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For the present we part, I will hope not for ever; Still I must yield those worthies merit,
For time and regret will restore you at last : Who chasten, with unsparing spirit, To forget our dissension we both should endea- Bad rhymes, and those who write them; vour,
And though myself may be the next I ask no atonement, but days like the past. By criticism to be vext,
I really will not fighé them.*
Perhaps they would do quite as well
To break the rudely sounding shell
Of such a young beginner ;
Ere thirty may become, I ween, FRIEND Ofmy youth! when young we roved,
A very harden'd sinner.
Now, Clare, I must return to you ;
And, sure, apologies are due:
Accept, then, my concession.
In truth, dear Clare, in fancy's flight
I soar along from left to right;
My muse admires digression.
I think I said 'twould be your fate
To add one star to royal state ;- .
May regal smiles attend you!
And should a noble monarch reign,
You will not seek his smiles in vain,
If worth can recommend you.
Yet since in danger courts abound,
Where specious rivals glitter round,
From snares may saints preserve you ; Life's evening dream is dark and dull,
And grant your love or friendship ne'er And we may meet-ah! never !
From any claim a kindred care,
But those who best deserve you!
From truth's secure, unerring way!
May no delights decoy!
Your smiles be ever smiles of love,
Your tears be tears of joy! Though near, alas ! distinctly flow,
Oh! if you wish that happiness Nor mingle as before :
Your coming days and years may bless, Now swift or slow, now black or clear,
And virtues crown your brow;
Be still as you were wont to be,
Spotless as you've been known to me, Our souls, my friend! which once supplied
Be still as you are now. One wish, nor breathed a thought beside, And though some trifling share of praise, Now flow in different channels:
To cheer my last declining days, Disdaining humbler rural sports,
To me were doubly dear : 'Tis yours to mix in polish'd courts,
Whilst blessing your beloved name,
I'd waive at once a poet's fame, "Tis mine to waste on love my time,
To prove a prophet here. Or vent my reveries in rhyme,
LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN Without the aid of reason : For sense and reason (critics know it)
THE CHURCHYARD OF HARROW. Have quitted every amorous poet, Spot of my youth' whose hoary branches sigh, Nor left a thought to seize on.
Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky; Poor Little ! sweet, melodious bard!"
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard, With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod: That he, who sang before all
With those who,scatter'd far, perchance deplore, He who the lore of love expanded
Like me, the happy scenes they knew before: By dire reviewers should be branded
Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill,
Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still,
Thou drooping Elm!' beneath whose boughs 1 And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine,
lay, Harmonious favourite of the Nine !
And frequent mused the twilight hours away: Repine not at thy lot.
Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline, Thy soothing lays may still be read, When Persecution's arm is dead,
But ah! without the thoughts which then were And critics are forgot.
mine : Little was a nom de plume of Tom Moore's.
Alluding to a hostile meeting between Moore and Jeffrey at Chalk Farm.
How do thy branches, moaning to the blast, With this fond dream, methinks, 'twere sweet Invite the bosom to recall the past,
to die And seem to whisper, as they gently swell, And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie : “Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last fare- Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose : well !”
Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose ;
For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade, When fate shall chill, at length, this fever'd Press'd by the turf where once my childhood breast,
play'd ; And calm its cares and passions into rest, Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved, Oft have I thought, 'twould soothe my dying Mix'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps hour,-
moved ; If aught may soothe when life resigns her | Blest by the tongues that charm'd my youthful
power, To know some humble grave, some narrow Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged here; cell,
Deplored by those in early days allied, Would hide my bosom where it loved to dwell. ' And unremember'd by the world beside.
ODE TO NAPOLEON. “Expende Annibalem :-quot libras in duce summo Invenies?” Juvenal, Sat. x.
“The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the Italians, and by the Provincials of Gaul ; his moral virtues and military talents were loudly celebrated ; and those who derived any private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains the restoration of public felicity. By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very ambiguous state, between an Emperor and an Exile, till - Gibson's Decline and Fall, vol. vi. p. 220.
'Tis done-but yesterday a King!
And arm'd with Kings to strive-
So abject-yet alive!
And can he thus survive ?
Who bow'd so low the knee?
Thou taught'st the rest to see.
To use that worshipp'd thee ;
To after-warriors more
And vainly preach'd before.
That led them to adore
The rapture of the strife
To thee the breath of life;
Wherewith renown was rife
All quell'd!-Dark Spirit! what must be
The Victor overthrown !
A Suppliant for his own!
Or dread of death alone ?
Dream'd not of the rebound;
Alone-how look'd he round!
And darker fate hast found :
Was slaked with blood of Rome,
In savage grandeur, home :
Yet left him such a doom !
Had lost its quickening spell,
An empire for a cell ;
His dotage trifled well :
The thunderbolt is wrung-
To which thy weakness clung;
To see thine own unstrung:
The footstool of a thing so mean! * Milo Crotoniensis. † Sylla, Charles V.
And Earth hath spilt her blood for him, When that immeasurable power
Unsated to resign,
Than gathers round Marengo's name, Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
And gilded thy decline, When thus thy mightiest foes their fear Through the long twilight of all time, In humblest guise have shown.
Despite some passing clouds of crime. Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind
But thou, forsooth, must be a king, A brighter name to lure mankind !
