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II.

Even now,

And shouldst thou seek his end to know: Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sin's;

My heart forebodes, my fears foresee, My thoughts their dungeon know too well: He'll lingerling in silent woe ;

Back to my breast the wanderers shrink, But live-until I cease to be.

And droop within their silent cell.
RLMEMBER HIM WIOM PASSION'S

SONNETS TO GENEVRA.
POWER.

I.
REMEMBER him whom passion's power

Thine eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair Severely, deeply, vainly proved :

And the wan lustre of thy features-caught

From Remember thou that dangerous hour,

contemplation where serenely

wrought, Wien neither feil, though both were loved.

Seems Sorrow's softness charm'd from its That yielding breast, that melting eye,

despairToo much invited to be bless'd;

Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air, That gentle praver, that pleading sigh, That—but I know thy blessed bosom fraught

The wilder wish reproved, repress'd. With mines of unalloy'd and stainless Oh! let me feel that all I lost

thoughtBut save thee all that conscience fears ; I should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly And lush for every pang it cost

care, To spare the vain remorse of years.

With such an aspect, by his colours blent, Yet think of this when many a tongue,

When from his beauty-breathing pencil born

(Except that thou hast nothing to repent), Whose busy accents whisper blame, Yould do the heart that loved thee wrong,

The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn

Such seem'st thou-but how much more exAnd brand a nearly blighted name.

cellent! Think that, whate'er to others, thou

With nought Remorse can claim-nor Virtue tlast seen each selfish thought subdued:

scorn. I bless thy purer soul even now, in midnight solitude.

The cheek is pale with thought, but not from Oh, God! that we had met in time,

woe, Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free ; And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush When thou hadst loved without a crime,

Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, And I been less unworthy thee!

My heart would wish away that ruder glow:

And dazzle not thy deep blue eyes—but, oh! Far may thy days, as heretofore,

While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, From this our gaudy world be past !

And into mine my mother's weakness rush, And that too bitter moment o'er, Oh! may such trial be thy last.

Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow.

For, through thy long dark lasheslow depending, This heart, alas! perverted long,

The soul of melancholy Gentleness Itself destroy'd might thee destroy ; Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending, To meet thee in the glittering throng,

Above all pain, yet pitying all distress ; Would wake Presumption's hope of joy. At once such majesty with sweetness blending, Then to the things whose bliss or woe,

I worship more, but cannot love thee less. Like mine, is wild and we ess all, That world resign--such scenes forego,

FROM THE PORTUGUESE. Where those who feel must surely fall.

"TU MI CHAMAS.' Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness, In moments to delight devoted, Thy soul from long seclusion pure ;

“My life!" with tenderest tone, you cry; From what even here hath pass'd, may guess Dear words ! on which my heart had doted, What there thy bosom must endure.

If youth could neither fade nor die. Oh! pardon that imploring tear,

To death even hours like these must roll, Since not by Virtue shed in vain,

Ah! then repeat those accents never: My frenzy drew from eyes so dear;

Or change “my life !" into “my soul!" For me they shall not weep again.

Which, like my love, exists for ever. Though long and mournful must it be,

ANOTHER VERSION. The thought that we no more may meet ; You call me still your life.- Oh! change the Yet I deserve the stern decree,

word And almost deem the sentence sweet.

Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh: Still, had I loved thee less, i.ay heart

Say rather I'm your soul; more just that name, Had then less sacrificed to thine ;

For, like the soul, my love can never die.
It felt not half so much to part
As if its guilt had made thee mine.

WINDSOR POETICS.
LINES COMPOSED ON THE OCCASION OF HIS

ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE REGENT BEING IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.

SEEN STANDING BETWEEN THE COFFINS OF WHEN, from the heart where sorrow sits,

HENRY VIII. AND CHARLES I. IN THE ROYAL Her dusky shadow mounts too high,

VAULT AT WINDSOR.
And o'er the changing aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;

Famed for contemptuous breach of sacred ties,
By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies;

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name ;

MEE.

Between them stands another sceptred thing- To us bequeath='tis all their fate allows-
It moves, it reigns-in all but name, a king : The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse :
Charles to his people, Henry to his wife, She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise
- In him the double tyrant starts to life:

The tearful eye in melancholy gaze; Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain, Or view, while shadowy augur.es disclose, Each royal vampire wakes to life again.

The Highland seer's anticipated woes, Ah, what can tombs avail, since these disgorge The bleeding phantom of each martial form, The blood and dust of both-10 mould a Gcorge! Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;

While sad she chants the solitary song,

The soft lament for him who tarries longSTANZAS FOR MUSIC.

