Across the everlasting Alp

I poured the torrent of my powers, And feeble Cæsars shrieked for help,

In vain, within their seven-hilled towers; I quenched in blood the brightest gem That glittered in their diadem, And struck a darker, deeper die In the purple of their majesty, And bade my northern banners shine Upon the conquered Palatine.

My course is run, my errand done;
I go to Him from whom I came ;
But never yet shall set the sun

Of glory that adorns my name;
And Roman hearts shall long be sick,
When men shall think of Alaric.

My course is run, my errand done;
But darker ministers of fate,
Impatient, round the eternal throne,

And in the caves of vengeance, wait;
And soon mankind shall blench away
Before the name of Attila.

TO A SISTER.

YES, dear one, to the envied train
Of those around thy homage pay;
But wilt thou never kindly deign

To think of him that's far away?
Thy form, thine eye, thine angel smile,
For many years I may not see;

But wilt thou not sometimes the while,
My sister dear, remember me?

But not in Fashion's brilliant hall,
Surrounded by the gay and fair,
And thou the fairest of them all,-

O, think not, think not of me there. But when the thoughtless crowd is gone, And hushed the voice of senseless glee,

And all is silent, still and lone,

And thou art sad, remember me.

Remember me-but, loveliest, ne'er,
When, in his orbit fair and high,
The morning's glowing charioteer
Rides proudly up the blushing sky;
But when the waning moon-beam sleeps
At moon-light on that lonely lea,
And nature's pensive spirit weeps
In all her dews, remember me.

Remember me, I pray-but not

In Flora's gay and blooming hour, When every brake hath found its note,

And sunshine smiles in every flower; But when the falling leaf is sear,

And withers sadly from the tree, And o'er the ruins of the year

Cold Autumn weeps, remember me.

Remember me-but choose not, dear,
The hour when, on the gentle lake,
The sportive wavelets, blue and clear,

Soft rippling, to the margin break;
But when the deaf'ning billows foam
In madness o'er the pathless sea,
Then let thy pilgrim fancy roam
Across them, and remember me.

Remember me-but not to join

If haply some thy friends should praise; 'Tis far too dear, that voice of thine

To echo what the stranger says.

They know us not-but shouldst thou meet
Some faithful friend of me and thee,

Softly, sometimes, to him repeat

My name, and then remember me.

Remember me-not, I entreat,

In scenes of festal week-day joy, For then it were not kind or meet,

That thought thy pleasure should alloy;

T

But on the sacred, solemn day,

And, dearest, on thy bended knee, When thou for those thou lov'st dost pray, Sweet spirit, then remember me.

Remember me-but not as I

On thee for ever, ever dwell,

With anxious heart and drooping eye,

And doubts 'twould grieve thee should I tell ;

But in thy calm, unclouded heart,

Where dark and gloomy visions flee,

Oh there, my sister, be my part,

And kindly there remember me.

GRENVILLE MELLEN.

ON SEEING AN EAGLE PASS NEAR ME IN

AUTUMN

TWILIGHT.

SAIL on, thou lone imperial bird,

Of quenchless eye and tireless wing;
How is thy distant coming heard

As the night's breezes round thee ring!
Thy course was 'gainst the burning sun
In his extremest glory! How!

Is thy unequalled daring done,

Thou stoop'st to earth so lowly now?

Or hast thou left thy rocking dome,
Thy roaring crag, thy lightning pine,
To find some secret, meaner home,
Less stormy and unsafe than thine?
Else why thy dusky pinions bend

So closely to this shadowy world,
And round thy scorching glances send,

As wishing thy broad pens were furled?