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Where is the voice, whose harmony could bind

Seas in their wrath, and demon-frenzy quell; The eye, whose glance was sight unto = the blind,»

And fill'd the soul with joy unspeakable ? Where is the arm that crush'd our fiercest foe

Satan, and all the powers of darkness bound? Where is the Servant's humble form below,

In which the eternal Son of God was found ? Lo! where his pilgrimage of mercy ends ! What glory here into the grave


On the exploit of Arnold Winkelried at the battle of Senpach, in which the Swiss, fighting for their independence, totally defeated the Austrians in the fourteenth century.

Maxe way for liberty!»—he cried; Make

way for liberty, and died !



I left the God of truth and light,

I left the God who gave me breath, To wander in the wilds of night,

To perish in the snares of death!

Sweet was his service; and his yoke

Was light and easy to be borne;Through all his bonds of love I broke ;

I cast away his gifts in scorn.

In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, A living wall, a human wood ! A wall, where every conscious stone Seem'd to its kindred thousands grown; A rampart all assaults to bear, Till time to dust their frames should wear; A wood, like that enchanted grove In which with fiends Rinaldo strove, Where every silent tree possess'd A spirit prison'd in its breast, Which the first stroke of coming strife Would startle into hideous life; So dense, so still, the Austrians stood, A living wall, a human wood! Impregnable their front appears, All horrent with projected spears, Whose polish'd points before them shine, From flank to flank, one brillant line, Bright as the breakers' splendours run Along the billows, to the Sun.

I danced in folly's giddy maze;

And drank the sea, and chased the wind ;But falsehood lurk'd in all her ways,

Her laughter left a pang behind.

I dream'd of bliss in pleasure's bowers,

While pillowing roses stay'd my head; But serpents hiss'd among the flowers, -

I woke, and thorns were all my bed.

In riches then I sought for joy,

And placed in glittering ore my trust; But found that gold was all alloy,

And worldly treasure fleeting dust.

I woo'd ambition-climb'd the pole,

And shone among the stars;- but fell Headlong, in all my pride of soul,

Like Lucifer, from heaven to hell.

Now poor,

and lost, and trampled down, Where shall the chief of signers fly, Almighty Vengeance, from thy frown?

Eternal Justice, from thy eye?

Opposed to these, a hovering band Contended for their native land : Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke From manly necks the ignoble yoke, And forged their fetters into swords, On equal terms to fight their lords: And what ipsurgent rage had gain'd, In many a mortal fray maintain'd: Marshalld once more at Freedom's cal, They came to conquer or to fall, Where he who conquer'd, he who fell, Was deem'd a dead, or living Tell ! Such virtue had that patriot breatlied, So to the soil his soul bequeathe That wheresoe'er his arrows flew, Heroes in his own likeness grew, And warriors sprang from every sod Which his awakening footstep trod.

And now the work of life and death Hung on the passing of a breath; The fire of conflict burnt within, The battle trembled to begin : Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, Point for attack was no where found, Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, The unbroken line of lances blazed ; That line 't were suicide to meet, And perish at their tyrants' feet, How could they rest within their graves, And leave their homes, the homes of slaves ! Would they not feel their children tread With clanging chains above their head? See Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered, cantó viii.

Lo! through the gloom of guilty fears,

My faith discerns a dawn of grace; The sun of righteousness appears

In Jesus' reconciling face.

My suffering, slain, and risen Lord !

In deep distress I turn to thee I claim acceptance on thy word,

My God! my God! forsake not me!

Prostrate before thy mercy-seat,

I dare not, if I would, despair; None ever perish'd at thy feet,

And I will be for ever there.

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Swift to the breach his comrades fly;
Make way for Liberty!» they cry,

And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rush'd the spears through Arnold's heart;
While instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic, scatter'd all :
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.

There richly reflected, the mansion, the lawn,

The banks and the foliage appear, By nature's own pencil enchantingly drawn

A landscape enslırined in a sphere!
While the fish in their element sport to and fro,

Quick-glancing, or gliding at ease,
The birds seem to tly in a concave below

Through a vista of down-growing trees.