And don the purple vest! Thine evil deeds are writ in
As if that foolish robe could wring
Remembrance from thy breast.
Where is that faded garment? where
The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear, If thou hadst died as honour dies,
The star, the string, the crest?
Vain froward child of empire ! say,
Are all thy playthings snatch'd away? But who would soar the solar height,
Where may the wearied eye repose, To set in such a starless night?
When gazing on the Great;
Where neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?
Yes--one---the first-the last-the bestTo all that pass away:
The Cincinnatus of the West, But yet methought the living great
Whom envy dared not hate,
Bequeath'd the name of Washington,
To make man blush there was but one! Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth
ODE FROM THE FRENCH. Of these, the Conquerors of the earth.
I. And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,
We do not curse thee, Waterloo ! Thy still imperial bride,
Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew: How bears her breast the torturing hour?
There 'twas shed, but is not sunkStill clings she to thy side ?
Rising from each gory trunk,
With a strong and growing motion:
It soars and mingles in the air,
With that of lost Labedoyère'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem !
With that of him whose honour'd grave Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
Contains the “bravest of the brave.” And gaze upon the sea;
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows, That element may meet thy smile
But shall return to whence it rose; It ne'er was ruled by thee!
When 'tis full 'twill burst asunderOr trace with thine all idle hand,
Never yet was heard such thunder In loitering mood upon the sand,
As then shall shake the world with wonder: That Earth is now as free!
Never yet was seen such lightning That Corinth's pedagogue * hath now
As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning! Transferr’d his byword to thy brow.
Like the Wormwood Star foretold Thou Timour! in his captive's cage, t
By the sainted Seer of old, What thoughts will there be thine,
Showering down a fiery flood, While brooding in thy prison'd rage,,
Turning rivers into blood. But one-“The world was mine!
II. Unless, like he of Babylon,
The chief has fallen! but not by you, All sense is with thy sceptre gone,
Vanquishers of Waterloo ! Life will not long confine
When the soldier-citizen That spirit pour’d so widely forth
Sway'd not o'er his fellow-menSo long obey'd-so little worth!
Save in deeds that led them on Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,
Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son--Wilt thou withstand the shock?
Who, of all the despots banded, And share with him, the unforgiven,
With that youthful chief competed ?
Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone Tyranny commanded ?
Till, goaded by ambition's sting, The very Fiend's arch mock;
The Hero sunk into the King ? He in his fall preserved his pride,
Then he fell :—so perish all, And, if a mortal, had as proudly died !
Who would men by man enthrall ! There was a day—there was an hour,
III. While earth was Gaul's-Gaul thine
And thou, too, of the snow-white plume,
Whose realm refused thee even a tomb; * Dionysius of Sicily.
Better hadst thou still been leading † The cage of Bajazet, by order of Tamerlane. France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
On thy war-horse through the ranks,
Like a stream which burst its banks, While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, Shone and shiver'd fast around theeOf the fate at last which found thee! Was that haughty plume laid low By a slave's dishonest blow? Once--as the moon sways o'er the tide, Jt roll'd in air, the warrior's guide ; Through the smoke-created night Of the black and sulphurous fight, The soldier raised his seeking eye To catch that crest's ascendancyAnd, as it onward rolling rose, So moved his heart upon our foes. There, where death's brief pang was
quickest, And the battle's wreck lay thickest, Strew'd beneath the advancing banner
Of the eagle's burning crest(There with thunder clouds to fan her,
Who could then her wing arrest -
Fell, or fled along the plain;
FROM THE FRENCH. Must thou go, my glorious Chief,
Sever'd from thy faithful few ? Who can tell thy warriors' grief,
Maddening o'er that long adieu ? Woman's love, and friendship’s zeal,
Dear as both have been to meWhat are they to all I feel,
With a soldier's faith for thee? Idol of the soldier's soul!
First in fight, but mightiest now; Many could a world control ;
Thee alone no doom can bow. By thy side for years I dared
Death; and envied those who fell, When their dying shout was heard,
Blessing him they served so well. Would that I were cold with those,
Since this hour I live to see ; When the doubts of coward foes
Scarce dare trust a man with thee, Dreading each should set thee free!
Oh! although in dungeons pent, All their chains were light to me,
Gazing on thy soul unbent. Would the sycophants of him
Now so deaf to duty's prayer, Were his borrow'd glories dim,
In his native darkness share ? Were that world this hour his own,
All thou calmly dost resign, Could he purchase with that throne
Hearts like those which still are thine? My chief, my king, my friend, adieu !
Never did I droop before ; Never to my sovereign sue,
As his foes I now implore : All I ask is to divide
Every peril he must brave ; Sharing by the hero's side
His fall, his exile, and his grave.
ON THE STAR OF THE LEGION OF
FROM THE FRENCH. STAR of the brave !-whose beam hath shed Such glory o'er the quick and deadThou radiant and adored deceit, Which millions rush'd in arms to greet, Wild meteor of immortal birth; Why rise in Heaven to set on Earth? Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays; Eternity flash'd through thy blaze; The music of thy martial sphere Was fame on high and honour here; And thy light broke on human eyes, Like a volcano of the skies. Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood, And swept down empires with its flood; Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base, As thou didst lighten through all space : And the shorn Sun grew dim in air, And set while thou wert dwelling there Before thee rose, and with thee grew, A rainbow of the loveliest hue,