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Or aught indeed that they can show;
Yet till they prove what they aver,
From this plain truth I will not stir,
-A star's a star!-but when I think
Of sun or world, the star I sink;
Wherefore in verse, at least in mine,
Stars, like themselves, in spite of fate, shall
shine.

Now, to return (for we have wander'd far)
To what was nothing but a simple star;
-Where all was jollity around,
No fellowship the stranger found.
Those lowliest children of the earth,
That never leave their mother's lap,
Companions in their harmless mirth,
Were smiling, blushing, dancing there,
Feasting on dew, and light, and air,
And fearing no mishap,

Save from the hand of lady fair,
Who, on her wonted walk,

Pluck'd one and then another,
A sister or a brother,

From its elastic stalk;

Happy, no doubt, for one sharp pang, to die
On her sweet bosom, withering in her eye.

Thus all day long that star's hard lot,
While bliss and beauty ran to waste,
Was but to witness on the spot
Beauty and bliss it could not taste,

At length the sun went down, and then

Its faded glory came again,
With brighter, bolder, purer light,
It kindled through the deepening night,
Till the green bower, so dim by day,
Glow'd like a fairy-palace with its beams;
In vain, for sleep on all the borders lay,
The flowers were laughing in the land of
dreams.'

Our star, in melancholy state,
Still sigh'd to find itself alone,
Neglected, cold, and desolate,
Unknowing and unknown.
Lifting at last an anxious eye,
It saw that circlet empty in the sky
Where it was wont to roll,

Within a hair-breadth of the pole :
In that same instant, sore amazed,
On the strange blank all nature gazed;
Travellers, bewilder'd for their guide,
In glens and forests lost their way;
And ships, on ocean's trackless tide,
Went fearfully astray.

The star, now wiser for its folly, knew
Its duty, dignity, and bliss at home;
So up to heaven again it flew,
Resolved no more to roam.

One hint the humble bard may send
To her for whom these lines are penn'd:

-O may it be enough for her

To shine in her own character!

O may she be content to grace,

On earth, in heaven, her proper place!

MAKE WAY FOR LIBERTY.

On the exploit of Arnold Winkelried at the battle of Sempach, in which the Swiss, fighting for their independence, totally defeated the Austrians, in the fourteenth century.

"MAKE way for liberty !"--he cried;
Made way for liberty, and died!

In arms the Austrian phalanx stood,
A living wall, a human wood!
A wall, where every conscious stone
Seem'd to its kindred thousands grown;
A rampart all assaults to bear,

Till time to dust their frames should wear;
A wood like that enchanted grove*
In which with fiends Rinaldo strove,
Where every silent tree possess'd
A spirit prison'd in its breast,
Which the first stroke of coming strife
Would startle into hideous life,
So dense, so still, the Austrians stood,
A living wall, a human wood!
Impregnable their front appears,
All horrent with projected spears,
Whose polish'd points before them shine,
From flank to flank, one brilliant line,
Bright as the breakers' splendours run
Along the billows, to the sun.

Opposed to these a hovering band
Contended for their native land:

Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
From manly necks th' ignoble yoke,

And forged their fetters into swords,
On equal terms to fight their lords:
And what insurgent rage had gain'd,
In many a mortal fray maintain'd;

*See Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered, canto xviii.

Marshall'd once more at freedom's call,
They came to conquer or to fall,
Where he who conquer'd, he who fell,
Was deem'd a dead, or living Tell!
Such virtue had that patriot breathed,
So to the soil his soul bequeathed,
That wheresoe'er his arrows flew,
Heroes in his own likeness grew,
And warriors sprang from every sod
Which his awakening footstep trod.

And now the work of life and death
Hung on the passing of a breath;
The fire of conflict burnt within,
The battle trembled to begin;

Yet, while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for attack was nowhere found,
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed,
The unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 'twere suicide to meet,
And perish at their tyrants' feet,-
How could they rest within their graves,
And leave their homes, the homes of slaves?
Would they not feel their children tread
With clanging chains above their head?

It must not be: This day, this hour,
Annihilates th' oppressor's power;
All Switzerland is in the field,
She will not fly, she cannot yield-
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the number she could boast;
But every freeman was a host,
And felt as though himself were he
On whose sole arm hung victory.

It did depend on one, indeed;
Behold him,-Arnold Winkelried!
There sounds not to the trump of fame
The echo of a nobler name.
Unmark'd he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,
Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face,
And by the motion of his form
Anticipate the bursting storm;
And by th' uplifting of his brow

Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.

