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Whịch, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride,
When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child, He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled!
Sager than in thy fortunes ; for in them
'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose; So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose.
If, like a tower upon a headlong rock,
Like stern Diogenes to mock at men;
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,
Of aught but rest; a fever at the coré, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.
This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion ; Conquerors and Kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings
Are theirs ! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or
With its own fickerings, or a sword laid by
INVOCATION TO NEMESIS. And thou, who never yet of human wrong Lost the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis ! Here where the ancient paid thee homage longThou, who didst call the Furies from the abyss, And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss For that unnatural retribution-just, Had it but been from hands less near-in this
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust! Dost thou not hear my heart? - Awake! thou shalt,
It is not that I may not have incurred
Which if I have not taken for the sake-
And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now
The deep prophetic fulness of this verse,
That curse shall be Forgiveness. Have I not-
Because not altogether of such clay
From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy
The Janus' glance of whose significant eye,
And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy.
But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain, But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; Something unearthly, which they dream not of, Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre,
Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love.
It was the night and Lara's glassy stream The stars are studding, each with imaged beam: So calm, the waters scarcely seem’d to stray, And yet they glide like happiness away; Reflecting far and fairy-like from high The immortal lights that live along the sky ? Its banks are fringed with many a goodly tree, And flowers the fairest that may feast the bee ; Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove, And Innocence would offer to her love. These deck the shore, the waves their channel make In windings bright and mazy like the snake. All was so still, so soft in earth and air, You scarce would start to meet a spirit there; Secure that nought of evil could delight To walk in such a scene, on such a night!
NIGHT AT SEA.
Death hath but little left him to destroy! [boy ? Oh! happy years ! once more who would not be a
Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side,
A flashing pang! of which the weary breast Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest.
A NIGHT SCENE AT THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 'Tis midnight : on the mountains brown The cold round moon shines deeply down ; Blue roll the waters, blue the sky Spreads like an ocean hung on high, Bespangled with those isles of light, So wildly, spiritually bright; Who ever gazed upon them shining, And turned to earth without repining, Nor wished for wings to flee away, And mix with their eternal ray ? The waves on either shore lay there Calm, clear, and azure as the air ;