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And shouldst thou seek his end to know:
Still, had I loved thee less, my heart My heart forebodes, my fears foresee,
Had then less sacrificed to thine ; He'll linger long in silent woe;
It felt not half so much to part But live-until I cease to be.
As if its guilt had inade thee mine.
REMEMBER HIM WHOM PASSION'S
REMEMBER him whom passion's power
Severely, deeply, vainly proved : Remember thou that dangerous hour,
When neither fell, though both were loved.
IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.
Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
My thoughts their dungeon know too well; Back to my breast the wanderers shrink,
And droop within their silent ceil.
That yielding breast, that melting eye,
Too much invited to be bless'd; That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,
The wilder wish reproved, repress'd.
SONNETS TO GENEVRA.
Oh ! let me feel that all I lost
But saved thee all that conscience fears; And blush for every pang it cost
To spare the vain remorse of years.
Yet think of this when many a tongue,
Whose busy accents whisper blame, Would do the heart that loved thee wrong,
And brand a nearly blighted name.
Think that, whate'er to others, thou
Hast seen each selfish thought subdued : I bless thy purer soul even now,
Even now, in midnight solitude. Oh, God! that we had met in time,
Our hearts as fond, thy hand inore free, When thou hadst loved without a crime,
And I been less unworthy thee ! Far may thy days, as heretofore,
From this our gaudy world be past ! And that too bitter moment o'er,
Oh! may such trial be thy last. This heart, alas! perverted long,
Itself destroy'd might thee destroy ; To meet thee in the glittering throng,
Would wake Presumption's hope of joy. Theu to the things whose bliss or wos,
Like mine, is wild and worthless all, That world resign-such scenes forego,
Where those who feel must surely fall. Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness,
Thy soul from long seclusion purc; From what even here hath pass'd, may guess
What there thy bosom must endure. Oh! pardon that imploring tear,
Since not by Virtue shed in vain, My frenzy drew from eyes so dear;
For me they shall not weep again. Though long and mournful must it be,
The thought that we no more :nay mect; Yet I deserve the stern decree,
And almost deem the sentence sweet.
1. THINE eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,
And the wan lustre of thy features-caught
From contemplation--where serenely wrought, Seems Sorrow's softness charmed from its despair Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,
That-but I know thy blessed bosom fraught
With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thoughtI should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care. With such an aspect, by his colours blent,
When from his beauty breathing pencil born (Except that thore hast nothing to repent),
The Magdalen of Guido saw the mornSuch seem'st thou-but how much more excellent! With nought Remorse can claim-nör Virtue scorn.
II. THY cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could Nush
Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, My heart would wish away that ruder glow: And dazzle not thy deep blue eyes—but, oh!
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
The soul of melancholy Gentleness
Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
I worship more, but cannot love thee less.
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
"TU MI CHAMAS.'
IN moments to delight devoted,
My life !' with tenderest tone, you cry; Dear words! on which my heart had dotel
If youth could neither fade nor die.
Ah! then repeat those accents never;
Which, like my love, exists for ever.
Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand You call me still your life.-Oh! change the word- No foe could tame-no tyrant could cominand! Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh:
That race is gone-but still their children breathe, Say rather I'm your soul; more just that name,
And glory crowns then with redoubled wreath: For, like the soul, my love can never die.
O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,
The blood which flow'd with Wallace flows as free,
But now 'tis only shed for fame and theé!
Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim, LINES COMPOSED ON THE OCCASION OF HIS
But give support-the world hath given him fame! ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE REGENT BEING SEEN STANDING BETWEEN THE COFFINS OF The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled HENRY VIII. AND CHARES I., IN THE ROYAL While cheerly following where the mighty led VAULT AT WINDSOR.
Who sleep beneath the undistinguish'd sod
Where happier comrades in their triumph trod, FAMED for contemptuous breach of sacred ties,
To us bequeath—'tis all their fate allows By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies;
The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse: Between them stands another sceptred thing
She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise It inoves, it reigns-in all but naine, a king :
The tearful eye in melancholy gaze; Charles to his people, Henry to his wife,
Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose, -In him the double tyrant starts to life :
The Highland seer's anticipated woes, Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain, The bleeding phantom of each martial form, Each royal vampire wakes to life again.
Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm ; Ah, what can tombs avail, since these disgorge While sad she chants the solitary song, The blood and dust of both-to mould a George ! The soft lament for him who tarries long
For him, whose distant relics vainly crave
The cronach's wild requiem to the brave !
'Tis heaven-not man-must charm away the woe, I SPEAK not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name; Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow, There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame: Yet tenderness and time may rob the tear But the tear which now burns on my cheek may Of half its bitterness, for one so dear; impart
A nation's gratitude perchance may spread The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart. A thornless pillow for the widow's head;
May lighten well her heart's maternal care, Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
And wean from penury the soldier's heir. Were those hours--can their joy or their bitterness
cease? We repent, we abjure, we will break from our
CONDOLATORY ADDRESS chain, We will part, we will fly to-unite it again!
TO SARAH COUNTESS OF JERSEY, ON THE PRINCE
REGENT'S RETURNING HER PICTURE TO MRS. Oh I thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt ! MEE. Forgive me, adored one !--forsake, if thou wilt ; But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,
WHEN the vain triumph of the imperial lord, And man shall not break it--whatever thou may'st,
Whom servile Rome obey'd, and yet abhorr'd,
Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust, And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
That left a likeness of the brave or just; This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be ;
What most admired each scrutinizing eye And our days seem as swift, and our moments more of all that deck'd that passing pageantry? sweet,
What spread from face to face that wondering air ? With thee by my side, than with worlds at my feet.
The thought of Brutus-for his was not there! One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
That absence proved his worth,—that absence fix'd Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;
His memory on the longing mind, unmix'd ;
If thus, fair Jersey, our desiring gaze
Search for thy form, in vain and mute amaze,
Amidst those pictured charms, whose loveliness,
Bright though they be, thine own had rer.der'd less : INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN AT THE
If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits
Heir of his father's crown, and of his wits,
Could with thy gentle image bear depart ;
To gaze on Beauty's band without its chief :
OCCASIONAL PIECES Yet comfort still one selfish thought imparts,
And shuddering hear of victory,
Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.
Where shall they turn to mourn thee less : A fount that only wants its living stream;
When cease to hear thy cherish'd naine ! A night, with every star, save Dian's beam.
Time cannot teach forgetfulness,
While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.
Alas! for them, though not for thee,
They cannot choose but weep the more; Long may thy yet meridian lustre shine,
Deep for the dead the grief must be,
Who ne'er gave cause to inourn before.
BELSHAZZAR! from the banquet turn, Each glance that wins us, and the life that throws
Nor in thy sensual fulness fall ;
Behold! while yet before thee burn
The graven words, the glowing wall.
Niany a despot men miscall Albeit too dazzling for a dotard's sight;
Crown d and anointed from on high; And those must wait till every charm is gone,
But thou, the weakest, worst of all
Is it not written, thou must die?
Go! dash the roses from thy brow-
Grey hairs but poorly wreath with them; It's hate of Freedom's loveliness, and thine,
Youth's garlands misbecome thee now,
More than thy very diadem,
Then throw the worthless bauble by,
Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn;
And learn like better men to die !
Oh! early in the balance weigh'd,
And ever light of word and worth,
Whose soul expired ere youth decay'd,
And left thee but a mass of earth.
To see thee moves the scorner's mirth:
But tears in Hope's averted eye
Lament that ever thou hadst birth
Unfit to govern, live, or die.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
A tomb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue: The present lours, the future age,
For them bewail, to them belong. For them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hush'd, their name the only sound;
The goblet's tributary round.
Lamented by admiring foes,
Who would not die the death they chose?
Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
A model in thy memory.
In woe, that glory cannot quell;
THERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
Is thy sweet voice to me:
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
As an infant's asleep:
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contained;
They fell and faded-and the crackling trunks There's not a joy the world can give like that it Extinguish'd with a crash-and all was black, takes away,
The brows of men by the despairing light When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits duil decay ;
The flashes fell upon them; soine lay down 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest which fades so fast,
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and siniled; But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth it. And others hurried to and fro, and fed self be past.
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky, Then the few whose spirits float above the wäsck of The pall of a past world; and then again happiness
With curses cast them down upon the dust, Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess: And gnashid their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in
And, terrified, did Autter on the ground, The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes stretch again.
Came tanie and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself And twined themselves among the multitude, comes down;
Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food: It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again :a meal was bought That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our With blood, and each sate sullenly apart tears,
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the All earth was but one thought-and that was death ice appears.