But 'twas no sooner thought than done,
The field was in a moment won :-

"Make way for liberty!" he cried,
Then ran, with arms extended wide,
As if his dearest friend to clasp ;
Ten spears he swept within his grasp.

"Make way for liberty!" he cried;
Their keen points met from side to side:
He bow'd amongst them like a tree,
And thus made way for liberty.

Swift to the breach his comrades fly; "Make way for liberty!" they cry, And through the Austrian phalanx dart,

As rush'd the spears through Arnold's heart; While, instantaneous as his fall,

Rout, ruin, panic, scatter'd all:

75

An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free: Thus death made way for liberty!

FOR THE FIRST LEAF OF A LADY'S ALBUM.

FLOWER after flower comes forth in spring,
Bird after bird begins to sing;

Till copse and field in richest bloom,
Sparkle with dew, and breathe perfume,-
While hill and valley, all day long,
And half the night, resound with song,
So may acquaintance, one by one,

Come like spring-flowers to meet the sun,
And o'er these pages pure and white,

Kind words, kind thoughts, kind prayers indite,
Which sweeter odour shall dispense
Than vernal blossoms to the sense;
Till woods and streams less fair appear

Than autographs and sketches here:
-Or like the minstrels of the grove,
Pour strains of harmony and love,
The music made by heart to heart,
In which the least can bear a part,
More exquisite than all the notes
Of nightingales' and thrushes' throats.
Thus shall this book, from end to end,
Show in succession friend on friend,
By their own living hands portray'd,
In prose and verse, in light and shade,
By pen and pencil,―till her eye,
Who owns the volume shall descry
On many a leaf some lovely trace,
Reminding of a lovelier face!
With here and there the humbler line,
Recalling such a phiz as mine.

THE FIRST LEAF OF AN ALBUM.

Ut pictura, poesis.-Hor. de Art. Poet. Two lovely sisters here unite To blend improvement with delight; Painting and poetry engage

By turns to deck the Album's page.

Here may each glowing picture be
The quintessence of poesy,
With skill so exquisitely wrought,
As if the colours were pure thought,-
Thought from the bosom's inmost cell,
By magic tints made visible,
That, while the eye admires, the mind
Itself, as in a glass, may find.

And may the poet's verse, alike,
With all the power of painting strike;
So freely, so divinely trace,

In every line the line of grace;
And beautify, with such sweet art,
The image-chamber of the heart,

3D 3

That fancy here may gaze her fill,
Forming fresh scenes and shapes at will,
Where silent words alone appear,
Or, borrowing voice, but touch the ear.

Yet humble prose with these shall stand,
Friends, kindred, comrades, hand in hand,
All in this fair enclosure meet,
The lady of the book to greet,
And, with the pen or pencil, make

These leaves love-tokens, for her sake.
Sheffield, 1828.

TIME EMPLOYED, TIME ENJOYED.

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY FROM WHOM THE

AUTHOR HAD RECEIVED AN ELEGANTLY
WROUGHT WATCH-POCKET.

WITHIN this curious case

Time's sentinel I place,

Who, while calm unconscious slumber
Shuts creation from mine eyes,
Through the silent gloom shall number
Every moment as it flies,
And record, at dawn of day,
Thrice ten thousand pass'd away.

On each of these my breath
May pause 'twixt life and death;
By a subtler line depending
Than the ray of twinkling light
Which the smallest star is sending
Every moment through the night;
For, on films more finely spun,
All things hang beneath the sun.

Rapt through a wildering dream,
Awake in sleep I seem;
Sorrow wrings my soul with anguish,
Joy expands my throbbing breast;
Now overwhelm'd with care I languish,
Now serene and tranquil rest:
Morning comes; and all between
Is as though it ne'er had been.

But time has daylight hours,
And man immortal powers;
Waking joys and sleepless sorrow,
Worldly care, celestial peace;
Life renewing every morrow,
Not with death itself shall cease:
Man, through all eternity,
What be here hath been shall be !

May she, whose skilful hand
This fairy net-work plann'd,
Still in innocent employment,
Far from vanity and vice,
Seek the pearl of true enjoyment,
On her path to Paradise:

Time, for earth or heaven employ'd, (Both have claims,) is time enjoy'd.

Every day to her in flight
Bequeath a gem at night,—

Some sweet hope, some hallow'd pleasure,

From remembrance ne'er to part;

Hourly blessings swell the treasure
Hidden in her grateful heart;

And may every moment cast
Brighter glory on her last!

A VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD.
EMBLEM of eternity,
Unbeginning, endless sea!

Let me launch my soul on thee.

Sail, nor keel, nor helm, nor oar,
Need I, ask I, to explore

Thine expanse from shore to shore.

