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Some fairer, better sport prefer;
And feel for us, if not for her.
Know thine shall be a kindred fate.
And, echoing back her wood-notes wild,
-Trace all the mother in the child !
THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK.
The sun-beams streak the azure skies,
And line with light the mountain's brow: knew ;
With hounds and horns the hunters rise,
And chase the roebuck thro’ the snow.
From rock to rock, with giant-bound,
High on their iron poles they pass ; To thee, how changed, comes as she ever came ;
Mute, lest the air, convulsed by sound,
Rend from above a frozen mass.
The goats wind slow their wonted way,
Up craggy steeps and ridges rude; By the way-side she shed her parting tears
Marked by the wild wolf for his prey,
From desert cave or hanging wood.
The huts peep o'er the morning-cloud,
Perched, like an eagle's nest, on high.
Go-you may call it madness, folly ; Thine be the joys to firm attachment due.
You shall not chase my gloom away! As on she moves with hesitating grace,
There's such a charm in melancholy, She wins assurance from his soothing voice;
I would not, if I could, be gay. And, with a look the pencil could not trace,
Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure Smiles thro' her blushes, and confirms the choice.
That fills my bosom when I sigh, Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame !
You would not rob me of a treasure To thee she turns—forgive a virgin's fears !
Monarchs are too poor to buy. To thee she turns with surest, tenderest claim; Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears; At each response the sacred rite requires, From her full bosom bursts the unbidden sigh. THE FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES, A strange mysterious awe the scene inspires ; And on her lips the trembling accents die.
And dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone, O’er her fair face what wild emotions play! (Thy giant limbs to night and chaos hurled) What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend! Still sit as on the fragment of a world ; Soon shall they fly, glad harbingers of day, Surviving all, majestic and alone ? And settled sunshine on her soul descend !
What tho’ the Spirits of the North, that swept
Rome from the earth, when in her pomp she slept, Ah soon, thine own confest, ecstatic thought ! That hand shallstrew thy summer-path with flowers; Deep in the dust ’mid tower and temple sunk ;
Smote thee with fury, and thy headless trunk And those blue eyes, with mildest lustre fraught,
Soon to subdue mankind 'twas thine to rise,
Still, still unquelled thy glorious energies !
By thee that long-lost spell in secret given,
To draw down Gods, and lift the soul to Heaven! Ah! why with tell-tale tongue reveal a What most her blushes would conceal?
3 In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Why lift that modest veil to trace
Julius II., it was long the favourite study of those great The seraph-sweetness of her face?
men to whom we owe the revival of the arts, Michael
Angelo, Raphael, and the Caracci. 1 On the death of her sister.
4 Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe 2 Alluding to some verses which she had written on an an ancient epigram on the Gnidian Venus.-Analecta Vet. elder sister.
Poetarum, III. 200.
COMMONLY CALLED THE TORSO.
Mine be a cot beside the hill;
In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers,
TO THE BUTTERFLY.
-Ỷet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept
TO THE GNAT. WHEN by the green-wood side, at summer eve, Poetic visions charm my closing eye;. And fairy-scenes, that fancy loves to weave, Shift to wild notes of sweetest minstrelsy ; 'Tis thine to range in busy quest of prey, Thy feathery antlers quivering with delight, Brush from my lids the hues of heaven away, And all is Solitude, and all is Night!
-Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly, Unsheaths its terrors in the sultry air! No guardian sylph, in golden panoply, Lifts the broad shield, and points the glittering spear. Now near and nearer rush thy whirring wings, Thy dragon-scales still wet with human gore. Hark, thy shrill horn its fearful larum flings ! -I wake in horror, and dare sleep no more !
AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST. TREAD lightly here; for here, 'tis said, When piping winds are hushed around, A small note wakes from underground, Where now his tiny bones are laid. No more in lone and leafless' groves, With ruffled wing and faded breast, His friendless, homeless spirit roves; -Gone to the world where birds are blest! Where never cat glides o’er the green, Or school-boy's giant form is seen; But Love, and Joy, and smiling Spring Inspire their little souls to sing !
THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND,
SEPTEMBER 2, 1812. BLUE was the loch, the clouds were gone, Ben-Lomond in his glory shone, When, Luss, I left thee; when the breeze Bore me from thy silver sands, Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees, Where, grey with age, the dial stands ; That dial so well-known to me ! -Tho'
many a shadow it had shed,
The fairy-isles fled far away;
Tarbat, 2 thy shore I climbed at last ;
Night fell; and dark and darker grew
2 Signifying in the Gaelic language an Isthmus.
AN ITALIAN SONG.
Dear is my little native vale,
Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod.
