Alas, the moral brings a tear!- And we that would detain thee here, Yet shall our latest age This parting scene review :Pride of the British stage, A long and last adieu! A DREAM. WELL may sleep present us fictions. Since our waking moments teem With such fanciful convictions As make life itself a dream.Half our daylight faith's a fable; Sleep disports with shadows too, Seeming in their turn as stable As the world we wake to view. Ne'er by day did Reason's mint Give my thoughts a clearer print Of assured reality, Than was left by fantasy, Stamp'd and colour'd on my sprite, In a bark, methought, lone steering, Sad regrets from past existence Came, like gales of chilling breath; Shadow'd in the forward distance Lay the land of Death. Now seeming more, now less remote, On that dim-seen shore, methought, I beheld two hands a space But my soul revived at seeing And as some swee; clarion's breath "Types not this," I said, "fair spirit! That my death-hour is not come ? Say, what days shall I inherit ?Tell my soul their sum." "No," he said, "yon phantom's aspect, Trust me, would appal thee worse, Held in clearly measured prospect:- Make not, for I overhear Thine unspoken thoughts as clear The close-brought tickings of a watch Make not the untold request ""Tis to live again, remeasuring Hast thou felt, poor self-deceiver! As to wish its fitful fever New begun again? Could experience, ten times thine, Could thy flight Heaven's lightning shun? "Wouldst thou bear again Love's troubleFriendship's death-dissever'd ties; Toil to grasp or miss the bubble Of Ambition's prize? Say thy life's new guided action Flow'd from Virtue's fairest springsStill would Envy and Detraction Double not their stings Worth itself is but a charter To be mankind's distinguish'd martyr." Envying, fearing, hating none- LINES Written at the request of the Highland Society in London when met to commemorate the 21st of March, the day of victory in Egypt. PLEDGE to the much-loved land that gave us birth! Pledge to the memory of her parted worth! And be it deem'd not wrong that name to give, In festive hours, which prompts the patriot's sigh! Who would not envy such as Moore to live? And died he not as heroes wish to die? Yes, though too soon attaining glory's goal, Yet in a mighty cause his phoenix soul Rose on the flames of victory to Heaven! How oft (if beats in subjugated Spain One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn For him!-How oft on far Corunna's plain Shall British exiles weep upon his urn! |