Imágenes de página



Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,

And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
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,

Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow. For, through thy long dark lashes low depending,

The soul of melancholy Gentleness

Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending, Above all pain, yet pitying all distress ;

At once such majesty with sweetness blending, I worship more, but cannot love thee less.



When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been :
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth :
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy śmiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on—it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise,
I never knew but one, and here he lies.

Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808. FAREWELL.

FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal availd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky. "Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in that word-Farewell!- Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,

Though grief and passion there rebel ; I only know we loved in vain

I only feel-Farewell!—Farewell!


Bright be the place of thy soul!

No lovelier spirit than thine E'er burst from its mortal control,

In the orbs of the blessed to shine. On earth thou wert all but divine,

As thy soul shall immortally be; And our sorrow may cease to repine,

When we know that thy God is with thee.


Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be:
There should not be the shadow of gloom,

In aught that reminds us of thee.
Young flowers and an evergreen tree

May spring from the spot of thy rest: But nor cypress nor yew let us see;

For why should we mourn for the blest ?

« AnteriorContinuar »