IN THE CRIMEA.
And now the grampus, half-descried,
FOR A TEMPLE DEDICATED TO THE GRACES. 4
APPROACH with reverence. There are those within,
Whose dwelling place is Heaven. Daughters of Jove,
From them flow all the decencies of Life ;
Without them nothing pleases, Virtue's self
Admired not loved: and those on whom They smile, Tyrant of the drear domain ;
Great though they be, and wise, and beautiful,
Shine forth with double lustre,
WELL, when her day is over, be it said
That, though a speck on the terrestrial globe,
Found with long search and in a moment lost,
She made herself a name-a name to live
While science, eloquence, and song divine,
And wisdom, in self-government displayed,
And valour, such as only in the Free,
Shall among men be honoured.
Was covered with her sails ; in every port
Her language spoken; and, where'er you went,
Exploring, to the east or to the west,
Even to the rising or the setting day,
Her arts and laws and institutes were there,
Founding vast empires 5-empires in their turn
Destined to shine thro' many a distant age
Wondrous was her wealth,
The world itself her willing tributary ;
Yet, to accomplish what her soul desired,
All was as nothing ; and the mightiest kings,
Each in his hour of strife exhausted, fallen,
Drew strength from Her, their coffers from her own
Filled to o'erflowing. When her fleets of war
Had swept the main ; when not an adverse prow, 'Twas here she turned from her beloved sire,
From pole to pole, far as the sea-bird flies,
Rufiled the tide ; and they themselves were gone, To see his face no more. Oh, if thou canst,
Gone from the eyes and from the minds of men, ('Tis not far off) visit his tomb with flowers ;
Their dreadful errands so entirely done
Up rose her armies ; on the land they stood,
Fearless, erect; and in an instant smote
Him with his legions.
Yet ere long 'twas hers,
Great as her triumphs, to eclipse them all, 1 A phenomenon described by many navigators.
To do what none had done, none had conceived, 2 There is a beautiful story, delivered down to us from An act how glorious, making joy in Heaven! antiquity, which will here perhaps occur to the reader. When, such her prodigality, condemned
Icarius, when he gave Penelope in marriage to Ulysses,
6 Alluding to the battle of Waterloo. The illustrious Man A statue was afterwards placed by her father as a me- who commanded there on our side, and who, in his anxiety morial in that part of the road where she had covered to do justice to others, never fails to forget himself, said herself with her veil. It was still standing there in the many years afterwards to the Author with some agitation, days of Pausanias, and was called the statue of Modesty. when relating an ocuurrence of that day, “ It was a battle 3 A Turkish superstition.
of giants !"
To toil and toil, alas, how hopelessly,
Say, must he know remorse ? must Passion come, Herself in bonds, for ages unredeemed
Passion in all or any of its shapes,
To cloud and sully what is now so pure ?
Yes, come it must. For who, alas ! has lived, Ransomed the African.
Nor in the watches of the night recalled
He learns ere long to discipline his mind,
And onward goes, humbly and cheerfully,
Assisting them that faint, weak though he be, THESE are the groves a grateful people gave
And in his trying hours trusting in God
Fair as he is, he shall be fairer still ;
Oh, if the selfish knew how much they lost,
What would they not endeavour, not endure,
Him who his wisdom and his power employs
In making others happy!
WRITTEN AT DROPMORE.
GRENVILLE, to thee my gratitude is due
For many an hour of studious musing here, Bating nor heart nor hope, whoe'er opposed ;
For many a day-dream, such as hovered round The greatest warriors, in their turn, appearing ;
Hafiz, or Sadi; thro' the golden East, The last that came, the greatest of them all —
Search where we would, no fairer bowers than these, One scattering fear, as born but to subdue,
Thine own creation ; where, called forth by thee, And, even in rout, in ruin, scattering fear;
“« Flowers worthy of Paradise, with rich inlay, So long, till warred on by the elements,
Broider the ground,” and every mountain-pine Invincible ; the mightiest of the earth!
Elsewhere unseen (his birth-place in the clouds, When such the service, what the recompense ?
His kindred sweeping with majestic march
From cliff to cliff along the snowy ridge
Of Caucasus, nearer yet the Moon)
Breathes heavenly music.—Yet much more I owe When in his place, day after day, he stood,
For what so few, alas! can hope to share, The party-zeal, that round him raged, restraining; or in thy
garden-chair that wheels its course
Thy converse ; when, among thy books reclined, -His not to rest, while his the strength to serve.
Slowly and silently thro' sun and shade,
In the calm temper of philosophy ;
-Still to delight, instruct, whate'er the theme.
