« AnteriorContinuar »
Oh! blest be thine unbroken light!
That watch'd me as a seraph's eye, And stood between me and the night,
For ever shining sweetly nigh.
And when the cloud upon us came,
Which strove to blacken o'er thy rayThen purer spread its gentle flame,
And dash'd the darkness all away.
Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,
And teach it what to brave or brookThere's more in one soft word of thine,
Than in the world's defied rebuke.
Thou stoodst, as stands a lovely tree,
That still unbroke, though gently bent, Still waves with fond fidelity
Its boughs above a monument.
The winds might rend—the skies might pour,
But there thou wert-and still wouldst be
Devoted in the stormiest hour
To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.
But thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall; For heaven in sunshine will requite
The kind and thee the most of all.
Then let the ties of baffled love
Be broken-thine will never break; Thy heart can feel—but will not move;
Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.
And these, when all was lost beside,
Were found and still are fix'd in thee
And bearing still a breast so tried,
Earth is no desert-ev'n to me.
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
We do not curse thee, Waterloo !
Never yet was heard such thunder
Never yet was seen such lightning,
The Chief has fallen, but not by you,
With that youthful chief competed ?
Who could boast o'er France defeated, Till lone Tyranny commanded ? Till, goaded by ambition's sting, The Hero sunk into the King ? Then he fell ;—So perish all, Who would men by man enthral !
And thou too of the snow-white plume!
On thy war-horse through the ranks,
Like a stream which burst its banks, While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, Shone and shiver'd fast around thee
Of the fate at last which found thee:
Was that haughty plume laid low