For him, whose distant relics vainly crave I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy The cronach's wild requiem to the brave ! There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the 'Tis heaven-not man-must charın away the fame:

woe, But the tear which now burns on my cheek may

Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly impart

flow, The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of Yet tenderness and time may rob the tear

Of half its bitterness, for one so dear; heart.

A nation's gratitude perchance may spread Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,

A thornless pillow for the widow's head; Were those hours-can their joy or their bitter- May lighten well her heart's maternal care, ness cease?

And wean from penury the soldier's heir. We repent, we abjure, we will break from our

chain,We will part, we will fly to-unite it again !

CONDOLATORY ADDRESS. Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt! To SARAH COUNTESS OF JERSEY, ON THE PRINCE Forgive me, adored one !-forsake, if thou wilt ;

REGENT'S RETURNING HER PICTURE TO MRS But the heart which is thine shall expire un

debased, And man shall not break it-whatever thou When the vain triumph of the imperial lord, may'st.

Whom servile Rome obey'd, and yet abhorr'd, And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee, That left a likeness of the brave or just ;

Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust, This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be ;

What most admired each scrutinizing eye And our days seem as swift, and our moments of all that deck'd that passing pageantry?

more sweet, With thee by my side, than with worlds at my

What spread from face to face that wondering

air? feet.

The thought of Brutus-for his was not there! One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love, That absence proved his worth,—that absence Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove ;

fix'd And the heartless may wonder at all I resign- His memory on the longing mind, unmix'd ; Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine. And more decreed his glory to endure,

Than all a gold Colossus could secure.
ADDRESS

thus, fair Jersey, our desiring gaze

Search for thy form, in vain and mute amaze, INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN AT THE

Amidst those pictured charms, whose loveliness; CALEDONIAN MEETING, 1814. Who hath not glow'd above the page where Bright though they be, thine own had render'd fame

If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits Hath fix'd high Caledon's unconquer'd name;

Heir of his father's crown, and of his wits, The mountain land which spurn'd the Roman li his corrupted eye, and wither'd heart, chain,

Could with thy gentle image bear depart ; And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane : That tasteless shame be his, and ours the grief Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand To gaze on Beauty's band without its chief : No foe could tame--no tyrant could command! Yet comfort still one selfish thought imparts, That race is gone-but still their children

We lose the portrait, but preserve our hearts. breathe,

What can his vaulted gallery now disclose! And glory crowns them with redoubled wreath: A garden with all flowers--except the rose;O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine, A fount that only wants its living stream; And, England ! add their stubborn strength to

A night, with every star, save Dian's beam. thine. The blood which flow'd with Wallace flows as That turn from tracing them to dream of thee :

Lost to our eyes the present forms shall be, free,

And more on that recall'd resemblance pause, But now 'tis only shed for fame and thee!

Than all he shall not force on our applause. Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim,

Long may thy yet meridian lustre shine, But give support-the world hath given him

With all that Virtue asks of Homage thiné : fame!

The symmetry of youth, the grace of mien, The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled The eye that gladdens, and the brow serene ; While cheerly following where the mighty led- The glossy darkness of that clustering hair, Who sleep beneath the undistinguish'd sod Which shades, yet shows that forehead more Where happier comrades in their triumph trod, than fair!

Each glance that wins us, and the life that Where thou hast tarnish'd every sim. throws

Then throw the worthless bauble by, A spell which will not let our looks repose, Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves conten: But turn to gaze again, and find anew

And learn like better men to die ! Sume charm that well rewards another view.

Oh! early in the balance weigh’d, These are not lessen'd, these are still as bright,

And ever light of word and worth, Albeit too dazzling for a dotard's sight;

Whose soul expired ere youth decay'd, And those must wait till every charm is gone,

And left thee but a mass of earth. To please the paltry heart that pleases none ;- To see thee moves the scorner's mirth: That dull cold sensualist, whose sickly eye

But tears in Hope's averted eye In envious dimness pass'd thy portrait by ; Lament that ever thou hadst birthWho rack'd his little spirit to combine

Unfit to govern, live, or die. lis hate of Freeduin's loveliness, and thine.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

THERE be none of Beauty's daughters

With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem'd dreaming: And the midnight moon is weaving

Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,

As an infant's asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee :
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.

ELEGIAC STANZAS. ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART. THERE is a tear for all that die,

A mourner o'er the humblest grave; But nations swell the funeral cry,

And triumph weeps above the brave. For them is Sorrow's purest sigh

O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent: La vain their bones unburied lie,

All earth becomes their monument ! A tomb is theirs on every age,

An epitaph on every tongue : The present hours, the future age,

For them bewail, to them belong. For them the voice of festal mirth

Grows hush'd, their name the only sound; While deep Remembrance pours to Worth

The goblet's tributary round.
A theme to crowds that knew them not,

Lamented by admiring foes,
Who would not share their glorious lot ?

