4.

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.

5.

And when the cloud upon us came, Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray

Then purer spread its gentle flame,

And dash'd the darkness all away.

6.

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.

7.

Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,

That still unbroke, though gently bent,

Still waves with fond fidelity

Its boughs above a monument.

8.

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.

9.

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.

10.

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.

11.

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.

ODE.

[FROM THE FRENCH.]

I.

We do not curse thee, Waterloo!

Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew;

There 'twas shed, but is not sunk

Rising from each gory trunk,

Like the Water-spout from ocean,
With a strong and growing motion—

It soars, and mingles in the air,

With that of lost LABEDOYERE

With that of him whose honour'd grave
Contains the "bravest of the brave."
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose;
When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder-
Never yet was heard such thunder

As then shall shake the world with wonder

Never yet was seen such lightning,

As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!

Like the Wormwood Star foretold

By the sainted Seer of old,

Show'ring down a fiery flood,

Turning rivers into blood. (6)

II.

The Chief has fallen, but not by you,

Vanquishers of Waterloo!

When the soldier citizen

Sway'd not o'er his fellow men

Save in deeds that led them on

Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son

Who, of all the despots banded,

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!

III.

And thou too of the snow-white plume!
Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb; (7)
Better hadst thou still been leading

France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;

Such as he of Naples wears,

Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing
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
By a slave's dishonest blow?

Once as the Moon sways o'er the tide,
It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide ;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,
The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendancy,—