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Farewell to the land, where the gloom of my glory
Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her nameShe abandons me now,-but the page of her story,
The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame. I have warred with a world which vanquished me only When the meteor of conquest allured me too far ;
I have coped with the Nations which dread me thus lonely, The last single captive to millions in war!
Farewell to thee, France !-when thy diadem crowned me
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won ; Then the eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted, Had still soared with eyes fixed on victory's sun!
Farewell to thee, France !--but when liberty rallies
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voiceThere are links which must break in the chain that has
Then turn thee and call on the chief of thy choice!
ON THE DEATH OF
THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.
Hark! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds,
With some deep and immedicable wound;
Seems royal still, though with her head discrowned,
She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief.
Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou?
In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled,
Death hushed that pang for ever: with thee fled The present happiness, and promised joy Which filled the imperial isles so full it seemed to cloy.
Peasants bring forth in safety. Can it be,
O thou that wert so happy, so adored!
And desolate consort-vainly wert thou wed!
Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; Thy bridal's fruit is ashes: in the dust The fair-haired daughter of the isles is laid, The love of millions! How we did entrust Futurity to her! and, though it must Darken above our bones, yet fondly deemed Our children should obey her child, and blessed Her, and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seemed Like stars to shepherd's eyes; 'twas but a meteor beamed.
How strange is the course that a Christian must steer? How perplexed is the path he must tread?
The hope of his happiness rises from fear,
And his life he receives from the dead.
His fairest pretensions must wholly be waved,
Nor can he expect to be perfectly saved,
When all this is done, and his heart is assured
When his pardon is signed, and his peace is procured',
I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
And bear the marks upon a blushing face
The fear of being silent makes us mute.
We sometimes think we could a speech produce