Who would not die the death they chose ? And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined

Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be ;
And early valour, glowing find

A model in thy memory.
But there are breasts that bleed with thee

In woe, that glory cannot quell;
And shuddering hear of victory,

Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell. Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?

When cease to hear thy cherish'd name? Time cannot teach forgetfulness,

While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame. Alas! for them, though not for thee,

They cannot choose but weep the more ; Deep for the dead the grief must be,

Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
“O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater
Felix ! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.”

GRAY'S Poemata. There's not a joy the world can give like that

it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feel

ing's dull decay ; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blust

alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth

itself be past. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck

of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of

excess; The magnet of their course is gone, or only

points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never

stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death

itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of

our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where

the ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and

mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more

their former hope of rest :

its own ;

TO BELSHAZZAR. BELSHAZZAR! from the banquet turn,

Nor in thy sensual fulness fall; Behold! while yet before thee burn

The graven words, the glowing wall. Many a despot men miscall

Crown'd and anointed from on high ; But thou, the weakest, worst of all

Is it not written, thou must die ? Go! dash the roses from thy brow

Grey hairs but poorly wreath with them, Youth': garlands misbecome thee now,

More than thy very diadein,

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air ;

'Tis bui as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, wreath,

Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead. All green and wildly fresh without, but worn Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no and grey beneath.

food, Oh ! could I feel as I have felt-or be what I

But with a piteous and perpetual moan, have been,

And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two

Which answer'd not with a caress--hr died. a vanish'd scene; As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all Of an enormous city did survive, brackish though they be,

And they werc enemies : they met beside So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tear. The dying embers of an altar-place, would flow to me.

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things

For an unholy usage; they raked up,
DARKNESS.

{nd shivering scraped with their cold skeleton

hands I had a dream, which was not all a dream, The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Blew for a little life, and made a flame Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Which was a mockery; then they lifted up Rayless, and pathless ; and the icy earth Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld Swung blind and blackening in the moonless Each other's aspects-saw, and shriek'd, and

died Morn came and went-and came, and brought Even of their mutual hideousness they died, no day,

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow And men forgot their passions in the dread Famine had written Fiend.

The world was Of this their desolation ; and all hearts

void, Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light: The populous and the powerful was a lump, And they did live by watchfires--and the Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless, thrones,

A lump of death-a chaos of hard clay. The palaces of crowned kings--the huts, The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still, The habitations of all things which dwell, And nothing stiri'd within their silent depths ; Were burnt for beacons ; cities were consumed, i Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, And men were gather'd round their blazing | And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they homes

dropp'd, To look once more into each other's face ; They slept on the abyss without a surge Happy were those who dwelt within the eye The waves were dead; the tides were in their Ofihe volcanoes, and their mountain-torch :

grave,
A fearful hope was all the world contained ; The Moon, their mistress, had expired before ;
Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Extinguish'd with a crash-and all was black. Of aid from them-She was the Universe!
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits

MONODY ON THE DEATH
The flashes fell upon them ; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept ; and some did rest

OF THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN. Their chins upon their clenched hands, and

SPOKEN AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE. smiled; And others hurried to and fro, and fed

WHEN the last sunshine of expiring day Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd

In summer's twilight weeps itself away,

up With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

Who hath not felt

the softness of the hour The pall of a past world ; and then again

Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower! With curses cast them down upon the dust,

With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes And gnash'd their teeth and howľd: the wild While nature makes that melancholy pause, birds shriek'd,

Her breathing moment on the bridge where

Time And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime, Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawld Who hath not shared that calm, so still and decp, And twined themselves among the multitude,

The voiceless thought which would not speak Hissing, but stingless, they were slain for food: And War, which for a moment was no more,

A holy concord, and a bright regret, Did glut himself again :-a meal was bought

A glorious sympathy with suns that set? With blood, and each sate sullenly apart

"Tis not harsh sorrow, but a tenderer woe, Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left ;

Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below, All earth was but one thought--and that was

Feit without bitterness, but full and clear, death

A sweet dejection, a transparent tear, Immediate and inglorious ; and the pang

Unmix'd with worldly grief or selfish stain,. Of famine fed upon all entrails--men

Shed without shame, and secret without pain. Died, and their bones were tombless as their Even as the tenderness that hour instils flesh;

When summer's day declines along the hills, The meagre by the meagre were devour'd, So feels the fulness of our heart and eyes, Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, When all of Genius which can perish dies And he was faithful to a corse. and kept A mighty spirit is eclipsed-a power

but weep,

Hath pass'd from day to darkness--to whose What marvel if at last the mightiest fail? hour

Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling's Of light no likeness is bequeathed --no name,

given Focus at once of all the rays of Fame !

