED.” Virse 10. "And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from war in, burning as it were a lamp; and it fell upon the third part of the vert, and pon the fountains of waters."
Must thou go, my glorious Chief, Verse 11. “And the name of the star is called Wormwood; and the third
Sever'd from thy faithful few ? part of the waters became worinwood; and many men died of the waters,
Who can tell thy warrior's grief, xccause thry were made bitter." † Murat's remains are suid to have been torn from the grave and burnt.
Maddening o’er that long adieu ?
Woman's love, and friendship’s zeal,
Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood,
And swept down empires with its flood;
Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base,
As thou didst lighten through all space;
And the shorn Sun grew dim in air,
And set while thou wert dwelling there.
Before thee rose, and with thee grew,
A rainbow of the loveliest hue,
Of three bright colors,* each divine,
And fit for that celestial sign;
For Freedom's hand had blended them,
Like tints in an immortal gem.
FAREWELL to the Land, where the gloom of my
Glory ON THE STAR OF “ THE LEGION OF
Arose and o’ershadow'd the earth with her name HONOR."
She abandons me now—but the page of her story,
The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame. [FROM THE FRENCH.]
I have warr'd with a word which vanquished me only
When the meteor of conquest allured me too far; STAR of the brave !~whose beam hath shed
I have coped with the nations which dread me thus Such glory o'er the quick and dead
lonely, Thou radiant and adored deceit!
The last single Captive to millions in war.
Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crown & Why rise in Heaven to set on Earth ?
I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth, Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays; But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found Eternity flash'd through thy blaze; The music of thy martial sphere
Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth. Was fame on high and honor here,
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted And thy light broke on human eyes,
In strife with the storm, when their battles were Like a Volcano of the skies.
wonThen the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was
blasted, At Waterloo one man was seen, whose left arm was shattered by a cannon ball, to wrench it off with tóe other, and throwing it up in the air, ex. Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on victory's sun! claimed to his comrades Vive l'Empereur, jusqu'à la mort!' There were many other instances of the like; this you may, however, depend on as trud," Private Letter from Brussels.
* The tri-color.
Farewell to thee, Fiai.ce !--but when Liberty rallies Then when nature around me is smiling,
The last smile which answers to mine,
Because it reminds me of thine;
As the breasts I believed in with me, There are links which must break in the chain that If their billows excite an emotion, has bound us,
It is that they bear me from thee. Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice.
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: WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF "THE
They may crush, but they shall not contemnPLEASURES OF MEMORY."
They may torture, but shall not subdue me
'Tis of thee that I think-not of them. ABSENT or present, still to thee, My friend, what magic spells belong !
Though human, thou didst not deceive me, As all can tell, who share, like me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake, In turn thy converse, and thy song.
Though loved, thou forborest to griere me, But when the dreaded hour shall come
Though slander'd, thou never couldst shake, By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh,
Though trusted, thợu didst not disclaim me, And “ MEMORY” o'er her Druid's tomb
Though parted, it was not to fly,
Though watchful, it was not to defame me, How fondly will she then repay
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 more than I once could foresee,
I have found that, whatever it lost me,
It could not deprive me of thee.
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,
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,
Which of the heirs of immortality
From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'da
Thus much I at least may recall,
Deserved to be dearest of all:
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
I HAD a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars STANZAS TO --.t
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Though the day of my destiny's over, Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
And the star of my fate hath declined, Morn came, and went-and came, and brought nc
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
The palaces of crowned kings-the huts,
Were burnt for beacons ; cities were consumed,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes