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Farewell to thee, France !—but when Liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then-
The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though wither’d, thy tears will unfold it again-
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice-
There are links which must break in the chain that has

bound us,

Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice !



ABSENT or present, still to thee,

My friend, what magic spells belong !
As all can tell, who share, like me,

In turn thy converse, and thy song.
But when the dreaded hour shall come

By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh,
And “ MEMORY” o'er her Druid's tomb

Shall weep that aught of thee can die,
How fondly will She then repay

Thy homage offer'd at her shrine,
And blend, while Ages roll away,
Her name immortally with thine!

April 19, 1812.


ROUSSEAU—Voltaire- our Gibbon-and de Staël

(10) Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore, Thy shore of names like these; wert thou no more,

Their memory thy remembrance would recall :
To them thy banks were lovely as to all,

But they have made them lovelier, for the lore
Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core

Of human hearts the ruin of a wall
Where dwelt the wise and wond'rous; but by thee

How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel,

In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea,
The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal,

Which of the heirs of immortality
Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real !


1. Though the day of my destiny's over,

And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover

The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted,

It shrunk not to share it with me,
And the love which my spirit hath painted

It never hath found but in thee.


Then when nature around me is smiling,

The last smile which answers to mine,
I do not believe it beguiling

Because it reminds me of thine;
And when winds are at war with the ocean,

As the breasts I believed in with me,
If their billows excite an emotion

It is that they bear me from thee.


Though the rock of my last hope is shiver’d,

And its fragments are sunk in the wave, Though I feel that my soul is deliver'd

To pain—it shall not be its slave. There is many a pang to pursue me :

They may crush, but they shall not contemnThey may torture, but shall not subdue me

'Tis of thee that I think-not of them.


Though human, thou didst not deceive me,

Though woman, thou didst not forsake, Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me,

Though slander'd, thou never could'st shake,Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,

Though parted, it was not to fly, Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me,

Nor, mute, that the world might belie.


Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,

Nor the war of the many with one

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