By a single glance of thought,

Thy whole realm's before me brought,
Like the universe, from naught.

All thine aspects now I view,
Ever old, yet ever new;
Time nor tide thy powers subdue.

All thy voices now I hear;
Sounds of gladness, grandeur, fear
Meet and mingle in mine ear.

All thy wonders are reveal'd:
Treasures hidden in thy field!
From the birth of nature seal'd.

But thy depths I search not now,
Nor thy limpid surface plough
With a foam-repelling prow.

Eager fancy, unconfined,
In a voyage of the mind
Sweeps along thee like the wind.

Here a breeze, I skim thy plain;
There a tempest, pour amain
Thunder, lightning, hail, and rain.
Where the billows cease to roll,
Round the silence of the pole,
Thence set out my venturous soul!

See, by Greenland cold and wild,
Rocks of ice eternal piled;
Yet the mother loves her child;

And the wildernesses drear
To the native's heart are dear;
All life's charities dwell here.

Next, on lonely Labrador,
Let me hear the snow-falls roar,
Devastating all before.

Yet even here, in glens and coves,
Man, the heir of all things, roves,
Feasts and fights, and laughs and loves.

But a brighter vision breaks
O'er Canadian woods and lakes;
-These my spirit soon forsakes.

Land of exiled liberty,

Where our fathers once were free; Brave New England, hail to thee!

Pennsylvania, while thy flood
Waters fields unbought with blood,
Stand for peace as thou hast stood.

The West Indies I behold,
Like the Hesperides of old,
-Trees of life, with fruits of gold.

No a curse is on the soil,
Bonds and scourges, tears and toil,
Man degrade, and earth despoil.

Horror-struck, I turn away,
Coasting down the Mexique bay;
Slavery there has lost the day.

Loud the voice of Freedom spoke;
Every accent split a yoke,
Every word a dungeon broke.

South America expands
Mountain forests, river lands,
And a nobler race demands.

And a nobler race arise,

Stretch their limbs, unclose their eyes,
Claim the earth, and seek the skies.

Gliding through Magellan's Straits,
Where two oceans ope their gates,
What a spectacle awaits!

The immense Pacific smiles
Round ten thousand little isles,
-Haunts of violence and wiles.

But the powers of darkness yield,
For the cross is in the field,
And the light of life reveal'd.
Rays from rock to rock it darts,
Conquers adamantine hearts,
And immortal bliss imparts.
North and west, receding far
From the evening's downward star.
Now I mount Aurora's car,-

Pale Siberia's deserts shun,
From Kamtschatka's headlands run,
South and east, to meet the sun.

Jealous China, strange Japan,
With bewilder'd thought I scan,
-They are but dead seas of man.

Ages in succession find.

Forms unchanging, stagnant mind; And the same they leave behind.

Lo! he eastern Cyclades, Phoenix nests, and halcyon seas; But I tarry not with these.

Pass we low New Holland's shoals, Where no ample river rolls; -World of undiscover'd souls!

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Judah's cities are forlorn,

Lebanon and Carmel shorn,
Zion trampled down with scorn.

Greece! thine ancient lamp is spent ;
Thou art thine own monument;
But the sepulchre is rent,

And a wind is on the wing,

At whose breath new heroes spring,
Sages teach, and poets sing.
Italy, thy beauties shroud
In a gorgeous evening cloud:
Thy refulgent head is bow'd.

Rome, in ruins, lovely still,
From her Capitolian hill

Bids thee, mourner! weep thy fill.

Yet where Roman genius reigns,
Roman blood must warm the veins;
-Look well, tyrants! to your chains.

Feudal realm of old romance!
Spain, thy lofty front advance,

Grasp thy shield, and couch thy lance.

At the fire-flash of thine eye, Giant bigotry shall fly;

At thy voice, oppression die.

Lusitania! from the dust

Shake thy locks; thy cause is justStrike for freedom, strike and trust.

France! I hurry from thy shore;
Thou art not the France of yore;
Thou art new-born France no more.

Great thou wast, and who like thee?
Then mad-drunk with liberty;
Now, thou'rt neither great nor free.

Sweep by Holland, like the blast;
One quick glance at Denmark cast,
Sweden, Russia ;-all is past.

Elbe nor Weser tempt my stay;
Germany! beware the day
When thy schoolmen bear the sway.

Now to thee, to thee I fly,
Fairest isle beneath the sky,
To my heart as in mine eye!

I have seen them one by one,
Every shore beneath the sun,
And my voyage now is done.

While I bid them all be bless'd,
Britain! thou'rt my home-my rest;
My own land, I love thee best.

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