Obrazy na stronie

FROM JOB. A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld The face of immortality unveil'd; Deep sleep came down on every eye save mineAnd there it stood,--all formless--but divine : Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake; And as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake :

« Is man more just than God? Is man more pare
Than he who deems even seraphs insecure ?
Creatures of clay! vain dwellers in the dust!
The moth survives you, and are ye more just?
Things of a day! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to wisdom's wasted light!»

Miscellaneous Poems.




• Expende Annibalem :-quot libras în dece summo Inrepies 1.


• The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by ths Italians, and by the provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues and military talents were loudly celebrated; and those who derived any private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains iho restoration of public felicity.

By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very ambiguous state, between an emperor and an exile, till —

GIBBOX'S Decline and Fall, vol, vi, p. 220.

ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 'T is done—but yesterday a king !

And armd with kings to striveAnd now thou art a nameless thing

So abject-yet alive!
Is this the man of thousand thrones,
Who strew'd our earth with hostile bones ?

And can he thus survive?
Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star,
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.
Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind,

Who bow'd so low the knee?
By gazing on thyself grown blind,

Thou taught'st the rest to see.
With might unquestion'd, -power to save-
Thine only gift hath been the grave

To those that worshipp'd thee;
Nor, till thy fall, could mortals guess
Ambition's less than littleness!
Thanks for that lesson-it will teach

To after-warriors more
Than high philosophy can preach,

And vainly preachid before.
That spell upon the minds of men
Breaks never to unite again,

That led them to adore
Those pagod things of sabre-sway,
With fronts of brass, and feel of clay.

The triumph, and the vanity,

The rapture of the strife
The earthquake shout of Victory,

To thee the breath of life;
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway
Which man seem'd made but to obey,

Wherewith renown was rife-
All quell'd!—Dark spirit! what must be
The madness of thy memory!
The desolator desolate!

The victor overthrown! The arbiter of others' fate

A suppliant for his own!
Is it some yet imperial hope
That with such change can calmly cope?

Or dread of death alone?
To die a prince-or live a slave-
Thy choice is most ignobly brave!
Hez who of old would rend the oak

Dream'd not of the rebound;
Cbain'd by the trunk he vainly broke, -

Alone- how look'd he round ?-
Thou, in the sternness of thy strength,
An equal decd hast done at length,

And darker fate hast found:
He fell, the forest-prowlers' prcy;
But thou must eat thy heart away!
The Roman,3 when his burning heart

Was slaked with blood of Rome, Threw down the dagger-dared depart,

In savage grandeur, home.
He dared depart, in utter scorn
Of men that such a yoke had borne,

Yet left liim such a doom!
His only glory was that hour
Of self-upheld abandon'd power.
The Spaniard, 4 when the lust of sway

Had lost its quickening spell,
Cast crowns for rosaries away,

An empire for a cell;
A strict accountant of his beads,
A subtle disputant on creeds,

His dotage trifled well :

* Certaminis gaudia, the expression of Attila, in his harangue to bis army, previous to the battle of Chalons, given in Cassiodorus.

: Milo.
3 Sylla.
4 Charles V.

Unless, like he of Babylon,
All sense is with thy sceptre gone,

Life will not long confine
That spirit pour'd so widely forth-
So long obey'd—so little worth!
Or like the thief of fire from heaven,'

Wilt thou withstand the shock?
And share with him, the unforgiven,

His vulture and his rock ? Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst, And that last act, though not thy worst,

The very fiend's arch mock; He in his fall preserved his pride, And, if a mortal, had as proudly died !





