Obrazy na stronie

pomp of

When we two parted

In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The sculptor's art exhausts the

woe, And storied urns record who rests below; When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been : But the poor dog, in life the firmést friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth : While mao, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn: To mark a friend's remains these stones ariseI never knew but one, and here he lies.

Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808.

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my browIt felt like the warning

Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-

Why wert thou so dear ? They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well ;Long, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met

Jo silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee

After long years,
How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.


FAREWELL. Farewell! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky. "T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh :

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in that word-Farewell!- Farewell! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the panys that pass pot by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,

Thouglı grief and passion there rebel; I only know we loved in vain

I only seel-Farewell ! --Farewell!

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Bright be the place of thy soul!

No lovelier spirit than thine
Eer burst from its mortal control,

In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,

As thy soul shall immortally be; And our sorrow may cease lo repine,

When we know that thy God is with thee. Light be the curf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be : There should not be the shadow of gloom

In aught that reminds us of thee. Young tlowers and an evergreen tree

May spring from the spot of thy rest: But nor cypress nor yew let us see ;

For why should we mourn for the blest?

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of

happiness, Ire driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in

vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch


Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself

comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;

These Verses were given by Lord Byron to Mr Power, Strand, who has published them, with very beautiful music by Sir John Stevenson,

it so.

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 dis

tract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their for

mer hope of rest; 'T is but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey


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 va

nish'd scene : As springs, in deserts found, secm 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 charın d ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lulld winds secm dreaming.

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 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 intlict a cureless wound:
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not,

Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not

Hearts can thus be toru 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 bim 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 bridic

Force their way without the will.-
Fare thee well!-thus disunited,

Torn from every nearer tie,
Seard in heart, and lone, and blighted-

More than this I scarce can die.

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TO ***

Fare thee well! and if for ever,

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


heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee

Where thy head so oft hath lain,

When all around grew drear and dark,

And reason lialf withheld her ray, And hope but shed a dying spark

Which more misled my lonely way; In that deep midnight of the mind,

And that internal strife of heart, When, dreading to be deemd too kind,

The weak despair-the cold depart;

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 b'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!

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 brook, There'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.

And thou too of the snow-white plume!
Whose realm refused thee even a tomb; ?
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! .


(FROM THE FRENCH.] We do not curse thee, Waterloo ! Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew; There 't was shed, but is not sunkRising 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 LABEDOYEREWith that of him whose honour'd grave 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,

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

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 tbere fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp; and it fell apon 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 worm u’ood, and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter..

3 Murat's remains aru said 10 have been torn from the grave and burnt.

O'er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps triumph o'er each levelld arch-
But let Freedom rejoice,
With her heart in her voice;
But, her hand op her sword,
Doubly shall she be adored;
France hath twice too well been taught
The « moral lesson» dearly bought;
Her safety sits not on a throne,
But in equal rights and laws,
Hearts and hands in one great cause-
Freedom, such as God hath given
Uvto all beneath his heaven,
With their breath, and from their birth,
Though Guilt would sweep it from the earth;
With a fierce and lavish hand
Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter!

Would that I were cold with those,

Since this hour live to see; When the doubts of coward foes

Scarce dare trust a man with thee, Dreading each should set thee free.

Oh! although in dungeons pept, All their chains were light to me,

Gazing on thy soul unbent. Would the sycophants of him

Now so deaf to duty's prayer, Were his borrow'd glories dim,

In his native darkness share? Were that world this hour his own,

All thou calmly dost resigo, Could he purchase with that throne

Hearts like those which still are thine?

My chief, my king, my friend, adieu!

Never did I droop before; Never to my sovereign sue,

As his foes I now implore. All I ask is to divide

Every peril he must brave, Sharing by thc hero's side llis fall, his exile, and his


But the heart and ibe mind,
And the voice of mankind,
Shall arise in communion-
And who shall resist that proud union ?
The time is past when swords subdued-
Man may die-the soul's renewd:
Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;
Millions breathe but to inherit
ller for ever bounding spirit:
When once more her hosts assemble,
Tyrants shall believe and tremble.
Smile they at this idle threat?
Crimson lears will follow yet.


Srar of the brave!-whose beam hath shed
Such glory o'er the quick and dead-
Tbou radiant and adored deceit!
Which millions rush'd in arms to greet,
Wild melcor of immortal birth!
Why rise in heaven to set on earth?
Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays;
Eternity flaslı'd through thy blaze!
The music of thy martial sphere
Was fame on high and honour here;
And thy light broke on human eyes
Like a volcano of the skies.

(FROM THE FRENCH.] «All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who had been

exalted from the ranks by Bonaparte. He clung to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord heitb, entreating permission to acompany bím, even in the most menial capacity, which could not be admitted.