WRITTEN IN JULY, Oh, if he could in all things as he would,
1834. Y rs would as days and hours as moments be ;
GREY, thou hast served, and well, the sacred Cause He would, so restless is his spirit here,
That Hampden, Sydney died for. Thou hast stood, Give wings to Time, and wish his life away!
Scorning all thought of Self, from first to last,
Among the foremost in that glorious field ; The heart, they say, is wiser than the schools ; From first to last; and, ardent as thou art, And well they may. All that is great in thought, Held on with equal step as best became That strikes at once as with electric fire,
A lofty mind, loftiest when most assailed ; And lifts us, as it were, from earth to heaven, Never, though galled by many a barbed shaft, Comes from the heart ; and who confesses not By many a bitter taunt from friend and foe, Its voice as sacred, nay almost divine,
Swerving, nor shrinking. Happy in thy Youth, When inly it declares on what we do,
Thy Youth the dawn of a long summer-day ; Blaming, approving ? Let an erring world But in thy Age still happier; thine to earn Judge as it will, we care not while we stand The gratitude of millions yet unborn; Acquitted there ; and oft, when clouds on clouds Thine to conduct, through ways how difficult, Compass us round and not a track appears, A mighty people in their march sublime Oft is an upright heart the surest guide,
From Good to Better. Great thy recompence, Surer and better than the subtlest head;
When in their eyes thou read'st what thou hast done; Still with its silent counsels thro’ the dark
And may'st thou long enjoy it ; may’st thou long Onward and onward leading.
Preserve for them what still they claim as theirs,
That generous fervour and pure eloquence, This Child, so lovely and so cherub-like,
Thine from thy birth and Nature's noblest gifts, (No fairer spirit in the heaven of heavens)
To guard what They have gained !
WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.1
(Such as He shed on Nelson's closing grave;
How soon to claim the sympathy He gave :)
In Him, resentful of another's wrong,
Truth from his lips a charm celestial drewThere sleeps the dust of FOX for ever gone; Ah, who so mighty and so gentle too ? How near the Place where late his glory shone ! What tho' with War the madding Nations rung, And, tho' no more ascends the voice of Prayer, “ Peace,” when He spoke, was ever on his tongue! Tho' the last footsteps cease to linger there, Amid the frowns of Power, the tricks of State, Still, like an awful Dream that comes again, Fearless, resolved, and negligently great! Alas, at best, as transient and as vain,
In vain malignant vapours gathered round;
Oh say, of Him now rests there but a name ; There, listening, sate the hero and the sage ;
Friend of all Human-kind! not here alone 1 After the funeral of the Right Hon. CHARLES JAMES (The voice, that speaks, was not to Thee unknown) Fox. 2 Venez voir le peu qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, &c. Long, long shall England be revered in Thee !
Wilt Thou be missed.-0'er every land and sea Bossuet, Oraison funèbre de Louis de Bourbon. 3 Et rien enfin ne manque dans tous ces honneurs, que
And, when the Storm is hushed_indistant years, celui à qui on les rend.-Ibid.
Foes on thy grave shall meet, and mingle tears!
THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS.
CHI SE' TU, CHE VIENI-?
Many of the incidents will now be thought extraThe following Poem (or, to speak more properly, vagant ; yet they were once perhaps received with what remains of it 4) has here and there a lyrical something more than indulgence. It was an age turn of thought and expression. It is sudden in of miracles ; and who can say that among the its transitions, and full of historical allusions ; venerable legends in the library of the Escurial, leaving much to be imagined by the reader.
or the more authentic records which fill the great The subject is a voyage the most memorable in chamber in the Archivo of Simancas, and which the annals of mankind. Columbus was a person of relate entirely to the deep tragedy of America, . extraordinary virtue and piety, acting under the there are no volumes that mention the marvellous sense of a Divine impulse ; and his achievement the things here described ? Indeed the story, as already discovery of a New World, the inhabitants of told throughout Europe, admits of no heightening. which were shut out from the light of Revelation, Such was the religious enthusiasm of the early and given up, as they believed, to the dominion of writers, that the Author had only to transfuse it malignant spirits.
into his verse; and he appears to have done little
more ; though some of the circumstances, which 4 The Original in the Castilian language, according to
he alludes to as well-known, have long ceased to the Inscription that follows, was found among other MSS. in an old religious house near Palos, situated on an island
be so. By using the language of that day, he has formed by the river Tinto, and dedicated to our Lady of La
called up Columbus “in his habit as he lived;" Rábida. The Writer describes himself as having sailed and the authorities, such as exist, are carefully wi th Columbus; but his style and manner are evidently given by the Translator. of an after-time.