XCIII. THE DEATH OF MADAME ROLAND. Genius and Virtue! dismal was the dearth Ye saw throughout all France when ye lookt down. In the wide waste of blood-besprinkled earth, There was but one great soul, and that had flown. XCIV. There are certain blue eyes And the readiest to give them is far the most wise; Resolved to stand out Cries at last like a criminal under the knout. XCV. Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear: Of his strange language all I know XCVI. ROSE AYLMER'S HAIR, GIVEN BY HER SISTER. Beautiful spoils! borne off from vanquisht death! Moved but by only one adorer's breath, XCVII. Deserted in our utmost need Was Peel, and what poor fags succeed! XCVIII. A flirt was Belinda! the more she reproved Her lover for changing his mind. "Say who," cried the youth, "O my dearly beloved! Can be steady that polks with the wind?" XCIX. THE ONE GRAVE. Though other friends have died in other days, C. HENRY THE EIGHTH. Thou murderous man! a time there comes, we trust, CI. Wearers of rings and chains! In vain my faults ye quote; CII. Come forth, old lion, from thy den, CIII. Threaten the wretch who rashly comes CIV. Envy ne'er thrust into my hand her torch, CV. Strike with Thor's hammer, strike again The skulking heads of half-form'd men, And every northern God shall smile Upon thy well-aim'd blow, Carlyle! CVI. By learned men was England led, CVII. OLD MAN. What wouldst thou say, Clothed in a mist akin to rain? DARK DAY. Thus I appear, Because next year, Perhaps we may not meet again. CVIII. Changeful! how little do you know CIX. Love, flying out of sight, o'ershadows me, And leaves me cold as cold can be; Farewell alasses! and no-mores! and Sweetest and saddest word, adieu! you, CX. 1853. Sit quiet at your hearthstones while ye may; And door: and then the Bear that growls bursts in. CXI. Blind to the future, to what lies before CXII. Ye throw your crumbs of bread into the stream, What sparkles is caught up; what sparkles not The minnows twinkle round and let it pass, More practicable for the slender gill. CXIII. My yarn in verse is short: I sit among CXIV. Treasures of greek has..? In vain I seek 'em, Is all the greek he has worth album græcum ? CXV. One lovely name adorns my song, And, dwelling in the heart, For ever falters at the tongue, And trembles to depart. CXVI. ON SOUTHEY'S BIRTHDAY, NOV. 4. No Angel borne on whiter wing O Southey! is thy natal day, But there where stands the choral throne CXVII. Altho' my soberer ear disdains CXVIII. O wretched despicable slaves, CXIX. Penthesileia, bright and bold, The times are alter'd: now again CXX. There are some tears that only brave men shed, The rest are common to the human race. The cause of Hungary when Kossuth pled Such tears as his roll'd down the sternest face. |