Bear hearts electric-charged with fire from The flash of Wit, the bright Intelligence,

heaven, The beam of Song, the blaze of Eloquence, Black with the rude collision, inly torn, Set with their Sun, but still have left behind By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne, The enduring produce of immortal Mind; Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon, Thoughts which have turn'd to thunder-scorch, A deathless part of him who died too soon.

and burst. But small that portion of the wondrous whole, But far from us and from our mimic scene, These sparkling segments of that circling, soul, Such things should be—if such have ever been; Vhich all embraced, and lighten'd over all,

Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task, To cheer, to pierce, to please, or to appal.

To give the tribute Glory need not ask, From the charm'd council to the festive board,

To mourn the vanish'd beam, and add our mite Of human feelings the unbounded lord ;

Of praise in payment of a long delight. In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied,

Ye Orators! whom yet our councils yield, The praised, the proud, who made his praise Mourn for the veteran Hero of your field! their pride.

The worthy rival of the wondrous Three, When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan Whose words were sparks of Immortality! Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man,

Ye Bards! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear, His was the thunder, his the avenging rod,

He was your master-emulate him here! The wrath--the delegated voice of God!

Ye men of wit and social eloquence ! Which shook the nations through his lips, and He was your brother-bear his ashes hence! blazed

While powers of mind almost of boundless range, Ti!l vanquish'd senates trembled as they praised. Complete in kind, as various in their change;

i And here, oh! here, where yet all young and While Eloquence, Wit, Poesy, and Mirth,

That humbler Harmonist of care on Earth, warm, The gay creations of his spirit charm,

Survive within our souls-while lives our sense The matchless dialogue, the deathless wit, Of pride in Merit's proud pre-eminence, Which knew not what it was to intermit; Long shall we seek his likeness, long in vain, The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring And turn to all of him which may remain, Home to our hearts the truth from which they Sigring that Nature form’d but one such man, spring;

And broke the die-in moulding Sheridan! These wondrous beings of his fancy, wrought To fulness by the fiat of his thought, Here in their first abode you still may meet,

CHURCHILL'S GRAVE.
Bright with the hues of his Promethean heat;

A FACT LITERALLY RENDERED,
A halo of the light of other days,
Which still the splendour of its orb betrays.

I stood beside the grave of him who blazed

The comet of a season, and I saw But should there be to whom the fatal blight The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed Of failing Wisdom yields a base delight,

With not the less of sorrow and of awe Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone On that neglected turf and quiet stone, Jar in the music which was born their own,

With name no clearer than the names unknown, Still let them pause-ah! little do they know Which lay unread around it; and I ask'd That what to them seemed Vice might be but The Gardener of that ground, why it might be Woe.

That for this plant strangers his memory task'd, Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze

Through the thick deaths of half a century? Is fix'd for ever to detract or praise ;

And thus he answer'd: “Well, I do not know Repose denies her requiem to his name, Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so ; And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame He died before my day of Sextonship, The secret enemy whose sleepless eye

And I had not the digging of this grave." Stands sentinel, accuser, judge, and spy; And is this all? I thought-and do we rip The foe, the fool, the jealous, and the vain, The vale of Immortality, and crave The envious, who but breathe in others' pain-- I know not what of honour and of light: Behold the host! delighting to deprave, Through unborn ages, to endure this blight, Who track the steps of glory to the grave, So soon, and so successless? As I said, Warcn every fault that daring Genius owes The Architect of all on which we tread, dalf to the ardour which its birth bestows, For Earth is but a tombstone, did essay Distort the truth, accumulate the lie,

To extricate remembrance from the clay, And pile the pyramid of Calumny!

Whose minglings might confuse a Newton's These are his portion—but if join'd to these

thought, Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease: Were it not that all life must end in one, If the high Spirit must forget to soar,

Of which we are but dreamers ;-as he caught And stoop to strive with Misery at the door, As 'twere the twilight of a former Sun, To soothe Indignity-and face to face

Thus spoke he: “I believe the man of whom
Meet sordid rage, and wrestle with Disgracc; You wot, who lies in this selected tomb,
To find in Hope but the renew'd caress, Was a most famous writer in his day,
The serpent-fold of further I'aithlessnes::
If such may be the ills which men assado

And therefore travellers step from out their way
To

pay him honour, -and myself whato'er

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