Puslapio vaizdai

See Roman fire in Hampden's bosom swell,
And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell!
Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore,
Hath Valour left the world-to live no more?
No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die,
And sternly smile with vengeance in his eye?
Hampden no more, when suffering Freedom calls,
Encounter fate, and triumph as he falls?
Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm,
The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm?

Yes! in that generous cause, for ever strong,
The patriot's virtue and the poet's song,
Still, as the tide of ages rolls away,
Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay!

Yes! there are hearts, prophetic Hope may trust,
Who slumber yet in uncreated dust,
Ordained to fire the adoring sons of earth
With every charm of wisdom and of worth;
Ordained to light, with intellectual day,
The mazy wheels of Nature as they play,
Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow,
And rival all but Shakspeare's name below!



UNFADING Hope! when life's last embers burn,
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return!
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour!
Oh! then, thy kingdom comes! Immortal Power!
What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
The morning dream of life's eternal day-
Then, then, the triumph, and the trance begin!
And all the phoenix spirit burns within!

Oh! deep-enchanting prelude to repose,
The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes!
Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh,
It is a dread and awful thing to die!
Mysterious worlds, untravelled by the sun!
Where Time's far wandering tide has never run,
From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres,
A warning comes, unheard by other ears.

'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud!
While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust,
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;
And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod
The roaring waves, and called upon his God,
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss!

Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;
Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul !
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o'er-the pangs of Nature close,
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight still
Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill!


15.-ON THE EFFECTS OF TIME AND CHANGE. Or chance or change O let not man complain, Else shall he never never cease to wail; For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale, All feel the assault of Fortune's fickle gale; Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doomed; Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale, And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entombed, And where the Atlantic rolls wide continents have bloomed.

But sure to foreign climes we need not range,
Nor search the ancient records of our race,
To learn the dire effects of time and change,
Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace.
Yet at the darkened eye, the withered face,
Or hoary hair, I never will repine:

But spare, O time, whate'er of mental grace,
Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,

Whate'er of fancy's ray or friendship's flame is mine.-BEATTIE


HAIL, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,
And woo the weary to profound repose!
Can passion's wildest uproar lay to rest,
And whisper comfort to the man of woes!
Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes,
And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.
O Solitude! the man who thee foregoes,
When lucre lures him, or ambition stings,
Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs.

Vain man! is grandeur given to gay attire ?
Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid :

To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire?
It is thy weakness that requires their aid:
To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid?
They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm:
To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade?
Behold the victor vanquished by the worm!
Behold what deeds of woe the locust can perform!

True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind
Virtue has raised above the things below,
Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resigned,
Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her deadliest blow.
This strain from 'midst the rocks was heard to flow
In solemn sounds. Now beamed the evening star;
And from embattled clouds emerging slow
Cynthia came riding on her silver car,

And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.


WITH more than mortal powers endowed,
How high they soared above the crowd!
Theirs was no common party race,
Jostling by dark intrigue for place;
Like fabled gods, their mighty war
Shook realms and nations in its jar:
Beneath each banner proud to stand,
Looked up the noblest of the land,
Till through the British world were known
The names of PITT and Fox alone.

Spells of such force no wizard grave
E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave,



Though his could drain the ocean dry,
And force the planets from the sky.
These spells are spent, and, spent with these,
The wine of life is on the lees.
Genius, and taste, and talent gone,

For ever tombed beneath the stone,
Where, taming thought to human pride!-
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear,
'Twill trickle to his rival's bier;
O'er PITT's the mournful requiem sound,
And Fox's shall the notes rebound.
The solemn echo seems to cry,-
"Here let their discord with them die;
Speak not for those a separate doom,
"Whom Fate made brothers in the tomb,
"But search the land of living men,
"Where wilt thou find their like again ?"



DAY set on Norham's castled steep,

And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep,
And Cheviot's mountains lone!


The battled towers, the Donjon Keep,
The loop-hole grates where captives weep,
The flanking walls that round it sweep,
In yellow lustre shone.
The warriors on the turrets high,
Moving athwart the evening sky,

Seemed forms of giant height:
Their armour, as it caught the rays,
Flashed back again the western blaze,
In lines of dazzling light.

St George's banner, broad and gay,
Now faded, as the fading ray

Less bright, and less, was flung;
The evening gale had scarce the power
To wave it on the Donjon tower,
So heavily it hung.


The scouts had parted on their search,
The castle gates were barred;

Above the gloomy portal arch,
Timing his footsteps to a march,

The warder kept his guard;
Low humming, as he paced along,
Some ancient Border gathering-song.


WITH fruitless labour, Clara bound,
And strove to staunch the gushing wound:
The Monk, with unavailing cares,
Exhausted all the Church's prayers.
Ever, he said, that, close and near,
A lady's voice was in his ear,

And that the priest he could not hear,
For that she ever sung,

"In the lost battle, borne down by the flying,

"Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!" So the notes rung;

"Avoid thee, Fiend!-with cruel hand,
"Shake not the dying sinner's sand !—
"O look, my son, upon yon sign
"Of the Redeemer's grace divine;

"O think on faith and bliss!"By many a death-bed I have been, "And many a sinner's parting seen,

"But never aught like this."-
The war, that for a space did fail,
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale,
And-STANLEY! was the cry ;-

A light on Marmion's visage spread,
And fired his glazing eye:
With dying hand, above his head
He shook the fragment of his blade,
And shouted " Victory!-

"Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on !"
Were the last words of Marmion.


SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er',

Sleep the sleep' that knows not breaking`;
Dream of battle-fields no more',

Days of danger, nights of waking.


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