Yet better had he neither known
A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne.
But thou—from thy reluctant hand

The thunderbolt is wrung;
Too late thou leavest the high command

To which thy weakness clung:
All evil spirit as thou art,
It is enough to grieve the heart,

To see thine own unstrung;
To think that God's fair world hath been
The footstool of a thing so mean;
And earth hath spilt her blood for him,

Who thus can hoard his own!
And monarchs bow'd the trembling limb,

And thank'd him for a throne !
Fair freedom! we may hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear

In humblest guise have shown.
Oh! pc'er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind !
Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,

Nor written thus in vain-
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,

Or deepen every stain.
If thou hadse died as honour dies,
Some new Napoleon might arise,

To shame the world again-
But who would soar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night!
Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust

Is vile as vulgar clay;
Thy scales, mortality! are just

To all that pass away;
But yet, methought, the living great
Some higher sparks should animate,

To dazzle and dismay;
Nor deem'd contempt could thus make mirth
Of these, the conquerors of the earth.
And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,

Thy still imperial bride;
How bears her breast the torturing hour?

Still clings she to thy side ?
Must she too bend, must she too share
Thy late repentance, loog despair,

Thou throneless homicide ?
If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,
'T is worth thy vanish'd diadem!)
Then haste thee to thy sullen isle,

And gaze upon the sea;
That element may meet thy smile,

It ne'er was ruled by thee!
Or trace with thine all idle hand,
Ju loitering mood, upon the sand,

That earth is now as free!
That Corinthi's pedagogue hath now
Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow.
Thou Timour! in his captive's cage'

What thoughts will there be thine,
Wbile brooding in thy prison'd rage ?

But one-« The world was mine.»

When the last sun-shine of expiring day
In summer's twilight weeps itself away,
Who hath not felt the softness of the hour
Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower!
With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes,
While Nature makes that melancholy pause
Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time
Of light and darkness forms ap arch sublime,
Who hath not shared that calm so still and deep,
The voiceless thought which would not speak but weep,
A holy concord and a bright regret,
A glorious sympathy with suns that set?
"T is not harsh sorrow-but a tenderer woe,
Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below,
Felt without bitterness, but full and clear,
A sweet dejection--a transparent tear,
Unmix'd with worldly grief or selfish stain,
Shed without shame, and secret without pain.
Even as the tenderness that hour instils
When summer's day declines along the hills,
So feels the fulness of our heart and

When all of genius wbich can perish dies.
A mighty spirit is eclipsed--a power
Hath pass'd from day to darkness-to whose hour
Of light no likeness is bequeath'd-no name,
Focus at once of all the rays of fame!
The flash of wit-the bright intelligence,
The beam of song-the blaze of eloquence,
Set with ibeir sun-but still have left behind
The enduring produce of immortal Mind;
Fruits of a genial moru, and glorious noon,
A deathless part of him who died too soon,
But small that portion of the wondrous whole,
These sparkling segments of that circliog soul.
Which all embraced—and lighten'd over all,
To cheer- to pierce-to please-or to appal.
From the charm'd council to the festive board,
Of human feelings the unbounded lord ;
In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied,
The praised--the proud—who made his praise their pride.

I Prometheus.

2. The fiend's arch mock-
To lip a wanton, and suppose ber chaste..


"The cage of Bajazet, by order of Tamerlane.


When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan

Ye orators! whom yet our councils yield, Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man,

Mourn for the veteran hero of your field! His was the thunder-his the avenging rod,

The worthy rival of the wondrous Three! The wrath-the delegated voice of God!

Whose words were sparks of immortality! Which shook the nations through his lips—and blazed Ye bards! to wbom the Drama's Muse is dear, Till vanquish'd senates trembled as they praised. He was your master-emulate him here! And here, oh! here, where, yet all young and warm,

Ye men of wit and social eloquence! The gay creations of his spirit charm,

He was your brother-bear his ashes hence! The matchless dialogue—the deathless wit,

While powers of mind almost of boundless range, Which knew not what it was to intermit;

Complete in kind—as various in their change, The glowing portraits, fresh from life that bring

While eloquence-wit-poesy-and mirth, Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring;

That humbler harmonist of care on earth, These wondrous beings of his fancy, wrought

Survive within our souls-while lives our sense To fulness by the fiat of his thougbt,

of pride in merit's proud pre-eminence, Here in their first abode you still may meet,

Long shall we seek his likeness—long in vain, Brighit with the hues of his Promethean heat;

And turn to all of him which may remain, A halo of the light of other days,

Sighing that Nature formd but one such man, | Which still the splendour of its orb betrays.

