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Not for thee, soft compassion, celestials did know;

But if angels can weep, sure man may repine, May weep in mute grief o'er thy low-laid

shrine.

V.

And did I then say, for the altar of glory, That the earliest, the loveliest of flowers I'd entwine,

Though with millions of blood-reeking victims 'twas gory,

Though the tears of the widow polluted its shrine,

Though around it the orphans, the fatherless pine?

Oh! Fame, all thy glories I'd yield for a tear To shed on the grave of a heart so sincere.

LOVE.

WHY is it said thou canst not live
In a youthful breast and fair,
Since thou eternal life canst give,
Canst bloom for ever there?

Since withering pain no power possessed,
Nor age, to blanch thy vermeil hue,
Nor time's dread victor, death, confessed,
Though bathed with his poison dew,
Still thou retain'st unchanging bloom,
Fixed tranquil, even in the tomb.
And oh! when, on the bless'd reviving,

The day-star dawns of love,
Each energy of soul surviving,
More vivid, soars above,

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Hast thou ne'er felt a rapturous thrill,
Like June's warm breath, athwart thee fly,
O'er each idea then to steal,

When other passions die ?—

Felt it in some wild noonday dream,
When sitting by the lonely stream,
Where Silence says, Mine is the dell;
And not a murmur from the plain,
And not an echo from the fell,
Disputes her silent reign.

20

BIGOTRY'S VICTIM.

I.

DARES the lama, most fleet of the sons of the wind,

The lion to rouse from his skull-covered lair? When the tiger approaches can the fast-fleeting hind

Repose trust in his footsteps of air? No! Abandoned he sinks in a trance of despair, The monster transfixes his prey,

On the sand flows his life-blood away; Whilst India's rocks to his death-yells reply, Protracting the horrible harmony.

II.

Yet the fowl of the desert, when danger encroaches,

Dares fearless to perish defending her brood, Though the fiercest of cloud-piercing tyrants approaches,

Thirsting-aye, thirsting for blood;

And demands, like mankind, his brother for food;

Yet more lenient, more gentle than they;
For hunger, not glory, the prey

Must perish. Revenge does not howl in the dead,

Nor ambition with fame crown the murderer's

head.

III.

Though weak, as the lama, that bounds on the mountains,

And endued not with fast-fleeting footsteps of air,

Yet, yet will I draw from the purest of foun

tains,

Though a fiercer than tiger is there. Though more dreadful than death, it scatters despair,

Though its shadow eclipses the day, And the darkness of deepest dismay Spreads the influence of soul-chilling terror around,

And lowers on the corpses, that rot on the ground.

IV.

They came to the fountain to draw from its

stream

Waves too pure, too celestial, for mortals to

see;

They bathed for a while in its silvery beam,
Then perished, and perished like me.
For in vain from the grasp of the Bigot I flee;
The most tenderly loved of my soul

Are slaves to his hated control.

He pursues me, he blasts me! 'Tis in vain that I fly:

What remains, but to curse him,-to curse him and die?

TO THE MOONBEAM.

I.

MOONBEAM, leave the shadowy vale,
To bathe this burning brow.
Moonbeam, why art thou so pale,
As thou walkest o'er the dewy dale,
Where humble wild flowers grow?
Is it to mimic me?

But that can never be;
For thine orb is bright,

And the clouds are light,

That at intervals shadow the star-studded

night.

II.

Now all is deathy still on earth,
Nature's tired frame reposes,
And ere the golden morning's birth
Its radiant hues discloses,

Flies forth its balmy breath.

But mine is the midnight of Death,
And Nature's morn,

To my bosom forlorn,

Brings but a gloomier night, implants a deadlier thorn.

III.

Wretch! Suppress the glare of madness
Struggling in thine haggard eye,
For the keenest throb of sadness,
Pale Despair's most sickening sigh,
Is but to mimic me;
And this must ever be,

When the twilight of care,

And the night of despair,

Seem in my breast but joys to the pangs that rankle there.

FRAGMENT ON A FÊTE AT CARLTON HOUSE.

By the mossy brink,

With me the Prince shall sit and think;
Shall muse in visioned Regency,

Rapt in bright dreams of dawning Royalty.

TO HARRIETT: A FRAGMENT.

O THOU

Whose dear love gleamed upon the gloomy path Which this lone spirit travelled, drear and cold But swiftly leading to those awful limits

Which mark the bounds of time, and of the

space

When time shall be no more,-wilt thou not

turn

Those spirit-beaming eyes, and look on me,
Until I be assured that earth is heaven,
And heaven is earth?

TO A STAR.

SWEET star, which gleaming o'er the darksome

scene

Through fleecy clouds of silvery radiance flyest, Spanglet of light on evening's shadowy veil, Which shrouds the day-beam from the waveless lake,

Lighting the hour of sacred love; more sweet

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