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails-men Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth dis. Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; tract the breast,
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd, Through midnight hours that yield no more their for. Even dogs assaild their masters, all save one, iner hope of rest;
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath, The birds and beasts and famish'd men at hay, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead beneath.
Lured their lank jaws; hiinself sought out no food, Oh! could I feel as I have felt--or be what I have But with a piteous and perpetual moan, been,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a Which answered not with a caress-he died. vanish'd scene;
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish Of an enormous city did survive, though they be,
And they were enemies: they met beside
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects-saw, and shriek'd, and diedSwung blind and blackening in the moonless air ; Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Morn came and went-and came, and brought no Unknowing who he was upon whose brow day,
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void, And men forgot their passions in the dread
The populous and the powerful was a lump, Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless, Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
A lump of death-a chaos of hard clay. And they did live by watchfires-and the thrones, The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still, The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths; The habitations of all things which dwell,
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed, And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they droppa, And men were gathered round their blazing homes Thoy slept on the abyss without a surge
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The matchless dialogue, the deathless wit,
The glowing portraits, fresh froin life, that bring
To fulness by the fiat of his thought,
Here in their first abode you still may meet,
A halo of the light of other days,
Which still the splendour of its orb betrays.
But should there be to whom the fatal blig!t Who hath not felt the softness of the hour
Of failing Wisdom yields a base delight, Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower ?
Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes
Jar in the music which was born their own, While nature makes that melancholy pause,
Still let them pause-an! little do they know Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time
That what to them seemed Vice might be but Woe. Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime,
Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze Who hath not shared that calın, so still and deep,
Is fix'd for ever to detract or praise ; The voiceless thought which would not speak but
Repose denies her requiem to his name, weep,
And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. A holy concord, and a bright regret,
The secret enemy whose sleepless eye A glorious sympathy with suns that set?
Stands sentinel, accuser, judge, and spy; 'Tis not harsh sorrow, but a tenderer woe,
The foe, the fool, the jealous, and the vain, Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below,
The envious, who but breathe in others' painFelt without bitterness, but full and clear,
Behold the host ! delighting to deprave, A sweet dejection, a transparent tear,
Who track the steps of glory to the grave, Unmix'd with worldly grief or selfish stain,
Watch every fault that daring Genius owes Shed without shame, and secret without pain.
Half to the ardour which its birth bestows, Even as the tenderness that hour instils
Distort the truth, accumulate the lie, When summer's day declines along the hills,
And pile the pyramid of Calumny! So feels the fulness of our heart and eyes,
These are his portion-but if joined to these When all of Genius which can perish dies.
Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease; A mighty spirit is eclipsed-a power
If the high Spirit must forget to soar, Hath passed from day to darkness-to whose hour
And stoop to strive with Misery at the door, Of light no likeness is bequeath'd-no name,
To soothe Indignity-and face to face Focus at once of all the rays of Fame!
Meet sordid rage, and wrestle with Disgrace;
To find in Hope but the renew d caress,
The serpent-fold of further Faithlessness :-
If such may be the ills which men assail, The enduring produce of immortal Mind;
What marvel if at last the mightiest fail?
Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling's given Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon, A deathless part of him who died too soon.
Bear hearts electric-charged with fire from heaven,
Black with the rude collision, inly torn, But sanall that portion of the wondrous whole,
By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne, These sparkling segments of that circling soul, Which all embraced, and lightend over all,
Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst
Thoughts which have turn'd to thunder-scorch, and To cheer, to pierce, to please, or to appal.
burst. From the charm'd council to the festive board, Of human feelings the unbounded lord ;
But far from us and from our mimic scene In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied, The praised, the proud, who made his praise their Such things should be-if such have ever been;
Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task, pride. When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan
To give the tribute Glory need not ask, Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man,
To mourn the vanish'd beam, and add our mite His was the thunder, his the avenging rod,
Of praise in payment of a long delight.
Ye Orators! whom yet our councils yield,
Mourn for the veteran Hero of your field ! blazed
The worthy rival of the wondrous Three, Till vanquish d senates trembled as they praised.
Whose words were sparks of Immortality!
Ye Bards! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear, And here, oh! here, where yet all young and He was your master-emulate him here ! wann,
Ye men of wit and social eloquence! The gay creations of his spirit charm,
He was your brother-bear his ashes hence!