Like the Wormwood Star foretold etc. And thou, too, of the snow-white plume, So moved his heart upon our foes. There, where death's brief pang was quickest, Of the eagle's burning crest (There with thunder clouds to fan her, Victory beaming from her breast?) IV. O'er glories gone the invaders march, With her heart in her voice; Hearts and hands in one great cause- Unto all beneath His heaven, With their breath, and from their birth, V. But the heart and the mind, When once more her hosts assemble, TO NAPOLEON. FROM THE FRENCH. MUST thou go, my glorious Chief,* Sever'd from thy faithful few? With a soldier's faith for thee? See Rev. viii. 7, etc., The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood,' Ver. 8, And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea and the third part of the sea became blood,' etc. Ver. 10, And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp; and it fell upon the third part of the All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish rivers, and upon the fountains of waters, Ver. 11. officer, who had been exalted from the ranks by And the name of the star is called Wormwood; and Bonaparte. He clung to his master's knees; wrote the third part of the waters became wormwood; and a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to ac many men died of the waters, because they were company him, even in the most menial capacity, which made bitter.' could not be admitted.' Idol of the soldier's soul! Thee alone no doom can bow, Scarce dare trust a man with thee, Hearts like those which still are thine? My chief, my king, my friend, adieu! As his foes I now implore: Every peril he must brave; His fall, his exile, and his gravé. And the shorn Sun grew dim in air, One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes; Star of the brave! thy ray is pale, And Freedom hallows with her tread ON THE STAR OF THE LEGION OF FROM THE FRENCH. STAR of the brave !-whose beam hath shed Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays; Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood, NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL. FAREWELL to the Land where the gloom of my glory I have warr'd with a world which vanquish'd me only I have coped with the nations which dread me thus The last single captive to millions in war. Farewell to thee, France I when thy diadem crown'd me, I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth; Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth. Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on victory's sun! At Waterloo, one man was seen whose left arm was shattered by a cannon ball, to wrench it off with the other, and throwing it up in the air, exclaimed to his comrades, "Vive l'Empereur, jusqu'à la mort !" There were many other instances of the like. This, Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice! however, you may depend on as true,-Private Letter from Brussels. * The tricolour, POEMS TO THYRZA. 1811 TO 1812. TO THYRZA. WITHOUT a stone to mark the spot, And say, what Truth might well have said, By all, save one, perchance forgot, Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid? By many a shore and many a sea To bid us meet-no-ne'er again! Could this have been-a word, a look, That softly said, 'We part in peace,' Had taught my bosom how to brook, With fainter sighs, thy soul's release. And didst thou not, since Death for thee Prepared a light and pangless dart, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see, Who held, and holds thee in his heart? Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here, Till all was past? But when no more The kiss, so guiltless and refined, That Love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind, Even passion blush'd to plead for more. The tone, that taught me to rejoice, But sweet to me from none but thine; The pledge we wore--I wear it still, But where is thine ?-Ah! where art thou? Oft have I borne the weight of ill, But never bent beneath till now! Well hast thou left in life's best bloom I would not wish thee here again. But if in worlds more blest than this Teach me too early taught by thee! To bear, forgiving and forgiven: On earth thy love was such to me; It fain would form my hope in heaven! AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE! Be silent, thou once soothing strain, The voice that made those sounds more sweet A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead! To listen, though the dream be flown. Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep, Thou art but now a lovely dream; A star that trembled o'er the deep, Then turn'd from earth its tender beam. But he who through life's dreary way Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath, Will long lament the vanish'd ray That scatter'd gladness o'er his path. ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE. ONE struggle more, and I am free With things that never pleased before: What future grief can touch me more! Then bring me wine, the banquet bring ; That smiles with all, and weeps with none. It was not thus in days more dear, It never would have been, but thou Hast fled, and left me lonely here, Thou'rt nothing-all are nothing now. In vain my lyre would lightly breathe! The smile that sorrow fain would wear But mocks the woe that lurks beneath, Like roses o'er a sepulchre. Though gay companions o'er the bowl Dispel awhile the sense of ill; Though pleasure fires the maddening soul, The heart,-the heart is lonely still! On many a lone and lovely night It soothed to gaze upon the sky; For then I deem'd the heavenly light Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye : And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon, When sailing o'er the Ægean wave, 'Now Thyrza gazes on that moon' Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave! When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, ''Tis comfort still,' I faintly said, 'That Thyrza cannot know my pains :' My life, when Thyrza ceased to live! My Thyrza's pledge in better days, When love and life alike were new! How different now thou meet'st my gaze! How tinged by time with sorrow's hue! The heart that gave itself with thee Is silent-ah, were mine as still! Though cold as e'en the dead can be, It feels, it sickens with the chil. Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token! Or break the heart to which thou'rt pressed. To that which cannot quit the dead? EUTHANASIA. WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion may thy languid wing Wave gently o'er my dying bed! No band of friends or heirs be there, But silent let me sink to earth, With no officious mourners near: I would not mar one hour of mirth, Nor startle friendship with a tear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power In her who lives, and him who dies. 'Twere sweet, my Psyche, to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggle past, E'en Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish-for Beauty still Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest hour, Without regret, without a groan; For thousands Death hath ceased to lower, And pain been transient or unknown. 'Ay, but to die, and go,' alas! Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was Ere born to life and living woe! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG 'Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!' AND thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth; And form so soft, and charms so rare, I will not ask where thou liest low, There flowers or weeds at will may grow, That what I loved, and long must love, It is enough for me to prove Like common earth can rot; To me there needs no stone to tell, 'Tis nothing that I loved so well. Yet did I love thee to the last As fervently as thou, 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 better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine: The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, The silence of that dreamless sleep 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 Than see it pluck'd to-day; I know not if I could have borne To see thy beauties fade; The night that followed such a morn Had worn a deeper shade: Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd, And thou wert lovely to the last : Extinguish'd, not decay'd; As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high. As once I wept, if I could weep, To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again. Yet how much less it were to gain, Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain, Than thus remember thee! The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity Returns again to me, And more thy buried love endears Than aught, except its living years. IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF IF sometimes in the haunts of men The semblance of thy gentle shade: Thus much of thee can still restore, The plaint she dare not speak before. Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile I waste one thought I owe to thee, Nor deem that memory less dear, That then I seem not to repine; I would not fools should overhear If not the goblet pass unquaft'd, That drown'd a single thought of thee. Where could my vacant bosom turn? For well I know, that such had been A blessing never meant for me; |