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For beautiful in death are they
(FROM THE FRENCH.]
FAREWELL to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
Farewell to thee, France !-when thy diadem crown'd
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
3. Farewell to thee, France !-but when Liberty rallies Once more in thy regions, remember me thenThe violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys; Though wither'd, thy tears will unfold it againYet, 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 us, Then turn thee and call on the chief of thy choice!
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF " THE
PLEASURES OF MEMORY."
ABSENT or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong!
In turn thy converse, and thy song.
By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh,
And “MEMORY” o'er her Druid's tomb
Shall weep that aught of thee can die,
Thy homage offer'd at her shrine,
away, Her name immortally with thine !
April 19, 1812.
ROUSSEAU-Voltaire--our Gibbon-and de Staël
(10) Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore,
Thy shore of names like these, wert thou no more, Their memory thy remembrance would recall : To them thy banks were lovely as to all,
But they have made them lovelier, for the lore
Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core Of human hearts the ruin of a wall
Where dwelt the wise and wondrous; but by thee How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel, In sweetly gliding o'er thy chrystal sea,
wild glow of that not ungentle zeal, Which of the heirs of immortality Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real!
1. Tuough 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,
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 shiver'd,
And its fragments are sunk in the wave, Though I feel that my soul is deliver'd
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
'Tis 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 could'st shakeThough trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,
Though parted, it was not to fly,
Nor, mute, that the world might belie.
Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,
Nor the war of the many with oneIf my soul was not fitted to prize it,
'Twas folly not sooner to shun: And if dearly that error hath cost me,
And more than I once could foresee, 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 recall,
Deserved to be dearest of all: