Pour'd their orisons to the cloud-wrapt moon. Transform'd their heroes; and the warlike chief, Which with the gospel vanish'd, and made way * * * * How beautiful upon the element The Arab on the bank hath pitch'd his tent; And o'er the distant tide moves slow the silent sail. 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 gloomAnd 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, I by thy treachery bled. And I, and I, ten thousands cry; From Jaffa's plains, from Egypt's sands, Man's busy broods in slumbers lie; But horrors still the tyrant's soul alarm, And ever and anon, serenely clear, Have mercy, mercy, heaven! strikes on dull mid night's ear. ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE D'ENGHIEN. WHAT means yon trampling! what that light Bears dismal tidings in its funeral tone; And, hark, that loud report! 'tis done; 'Tis done, 'tis done! the prize is won, The tyrant smiles,-with fell delight * * * * The tyrant smiles; from terror freed, And sternly in his secret breast Marks out the victims next to fall. His purpose fix'd; their moments fly no more, He points, the poinard knows its own; Unseen it strikes,-unseen they die, [groan. Foul midnight only hears, and shudders at the But justice yet shall lift her arm on high, And Bourbon's blood no more ask vengeance from the sky. PSALM XXII. My God, my God, oh, why dost thou forsake me? The beam of morning witnesses my sighing, 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 dark and 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 greet. 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. |