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And revels o'er their wild and arid waves,
And seeketh not, so that it is not sought,
But being met is deadly ; such hath been
The course of my existence; but there came
Things in my path which are no more. Ab. Alas!
I’gin to fear that thou art past all aid
From me and from iny calling; yet so young,
I still would Man. Look on me! there is an order
Of mortals on the earth, who do become
Old in their youth, and die ere middle age,

Without the violence of warlike death;
Some perishing of pleasure--some of study-
Some worn with toil-some of mere weariness-
Some of disease—and some insanity-
And some of wither'd, or of broken hearts;
For this last is a malady which slays
More than are number'd in the lists of Fate,
Taking all shapes, and bearing many names.
Look upon me! for e'en of all these things
Have I partaken ; and of all these things,
One were enough; then wonder not that I
Am what I am, but that I ever was,
Or having been, that I am still on earth.

Ab. Yet, hear me still- Man. Old man! I do respect
Thine order, and rerere thine years; I deem
Thy purpose pious, but it is in vain :
Think me not churlish ; I would spare thyself,
Far more than me, in shunning at this time
All further colloquy—and so-farewell.

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 !

Fare thee well! and if for ever,

Still for ever, fare thee well:
E'en though unforgiving, never

'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel,
Would that breast were bared before thee,

Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o'er thee

Which thou ne'er canst know again !
Would that breast, by thee glanced over,

Every inmost thought could show!
Then thou wouldst at last discover

'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.
Though my many faults defaced me,

Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me,

To inflict a cureless wound ?
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;

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 ;
Both shall live, but every morrow

Wake us from a widow'd bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,

When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say “Father!"

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,
Then thy heart will softly tremble

With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest

All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,

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 ;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.
Fare thee well !-thus disunited,

Torn from every nearer tie,
Sear'd in heart, and lone, and blighted,
More than this I scarce can die.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell,

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 the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,

And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,
And strives to strangle him before he die.
And first one universal shriek there rush'd,

Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd,

Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows ; but at intervals there gush'd,

Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

“Bring forth the horse !”--the horse was brought;
In truth, he was a noble steed,

Tartar of the Ukraine breed,
Who look'd as though the speed of thought
Were in his limbs; but he was wild,

Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
With and bridle undefiled

'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,
Upon his back with many a thong;
They loos’d him with a sudden lash-
Away !-away !-and on we dash!-
Torrents less rapid and less rash.
Away!-away ! -My breath was gone-
I saw not where he hurried on:
'Twas scarcely yet the break of day,
And on he foam'd-away!-away!

The last of human sounds which rose,
As I was darted from my foes,
Was the wild shout of savage laughter,
Which on the wind came roaring after
A moment from that rabble rout:
With sudden wrath I wrench'd my head,

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,
Nor dream that e'er that fortress was :
I saw its turrets in a blaze,
Their crackling battlements all cleft,

And the hot lead pour down like rain
From off the scorch'd and blackening roof
Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof.

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,



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