Obrazy na stronie

That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 't is where the ice appears.

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,

Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;

'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.

Oh could I feel as I have felt,-or be what I have been, Or weep, as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanish'd scene:

As springs, in deserts found, seem sweet- all brackish though they be,

So, midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me.


THERE be none of beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;

And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charm'd ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming.

And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,

As an infant's asleep :

So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of summer's ocean.



Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above:

And life is thorny; and youth is vain:
And to be wroth with one we love,

Doth work like madness in the brain:

FARE thee well! and if for ever,

Still for ever, fare thee well!
Even though unforgiving, never

But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining-
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,

Like cliffs, which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between,

But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder
Shall wholly do away, I ween,

The marks of that which once hath been.
COLERIDGE'S Christabel.

'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Where thy head so oft hath lain,

While that placid sleep came o'er thee

Which thou ne'er canst know again: Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover 'T was not well to spurn it so.

Though the world for this commend thee-
Though it smile upon the blow,

Even its praises must offend thee,
Founded on another's woe.

Though my many faults defaced me, Could no other arm be found

Than the one which once embraced me, To inflict a cureless wound?

Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not,
may sink by slow decay,

But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:

Still thine own its life retaineth

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;
And the undying thought which paineth
Is-that we no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow

Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widow'd bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,
When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say « Father!»>

Though his care she must forego?
When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is prest,

Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, Think of him thy love had bless'd! Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou never more mayst see, Then thy heart will softly tremble

With a pulse yet true to me.

All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,
Wither-yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;

Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee-by thee forsaken,

Even my soul forsakes me now. But 't is done-all words are idle

Words from me are vainer still; But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.Fare thee well!-thus disunited, Torn from every nearer tie, Sear'd in heart, and lone, and blightedMore than this I scarce can die.

TO ***.

WHEN all around grew drear and dark, And reason half withheld her ray, And hope but shed a dying spark Which more misled my louely way;

In that deep midnight of the mind,
And that internal strife of heart,
When, dreading to be deem'd too kind,
The weak despair-the cold depart;

When fortune, changed-and love fled far, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary star

Which rose and set not to the last.

Oh! blest be thine unbroken light! That watch'd me as a seraph's eye, And stood between me and the night, For ever shining sweetly nigh.

And when the cloud upon us came, Which strove to blacken o'er thy rayThen purer spread its gentle flame,

And dash'd the darkness all away.

Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,

And teach it what to brave or brookThere's more in one soft word of thine, Than in the world's defied rebuke.

Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree, That still unbroke, though gently bent, Still waves with fond fidelity

Its boughs above a monument.

The winds might rend-the skies might pour,
But there thou wert-and still wouldst be
Devoted in the stormiest hour

To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.
But thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall;
For heaven in sunshine will requite

The kind-and thee the most of all.
Then let the ties of baffled love

Be broken-thine will never break; Thy heart can feel-but will not move; Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. And these, when all was lost beside,

Were found, and still are fixed, in theeAnd bearing still a breast so tried, Earth is no desert-even to me.



We do not curse thee, Waterloo!
Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew;
There 't was shed, but is not sunk-
Rising from each gory trunk,
Like the water-spout from ocean,
With a strong and growing motion:
It soars and mingles in the air,
With that of lost LABEDOYERE-
With that of him whose honour'd
Contains the « bravest of the brave.»>
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose;
When 't is full 't will burst asunder-
Never yet was heard such thunder


As then shall shake the world with wonder-
Never yet was seen such lightning,
As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!
Like the Wormwood star foretold
By the sainted seer of old,

Showering down a fiery flood, Turning rivers into blood.

The chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo!

When the soldier citizen
Sway'd not o'er his fellow men-
Save in deeds that led them on
Where glory smiled on freedom's son-
Who, of all the despots banded,
With that youthful chief competed?
Who could boast o'er France defeated,

Till lone tyranny commanded? Till, goaded by ambition's sting, The hero sunk into the king? Then he fell;-so perish all, Who would men by man enthral!

And thou too of the snow-white plume!
Whose realm refused thee even a tomb; 2
Better hadst thou still been leading
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;
Such as he of Naples wears,
Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing

On thy war-horse through the ranks, Like a stream which burst its banks, While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, Shone and shiver'd fast around theeOf the fate at last which found thee. Was that haughty plume laid low By a slave's dishonest blow? Once as the moon sways o'er the tide, It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide; Through the smoke-created night Of the black and sulphurous fight, The soldier raised his seeking eye To catch that crest's ascendancy,And as it onward rolling rose, So moved his heart upon our foes. There, where death's brief pang was quickest, And the battle's wreck lay thickest, Strew'd beneath the advancing banner

Of the eagle's burning crest(There, with thunder-clouds to fan her, Who could then her wing arrest— Victory beaming from her breast?) While the broken line enlarging

Fell, or fled along the plain: There be sure was MURAT charging! There he ne'er shall charge again!.

See Rev. chap. viii, verse 7, etc. The first angel sounded, and there followed bail and fire mingled with blood, etc.

Verse 8. And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea; and the third part of the sea became blood, etc.

Verse 10. And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp; and it fell upon a third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters."

Verse 11. And the name of the star is called Wormwood; and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter."

* Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burnt.

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In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.


I HAD a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air.
Morn came, and went-and came, and brought no day;
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:

And they did live by watch-fires--and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings-the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face:
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos and their mountain-torch.
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd.
Forests were set on fire-but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash-and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them: some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,

And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath


And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawld
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless-they were slain for food:
And war, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again. A meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart,
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought-and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails. Men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd.
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress-he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies; they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place

Blew for a little life, and made a flame

Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects-saw, and shriek'd and died—
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—
A lump of death-a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,

And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'd,
They slept on the abyss without a surge.

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon their mistress had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need
Of aid from them-she was the universe.



I STOOD beside the grave of him who blazed
The comet of a season, and I saw

The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed
With not the less of sorrow and of awe
On that neglected turf and quiet stone,

With name no clearer than the names unknown,
Which lay unread around it; and I ask'd

The gardener of that ground, why it might be
That for this plant strangers his memory task'd

And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd. The wild birds Through the thick deaths of half a century;

And thus he answer'd-« Well, I do not know
Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so;
He died before my day of sextouship,
And I had not the digging of this grave. »
And is this all? I thought,-and do we rip
The veil of immortality? and crave

I know not what of honour and of light
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight?
So soon and so successless? As I said,
The architect of all on which we tread,
For earth is but a tombstone, did essay
To extricate remembrance from the clay,
Whose minglings might confuse a Newton's thought,
Were it not that all life must end in one,
Of which we are but dreamers;-as he caught
As 't were the twilight of a former sun,
Thus spoke he,--«I believe the man of whom
You wot, who lies in this selected tomb,
Was a most famous writer in his day,
And therefore travellers step from out their way
To pay him honour,—and myself whate`er
Your honour pleases.» Then most pleased I shook
From out my pocket's avaricious nook
Some certain coins of silver, which as 't were
Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare
So much but inconveniently. Ye smile,
I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while,

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