Musr thou go, my glorious chief,

Sever'd from thy faithful few? Who can tell thy warrior's grief,

Maddeuing o'er that long adieu? Woman's love, and friendship's zeal

Dear as both have been to meWhat are they to all I feel,

With a soldier's faith, for thee?

Idol of the soldier's soul!

First in fight, but mightiest now: Many could a world control:

Thee alone no doom can bow. By thy side for years I dared

Death, and envied those who fell, When their dying shout was heard

Blessing him they served so well.

Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood,
Avd swept down empires with its flood;
Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base,
As thou didst lighten through all space,
And the shorn sun grew dim in air,
And set while thou wert dwelling there.
Before thee rose, and with thee grew,
A rainbow of the loveliest hue
Of three bright colours, ' each divine,
And fit for that celestial sign;
For freedom's hand had blended them
Like tints in an immortal gem.
One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;
One, the blue depth of seraphs' eyes;
One, the pure spirit's veil of white
Had robed in radiance of its light;
The three so mingled did beseem
The texture of a heavenly dream.

* «At Waterloo, one man was seen, whose left arm was shattered by a connon-ball, to wrench it off with the other, and, throwing it up in the air, exclaimod to bis comrades,' Vive l'Empereur jusqu'à la mort,' There were many other instances of the like; this you may, however, depend on as true.»

A private Letter from Brussels.

The tri-colour.

Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,
And darkness must again prevail !
But, oh thou rainbow of the free!
Our tears and blood must flow for thee.
When thy bright promise fades away,
Our life is but a load of clay.

And freedom hallows with her tread
The silent cities of the dead;
For beautiful in death are they
Who proudly fall in her array;
And soon, oh goddess ! may we be
For evermore with them or thee!


PLEASURES OF MEMORY., ABSENT or present, still to thee,

My friend, what magic spells belong! As all can tell, who share, like me,

In turn, thy converse and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall come,

By friendship ever deem'd too nigh, And « MEMORY » o'er her Druid's tomb Shall

weep that aught of thee can die, How fondly will she then repay

Thy homage offer'd at her shrine, And blend, while ages roll away, Her name immortally with thine!

April 19, 1812.


(FROM THE FRENCH.] FAREWELL to the land where the gloom of my glory Arose and o'ershadow'd the earth with her name : She abandons me now,- but the page of her story, The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame. I have warr'd with a world, which vanquish'd me only When the meteor of conquest allured me too far; I have coped with the nations which dread me thus

lonely, The last single captive to millions in war!

Farewell to thee, France !--when thy diadem crown'd me,
I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth, -
But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,
Decay'd in thy glory and sunk in thy worth.
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won!
Then the eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted,
Had still soard with eyes fix'd on Victory's sun!

Farewell to thee, France !-- but when liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then :
The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though wither'd, thy tears will unfold it again.
Yet, yet I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice:
There are links which must break in the chain that has

bound usThen turn thee, and call on the chief of thy choice!

STANZAS TO •*'. Though the day of my destiny 's over,

And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover

The faults which so many could find : Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted,

It shrunk not to share it with me,
And the love which my spirit hath painted

It never hath found but in thee.
Then when nature around me is smiling

The last smile which answers to mine,
I do not believe it beguiling,

Because it reminds me of thine;
And when winds are at war with the ocean,

As the breasts I believed in with me,
If their billows excite an emotion,

It is that they bear me from thee.
Though the rock of my last hope is shiverd,

And its fragments are sunk in the wave,
Though I feel that my soul is deliverd

To pain-it shall not be its slave. There is many a pang to pursue me:

They may crush, but they shall not contemnThey may torture, but shall not subdue me:

'T is of thee that I think---not of them. Though human, thou didst not deceive me,

Though woman, thou didst not forsake, Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me,

Though slander'd thou never couldst shake, Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,

Though parted, it was not to fly,
Though watchful, 't was not to defame me,

Nor mute, that the world might belie.
Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,

Nor the war of the many with one ; JE my

soul was not fitted to prize it, 'T was folly not sooner to shun. And if dearly that error hath cost me,

And more than I once could foresce, I have found that, whatever it lost me,

It could not deprive me of thee.
From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd,

Thus much I at least may recal,
It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd
Deserved to be dearest of all.

Rousseau, Voltaire-our Gibbon-and de Stael —

Leman!' these names are worthy of thy shore,

Thy shore of names like these ; wert thou no more, Their memory thy remembrance would recal: To them thy banks were lovely as to all;

But they have made them lovelier, for the lore

Of mighty minds doth ballow in the core Of human hearts the ruin of a wall

Where dwelt the wise and wood'rous; but by thee How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel,

In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea,
The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal,

Which of the heirs of immortality
Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real?

Geneva, Ferocy, Coppet, Lausanne.

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