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And revels o'er their wild and arid waves,
Ab. Yet, hear me still- Man. Old man! I do respect
Ab. This should have been a noble creature: he Hath all the energy which would have made A goodly frame of glorious elements, Had they been wisely mingled ; as it is, It is an awful chaos- light and darknessAnd mind and dust and passions and pure thoughts, Mix'd, and contending without end or order, All dormant or destructive: he will perish, And yet he must not; I will try once more, For such are worth redemption; and my duty Is to dare all things for a righteous end. I'll follow him—but cautiously, though surely.
8. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heav’d, and for ever grew still! And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolld not the breath of his pride And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !
9. FARE THEE WELL.
Still for ever, fare thee well:
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel,
Where thy head so oft hath lain,
Which thou ne'er canst know again !
Every inmost thought could show!
'Twas not well to spurn it so.
Though the world for this commend theo-
Though it smile upon the blow, E'en its praises must offend thee,
Founded on another's woe.
Could no other arm be found,
To inflict a cureless wound ?
Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away : Still thine own its life retaineth
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat. And th' undying thought which paineth
Is—that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead ;
Wake us from a widow'd bed.
When our child's first accents flow,
Though his care she must forego ? When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is presed, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had blest! Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou never more mayst see,
With a pulse yet true to me.
All my madness none can know;
Wither, yet with thee they go. Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee-by thee forsaken,
E’en my soul forsakes me now.
But 'tis done-all words are idle
Words from me are vainer still ;
Force their way without the will.
Torn from every nearer tie,
10. THE SHIPWRECK.
Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave;
And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
11. PUNISHMENT OF MAZEPPA.
Tartar of the Ukraine breed,
Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
'Twas but a day he had been caught; And snorting, with erected mane, And struggling fiercely, but in vain, In the full foam of wrath and dreaci To me the desert-born was led :
They bound me on, that menial throng,
And snapp'd the cord, which to the mane
Had bound my neck in lieu of rein, And, writhing half my form about, Howlid back my curse; but ’midst the tread, The thunder of my courser's speed, Perchance they did not hear nor heed : It vexes me—for I would fain Have paid their insult back again. I paid it well in after days : There is not of that castle gate, Its drawbridge and portcullis weight, Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left; Nor of its fields a blade of grass,
Save what grows on a ridge of wall,
Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall; And many a time ye
there might pass,
And the hot lead pour down like rain
They little thought that day of pain, When launch'd as on the lightning's flash, They bade me to destruction dash,
That one day I should come again,