And broke the die-in moulding Sheridan!
But should there be to whom the fatal blight
Of failing wisdom yields a base delight,

Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone
Jar in the music which was born their own,

Ere the Daughter of Brunswick is cold in her

grave, Still let them pause-Ah! little do they know

And her ashes still float to their home o'er the tide, That what to them seem'd vice might be but woe.

Lo! George the triumphant speeds over the wave, Hárd is his fate do whom the public gaze

To the long-cherish'd Isle which he loved like hisIs fix'd for ever to detract or praise;

bride. Repose denies her requiem to his name,

True, the great of her bright and brief era are gone, And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. The secret enemy whose sleepless eye

The rainbow-like epoch where Freedom could pause Stands sentinel-accuser-judge-and spy,

For the few little years, out of centuries won, The foe-the fool- the jealous—and the vain,

Which betray d not, or crushid not, or wept not her The eavious who but breathe in others' pain, Behold the host! delighting to deprave,

True, the chains of the Catholic clank o'er his rags, Who track the steps of glory to the grave,

The castle still stands, and the senale 's no more, Watch every fault that daring genius owes

And the famine, which dwelt on her freedomless cracs Ualf to the ardour which its birth bestows,

Is extending its steps to her desolate shore.
Distort the truth, accumulate the lie,
And pile the pyramid of calumny!

To her desolate shore—where the emigrant stands | These are his portion—but if join'd to these

For a moment to gaze ere be flies from his hearth; Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease, Tears fall on his chain, though it drops from his hands, If the high spirit must forget to soar,

For the dungeon he quits is the place of his birth. And stoop to strive with misery at the door, To soothe indignity-and face to face

But he comes! the Messiah of royalty comes! Meet sordid rage-and wrestle with disgrace,

Like a goodly Leviathan rolld from the waves ! To find in hope but the renew'd caress,

Then receive him as best such an advent becomes, The serpent-fold of further faithlessness,

With a legion of cooks, and an army of slaves! If such may be the ills which men assail,

He comes in the promise and bloom of three-score, What marvel if at last the mightiest fail?

To perform in the pageant the sovereigo's partBreasts to whom all the strength of feeling given But long live the Shamrock which shadows him o'er! Bear bearts electric-charged with fire from heaven, Could the Green in his hat be transferr'd to his heart! Black with the rade collision, inly torn, By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne, Could that long-wither'd spot but be verdant again, Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst

And a new spring of noble affections ariseThoughts which have turn'd to thunder-scorch-and Then might Freedom forgive thee this dance in thy chain, burst.

And this shout of thy slavery which saddens the skies. But far from us and from our mimic scene Such things should be--if such have ever been;

Is it madness or meanness which clings to thee now?

Were he God-as he is but the commonest clay, Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task, To give the tribute Glory need not ask,

With scarce fewer wrinkles than sins on his browTo mourn the vanish d beam- and add our mite

Such servile devotion might shame him away. Of praise in payment of a long delight.

Ay, roar in his train! let thine orators lash * See Fox, Burke, and Pitt's eulogy on Mr Sheridan's speech on the Their fanciful spirits to pamper his pridecharges exhibited against Mr Hastings in the House of Commons. Not thus did thy Grattan indignantly tlash Mr Pitt entreated the House to adjourn, to give time for a calmcr

His soul o'er the freedom implored and denied. consideration of the question than could then occur aftur the immediate effect of that oration.

'Fox, Pitt, Burke.

Ever-glorious GRATTAN! the best of the good! Till now, when the Isle which should blush for his birth, So simple in heart, so sublime in the rest!

Deep, deep, as the gore which he shed on her soil, With all which Demosthenes wanted, endued, Seems proud of the reptile which craw'l from her earth, And his rival or victor in all he possess'd.

And for murder repays him with shouts and a smile ! Ere Tully arose in the zenith of Rome,

Without one single ray of her gepius, without Though unequalled, preceded, the task was begun- The fancy, the manhood, the fire of her raceBut Grattan sprung up like a god from the tomb The miscreant who well might plange Erin in doubt, Of ages, the first, last, the saviour, the One!

If she ever gave birth to a being so base. With the skill of an Orpheus to soften the brute; If she did—let her long-boasted proverb be hushid,

With the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankind; Which proclaims that from Erin no reptile can Even Tyranny listening sate melted or mute,

springAnd Corruption shrunk scorchd from the glance of See the cold blooded serpent, with venom full flushid, his mind.

Still warming its folds in the breast of a King! But back to our theme! back to despots and slaves ! Shout, drink, feast, and flatter! Oh! Erin, how low

Feasts furnish'd by Famine! rejoicings by Pain! Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyranny, till True Freedom but welcomes, while slavery still raves, Thy welcome of tyrar.ts hath plunged thee below

When a week's Saturnalia hath loosend her chain. The depth of thy deep in a deeper gulph still. Let the poor squalid splendour thy wreck can afford My voice, though but humble, was raised for thy right,

(As the bankrupt's profusion his ruin would hide) My vote, as a freeman's, still voted thee free, Gild over the palace, Lo! Erin, thy lord!

This hand, though but feeble, would arm, in thy fight, Kiss his foot with thy blessings denied!

Aud this heart, though outworn, had a throb still

for thee! Or if freedom past hope be extorted at last,

& weat' in Medain If the Idol of Brass find his feet are of clay, Yes, I loved thce and thine, though thou art not my Must what terror or policy wring forth be classid

land; With what monarels ne'er give, but as wolves yield I have knowa noble hearts and great souls in thy sons their prey?

And I wept with the world o'er the patriot band

Who are gone, but I weep them no longer as once. Each brute hath its nature, a king's is to reign,

To reign! in that word see, ye ages, comprised For happy are they now reposing afar,The cause of the curses all annals contain,

Thy Grattan, thy CURRAN, thy SUERIDAN, all From Cæsar the dreaded, to GEORGE the despised! Who, for years, were the chiefs in the eloquent war,

And redeemd, if they bave not retarded, thy fall.
Wear, Fingal, thy trapping! O'Connell, proclaim
His accomplishments! His!!! and thy country con-Yes, happy are they in their cold English graves !

Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of to-day,Half an age's contempt was an error of Fame, Nor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing slaves

And that « Halis the rascaliest sweetest young Prince!» Be stamp'd in the turf o'er their fetterless clay. Will thy yard of blue riband, poor Fingal, recal Till now I had envied thy sons and their shore, The fetters from millions of Catholic limbs?

Though their virtues were hunted, their liberties flel, Or, has it not bound thee the fastest of all

There was something so warm and sublime in the core The slaves, who now hail their betrayer with hymns ? Of an Irishman's heart, that I envy-thy dead. Ay! « Build him a dwelling!» let each give his mite!

Or, if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour Till, like Babel, the new royal dome hath arisen!

My contempt for a nation so servile, though sore, Let thy beggars and Helots their piltance unite

Which though trod like the worm will not turn upon

Power, And a palace bestow for a poor-bouse and prison !

*T is the glory of Grattan, and genjas of Moore ! Spread-spread, for Vitellius, the royal repast,

Sept. 16th, 182). Till the gluttonous despot be stuft to the gorge! dod the roar of his drunkards proclaim him at last

THE DREAM. The Fourth of the fools and oppressors call'd«George!»

Let the tables be loaded with feasts till they groan! Our life is twofold; sleep hath its own world,

Till they groan like thy people, through ages of woe! A boundary between the things misnamed
Let the wine flow around the old Bacchanal's throne, Death and existence: sleep hath its own world,
Like their blood which has flow'd, and which yet has and a wide realm of wild reality,
to flow.

And dreams in their developement have breath,

And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; But let not his name be thine idol alone

They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, On his right band behold a Sejanus appears! They take a weight from off our waking toils, Thine own CASTLEReagn! let him still be thine own! They do divide our being; they become

A wretch, never pamed but with curses and jeers! portion of ourselves as of our time,

And look like heralds of elernity :

JII. They pass like spirits of the past, ---they speak A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. Like sybils of the future; they have power

There was an ancient mansion, and before
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;

Its walls there was a steed caparison'd:
They make us what we were not--what they will, Within an antique oratory stood
And shake us with the vision that 's gone by,

The boy of whom I spake ;- he was alone,
The dread of vanish'd shadows-Are they so?

And pale, and pacing to and fro; anon Is not the past all shadow? What are they?

He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced Creations of the mind !—The mind can make

Words which I could not guess of: then he lean'd Substance, and people planets of its own

His bow'd head on his hands, and sbook as 't were With beings brighter than have been, and give With a convulsion-then arose again, A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.

And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear I would recal a vision which I dream'd

What he had written, but he shed no tears. Perchance in sleep-for in itself a thought,

And he did calm himself, and fix his brow A slumbering thought, is capable of years,

Into a kind of quiet: as he paused, And curdles a long life into one hour.

The lady of his love re-enter'd there;

She was serene and smiling then, and yet

She knew she was by him beloved, -she knew, I saw two beings in the hues of youth

For quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill,

Was darkend with her shadow, and she saw Green and of mild declivity, the last

That he was wretched, but she saw not all. As 't were the cape of a long ridge of such,

He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp Save that there was no sea to lave its base,

He took her hand; a moment o'er his face
But a most living landscape, and the wave

A tablet of unutterable thoughts
Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men Was traced, and then it faded as it came;
Scatter'd at intervals, and wreathing smoke

He dropp'd the hand he held, and with slow steps Arising from such rustic roofs;—the hill

Retired, but not as bidding her adieu, Was crown'd with a peculiar diadem

For they did part with mutual smiles: he pass'd Of trees, in circular array, so fix'd,

From out the massy gate of that old hall, Not by the sport of nature, but of man:

And mounting on his steed he went his way, These two, a maiden and a youth, were there

And ne'er repass'd that hoary threshold more. Gazing-the one on all that was beneath Fair as herself--but the boy gazed on her;

IV. And both were young, and one was beautiful : A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. And both were young, yet not alike in youth.

The boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,

Of fiery climes he made himself a home, The maid was on the eve of womanhood:

And his soul drank their sunbeams; he was girt The hoy had fewer summers, but his heart

With strange and dusky aspects; he was not lad far outgrown his years, and to his eye

Himself like what he had been; on the sea There was but one beloved face on earth,

And on the shore he was a wanderer; And that was shining on him; he had look d

There was a mass of many images Upon it till it could not pass away;

Crowded like waves upon me, but he was He had no breath, no being, but in hers;

A part of all; and in the last he lay She was his voice; he did not speak to her,

Reposing from the noon-tide sultriness, But trembled on her words; she was his sight, Couch'd among fallen columns, in the shade For his eye follow'd hers, and saw with hers,

Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names Which colour'd all his objects ;-he had ceased Of those who reard them; by his sleeping side To live within himself ; she was his life,

Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds The ocean to the river of his thoughts,

Were fasten'd near a fountain; and a man Which terminated all: upon a tone,

Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while, A louch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, While many of his tribe slumber'd around: And his cheek change tempestuously-his heart And they were canopied by the bluc sky, Unknowing of its cause of agony.

So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,
But she in these fond feelings had no share :

That God alone was to be seen in heaven.
Her sighs were not for him; to her be was
Even as a brother--but no more; 't was much,

For brotherless she was, save in the name

A change came o'er the spirit of

my dream. ller infant friendship had bestow'd on him;

The lady of his love was wed with one Herself the solitary scion left

Who did not love her better: in her home, Of a time-honour'd race. It was a name

A thousand leagues from his,-her native home, Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not—and why? She dwelt, begirt with growing infancy, Time taught him a deep answer--when she loved Daughters and sons of beauty,--but behold! Another; even now she loved another,

Upon her face there was the tint of grief, And on the summit of that hill she stood

The selded shadow of an inward strife, Looking afar if yet her lover's steed

And an unquiet drooping of the eye, Kept pace with her expectancy, and new.

As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.

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