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Pour'd their orisons to the cloud-wrapt moon.
How beautiful upon the element
The Egyptian moonlight sleeps !
The light wave dances, sparkling, o'er the deeps;
Thou mighty Nile! and thou receding main,
How peacefully ye rest upon your shores,
Tainted no more, as when from Cairo's towers, Roll'd the swoln corse, by plague! the monster!
slain. Far as the eye can see around,
Upon the solitude of waters wide,
There is no sight, save of the restless tideSave of the winds, and waves, there is no sound.
Egyptia sleeps, her sons in silence sleep!
Ill-fated land, upon thy rest they come
Th’invader, and his host. Behold the deep
Bears on her farthest verge a dusky gloom
And now they rise, the masted forests rise, And gallants, through the foam, their way they
make. Stern Genius of the Memphian shores, awake!
The foeman in thy inmost harbor lies, And ruin o'er thy land with brooding pennon flies.
Ghosts of the dead, in grim array,
Surround the tyrant's nightly bed !
I by thy treachery bled.
From Jaffa's plains, from Egypt's sands,
And whirl around in shrieking bands.
“Lo! there the traitor! murderer ! lies.” He murder'd me, he murder'd thee,
And now his bed his rack shall be.
every nerve in iron band.
The moon is up, the night is calm,
But horrors still the tyrant's soul alarm,
And ever and anon, serenely clear, Have mercy, mercy, heaven! strikes on dull mid
ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE D'ENGHIEN.
What means yon trampling! what that light
That glimmers in the inmost wood; As though beneath the felon night,
It mark'd some deed of blood;
yon figures, dim descried
It chants its boding song alone:
that at this awful hour Bears dismal tidings in its funeral tone; Tidings, that in some grey domestic's ear Will on his wakeful bed strike deep mysterious fear.
And, hark, that loud report ! 'tis done;
There's murder couch'd in yonder gloom; ; 'Tis done, 'tis done! the prize is won,
Another rival meets his doom.
And sternly in his secret breast
He points,—the poinard knows its own;
My God, my God, oh, why dost thou forsake me?
Why art thou distant in the hour of fear? To thee, my wonted help, I still betake me,
To thee I clamor, but thou dost not hear.
The beam of morning witnesses my sighing,
The lonely night-hour views me weep in vain, Yet thou art holy, and, on thee relying,
Our fathers were released from grief and pain.
To thee they cried, and thou didst hear their
wailing, On thee they trusted, and their trust was sure; But I, poor, lost, and wretched son of failing,
I, without hope, must scorn and hate endure.
Me they revile; with many ills molested,
They bid me seek of thee, O Lord, redress:
On God, they say, his hope and trust he rested,
Let God relieve him in his deep distress.
To me, Almighty ! in thy mercy shining,
Life's darkand dangerous portals thou didst ope; And softly on my mother's lap reclining, [hope.
Breathed through my breast the lively soul of
Even from the womb, thou art my God, my Father!
Aid me, now trouble weighs me to the ground: Me heavy ills have worn, and, faint and feeble,
The bulls of Bashan have beset me round.
My heart is melted and my soul is weary, [feet!
The wicked ones have pierced my hands and Lord, let thy influence cheer my bosom dreary: My help! my strength ! let me thy presence
Save me! oh, save me! from the sword dividing,
Give me my darling from the jaws of death! Thee will I praise, and, in thy name confiding,
Proclaim thy mercies with my latest breath.