Thus Switzerland again was free: Thus death made way for Liberty!


A RACE, a race on earth we run;

And hold a prize in view, More briglit than if we chased the sun

Through lieaven's eternal blue.

The current, unrippled by volatile airs,

Now glitters, now darkens along;
And yonder o'crflowing incessantly bears

Symplionious accordance to song;
The song of the ring-dove enamour'd, that floats

Like soft-melting murmurs of grief;
The song

of the redbreast in ominous notes, Foretelling the fall of the leaf; Thie son&

of the bee, in its serpentine flight, From blossom to blossom that roves; The song of the wind in the silence of night,

When it wakens or bushes the groves : And sweet, through the chorus of rapture and love,

Which God in his temple attends, With the

song of all nature, beneath and above, The voice of these waters ascends!

Changes we prove, and vanish soon;

Changes from youth to age, Silent as those that shape the moon,

In her brief pilgrimage.

Like constellations on their way,

That meet the morning light; We travel up to higher day

Through shades of deeper night.

The beauty, the music, the bliss, of that scene,

With ravisling sympathy stole Through the stranger's dark bosom, illumined his mien,

And soothed and exalted his soul.

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Cold, gloomy forebodings then vanish away,

Ilis terrors to ecstasies turn, As the vapours of night, at the dawning of day,

With splendour and loveliness burn.

• Lovest thou me?, I hear


Oh! that my heart had power to answer « yea ;
Thou knowest all things, Lord in Heaven above,
And Earth beneath : Thou knowest that I love!,
But 't is not so; in word, in deed, in thought,
I do not, cannot love thee as I ought.
Thy love must give that power, thy love alone;
There 's nothing worthy of thee but thine own.
Lord, with the love wherewith thou lovest me,
Shed in my heart abroad, would I love thee.

The stranger reposed in the lonely retreat,

Now smiling at phantoms gone by:
When, lo! a new welcome, in numbers most sweet,

Saluted his car through his eye;
It came to his eye, but it went to his soul-

Some muse, as she wander'd that way,
Had drope from her bosom a mystical scroll,

Whose secrets I dare not betray. Strange tones, we are told, the pale mariner hears

When the mermaids ascend from their caves And sing where the moon, newly-risen, appears

A column of gold on the waves: And wild notes of wonder the shepherd entrance,

Who, dreaming, beholds in the vale By torch-liglit of glow-worms, the fairies that dance

To minstrelsy piped in the gale.


A FOUNTAIN, issuing into light

Before a marble palace, threw To heaven its column, pure and bright,

Returning thence in showers of dew; But soon a humbler course it took, And glid away-a nameless brook.

Not less to that stranger mysteriously brought,

With harmony deep and refined,
In language of silence and music of thought,

Those numbers were heard in his mind :
He listen'd and wonder'd, he trembled and wept,

While transport with tenderness vied,
It seem’d as the harp of a seraph were swept

By a spirit that sung at his side.

Flowers on its grassy margin sprung,

Flies o'er its eddying surface play'd, Birds 'midst the waving branches sunt,

Flocks through the verdant meadows stray'd; The weary there lay down to rest, And there the halcyon built her nest

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Till copse and field in richest bloom,

Sparkle with dew, and breathe perfume,

While hill and valley, all day long, Transmitted to a Young Lady, in a distant county, who had desired And half the night, resound with song. a few lines in the Author's own hand-writing.

So may acquaintance, one by one,

Come like spring flowers to meet the sun,
Spirits in heaven may interchange

And o'er these pages, pure and white,
Thought3, without voice or sound;

Kind words, kind thoughts, kind prayers indite,
Spirits on earth at will can range

Which sweeter odour shall dispense
Wherever man is found;

Than vernal blossoms to the sense ;
Their thoughts (as silent and as fleet

Till woods and streams less fair appear
As summer-lightnings in the west,

Than autographs and sketches here:
When evening sinks to glorious rest)

-Or like the minstrels of the grove,
In written symbols meet.

