Thou art a symbol and a sign
To mortals of their fate and force;
Like thee, man is in part divine,
A troubled stream from a pure source;
And man in portions can foresee
His own funereal destiny;
His wretchedness, and his resistance,
And his sad unallied existence:
To which his spirit may oppose
Itself an equal to all woes,
And a firm will, and a deep sense,
Which even in torture can descry
Its own concentred recompense,
Triumphant where it dares defy,
And making death a victory.
On shame to thee, land of the Gaul!
Oh shame to thy children and thee!.
Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall,
How wretched thy portion shall be!
Derision shall strike thee forlorn,
A mockery that never shall die;
The curses of hate, and the hisses of scorn,
Shall burden the winds of thy sky;
And proud o'er thy ruin for ever be hurl'd
The laughter of triumph, the jeers of the world!
Oh, where is thy spirit of yore,
The spirit that breathed in thy dead,
When gallantry's star was the beacon before,
And honour the passion that led ?
Thy storms have awaken'd their sleep,
They groan from the place of their rest,
And wrathfully murmur, and sullenly weep,
To see the foul stain on thy breast;
For where is the glory they left thee in trust?
'Tis scatter'd in darkness, 'tis trampled in dust!
Go look to the kingdoms of earth,
From Indus all round to the pole, And something of goodness, of honour, and worth, Shall brighten the sins of the soul. But thou art alone in thy shame,
The world cannot liken thee there; Abhorrence and vice have disfigured thy name Beyond the low reach of compare; Stupendous in guilt, thou shalt lend us through time A proverb, a by-word, for treachery and crime!
While conquest illumined his sword,
While yet in his prowess he stood,
Thy praises still follow'd the steps of thy lord,
And welcomed the torrent of blood:
Though tyranny sat on his crown,
And wither'd the nations afar,
Yet bright in thy view was that despot's renown,
Till fortune deserted his car;
Then back from the chieftain thou slunkest away,
The foremost t' insult, the first to betray!
Forgot were the feats he had done,
The toils he had borne in thy cause;
Thou turned'st to worship a new rising sun,
And waft other songs of applause.
But the storm was beginning to lower,
Adversity clouded his beam;
And honour and faith were the brag of an hour,
And loyalty's self but a dream :
To him thou hadst banish'd thy vows were restored, And the first that had scoff'd were the first that adored.
What tumult thus burthens the air?
What throng thus encircles his throne?
'Tis the shout of delight, 'tis the millions that swear
His sceptre shall rule them alone.
Reverses shall brighten their zeal,
Misfortune shall hallow his name,
And the world that pursues him shall mournfully feel
How quenchless the spirit and flame
That Frenchmen will breathe, when their hearts are on fire,
For the hero they love, and the chief they admire!
Their hero has rush'd to the field;
His laurels are cover'd with shade-
But where is the spirit that never should yield,
The loyalty never to fade?
In a moment desertion and guile
Abandon'd him up to the foe;
The dastards that flourish'd and grew in his smile
Forsook and renounced him in woe;
nd the millions that swore they would perish to save
held him a fugitive, captive, and slave!
Thou standest a wonder, a marvel to men,
Such perfidy blackens thy brow!
If thou wert the place of my birth,
At once from thy arms would I sever;
I'd fly to the uttermost parts of the earth,
And quit thee for ever and ever;
And thinking of thee in my long after-years,
Should but kindle my blushes and waken my tears.
Oh, shame to thee, land of the Gaul!
Oh, shame to thy children and thee!
Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall,.
How wretched thy portion shall be!
Derision shall strike thee forlorn,
A mockery that never shall die;
The curses of hate, and the hisses of scorn,
Shall burthen the winds of thy sky;
And proud o'er thy ruin for ever be hurl'd
The laughter of triumph, the jeers of the world'
Lines composed on the occasion of H. R. H. the P....e R-g-t being seen standing betwixt the coffins of Henry VIII. and Charles I. in the royal vault at Windsor.
FAMED for contemptuous breach of sacred ties,
By headless Charles, see heartless Henry lies;
Between them stands another sceptred thing,
It moves, it reigns-in all but name, a king:
Charles to his people, Henry to his wife,
-In him the double tyrant starts to life:
Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain, Each royal vampyre wakes to life again :
Ah! what can tombs avail—since these disgorge The blood and dust of both--to mould a G...ge.
A SKETCH FROM PRIVATE LIFE.
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee.»
BORN in the garret, in the kitchen bred,
Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head;
Next for some gracious service unexprest,
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.
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