Pour strains of harmony and love,

The music made by heart to heart, The motion of a feather darts

In which the least can bear a part, The secrets of sequester'd hearts

More exquisite than all the notes To kindred hearts afur,

Of. nightingales' and thrushes' throats. As in the stillness of the night

Thus shall this book, from end to end,
Quick rays of intermingling lighe

Show in succession friend on friend,
Sparkle from star to star.

By their own living hands portray'd,

In prose and versc, in light and shade,
A spirit to a spirit speaks

By pen and pencil, -till her eye,
Where these few letters stand:

Who owns the volume shall descry
Strangers alike,--the younger seeks

On many a leaf some lovely trace,
A token from the hand

Reminding of a lovelier face;
That traced an unpretending song,

With here and there the humbler line,
Whose numbers won her gentle soul,

Recalling such a phiz as mine.
While, like a mountain-rill, they stole
In trembling harmony along :-

What shall the poet's spirit send
To his unseen, unseeing friend?

Ut pictura, poesis.-Hor. de Art. Poct.
-A wish as pure as e'er had birth
In thought or language of this earth,

Two lovely sisters here unite
Cyntula is young, -may she be old;

To blend improvement with delight;
And fair, no doubt, -may she grow wrinkled ;

Painting and poetry engage
Her locks, in verse at least, are gold, -

By turns to deck the album's page.
May they turn silver, thinly sprinkled;
The rose her cheek, the fire her eye,


each glowing picture be Youth, health, and strength successive fly,

The quintessence of Poesy, And in the end-may Cynthia die!

With skill so exquisitely wrought,

As if the colours were pure thought, • Unkind-inhuman!» Stay your tears,

Thought from the bosom's inmost cell, I only wish you length of years;

By magic tints made visible, And wish them still, with all their woes

That, while the eye admires, the mind
And all their blessings, till the close :

Itself, as in a glass, may find.
For Hope and Fear, with anxious strife,
Are wrestlers in the ring of life;


may the poet's verse, alike, And yesterday,-to-day,—10-morrow,

With all the power of Painting strike; Are but alternate joy and sorrow.

So freely, so divinely trace,

In every line, the line of grace; Now mark the sequel :-May your mind

And beautify, with such sweet art, In wisdom's ways true pleasure find,

The image-chamber of the heart, Grow strong in virtue, rich in truth,

That fancy here may gaze her fill, And year by year renew its youth;

Forming fresla scenes and shapes at will, Till, in the late triumphant hour,

Where silent words alone appear,
The Spirit shall the flesh o'erpower,

Or borrowing voice, but touch the ear.
This from its sufferings gain release,
And that take wing and part in peace.

Yet humble prose with these shall stand;
Friends, kindred, comrades, band in hand,

All in this fair enclosure meet,

The lady of the book to greet,

And, with the pen or pencil, make Flower after flower comes forth in spring,

These leaves love-tokens, for her sake. Bird after bird begins to sing ;

Sheffield, 1828.

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These lines and dots are locks and keys,
In narrow space to treasure thought,
Whose precious hoards, whene'er you please,
Are thus to light from darkness brought.
On the small tablet of

your heart,
By heaven's own finger be engraved,
Within, without, through every part,
The words whereby you must be saved.
There the bright pages of God's book
In secret characters may lie,

alone have

power to look,
Though hid from man or angel's eye.
Could nature's secrets all be found
Unbosomed where the billows roll,
In flowers embroidered on the ground,
By stars emblazoned o'er the pole:-
Less were the sum of truth reveald,
Through heaven, and earth, and sea express'd,
Than would be written then, and seal'd,
Once and for ever, in your breast.

Though frail as dust it meet the eye,
He form'd this Gnat who built the sky;
Stop-lest it vanish at thy breath-
This speck had life, and suffer'd death!

Sheffield, July 18, 1827.



I know not what these lines will be, I know not who these lines may see;

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