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To know in dissolution's void

That mortals' baubles, sunk, decay,—
That everything but love, destroyed,
Must perish with its kindred clay;
Perish Ambition's crown,
Perish her sceptred sway;
From Death's pale front fade Pride's fastidious frown;
In Death's damp vault the lurid fires decay
That Envy lights at heaven-bor n Virtue's beam;
That all the cares subside
Which lurk beneath the tide
Of life's unquiet stream ;—
Yes! this is victory!
And on yon rock whose dark form glooms the sky
To stretch these pale limbs when the soul is fled,—

To baffle the lean Passions of their prey,—
To sleep within the palace of the dead!
Oh! not the king around whose dazzling throne

His countless courtiers mock the words they say
Triumphs amid the buds of glory blown
As I in this cold bed and faint expiring groan!

Tremble, ye proud, whose grandeur mocks the woe
Which props the column of unnatural State!
You the plainings faint and low
From Misery's tortured soul that flow
Shall usher to your fate.
Tremble, ye conquerors, at whose fell command
The War-fiend riots o'er a peaceful land!
You desolation's gory throng
Shall bear from victory along
To that mysterious strand.
Oxford, 1810.

POSTHUMOUS FRAGMENTS OF
MARGARET NICHOLSON j

Being Poems found amongst the Papers of that noted Female, who attempted the life of the King in 1786. Edited by John Fitzvictor. [Oxford, Printed and sold by J. Munday, 1810.]

ADVERTISEMENT.

The energy and native genius of these Fragments must be the only apology which the Editor can make for thus intruding them on the public notice. The first I found with no title, and have left it so. It is intimately connected with the dearest interests of universal happiness; and, much as we may deplore the fatal and enthusiastic tendency which the ideas of this poor female had acquired, we cannot fail to pay the tribute of unequivocal regret to the departed memory of genius which, had it been rightly organized, would have made that intellect, which had since become the vietim of frenzy and despair, a most brilliant ornament to society.

In case the sale of these Fragments evinces that the public have any curiosity to be presented with a more copious collection of my unfortunate Aunt's poems, X have other papers in my possession which shall, in that case, be subjected to their notice. It may be supposed they require much arrangement: but I send the following to the press in the same state in which they came into my possession.

J. F.

FRAGMENT,

SUPPOSED TO BE AN EPITHALAMIUM OF FRANCIS RAVAILLAC AND CHARLOTTE CORDAY.

I.

'Tis midnight now. Athwart the murky air

Dank lurid meteors shoot a livid gleam;
From the dark storm-clouds flashes a fearful glare,—

It shows the bending oak, the roaring stream.
I pondered on the woes of lost mankind,

I pondered on the ceaseless rage of kings;
My rapt soul dwelt upon the ties that bind

The mazy volume of commingling things,
When fell and wild misrule to man stern sorrow brings.

l1.
I heard a yell! It was not the knell

When the blasts on the wild lake sleep,
That floats on the pause of the summer gale's swell

O'er the breast of the waveless deep.

I thought it had been Death's accents cold
That bade me recline on the shore:

I laid mine hot head on the surge-beaten mould,
And thought to breathe no more.

But a heavenly sleep, that did suddenly steep

In balm my bosom's pain,
Pervaded my soul; and free from control

Did mine intellect range again.

in. Methought, enthroned upon a silvery cloud,

Which floated 'mid a strange and brilliant light, My form, upborne by viewless ether, rode,

And spurned the lessening realms of earthly night. What heavenly notes burst on my ravished ears!

What beauteous spirits met my dazzled eye! Hark! louder swells the music of the spheres—

More clear the forms of speechless bliss float by—And heavenly gestures suit etherial melody.

But fairer than the spirits of the air,

More graceful than the sylph of symmetry, Than the enthusiast's fancied love more fair,

Were the bright forms that swept the azure sky. Enthroned in roseate light, a heavenly band

Strewed flowers of bliss that never fade away; They welcome virtue to its native land,

And songs of triumph greet the joyous day When endless bliss the woes of fleeting life repay.

Congenial minds will seek their kindred soul,

E'en though the tide of time has rolled between: They mock weak matter's impotent control,

And seek of endless life the eternal scene.
At Death's vain summons tht's will never die;

In Nature's chaos this will not decay:
These are the bands which closely, warmly, tie

Thy soul, O Charlotte, 'yond this chain of clay
To him who thine must be till time shall fade away.

Yes, Francis! thine was the dear knife that tore
A tyrant's heart-strings from his guilty breast;

Thine was the daring at a tyrant's gore
To smile in triumph, to contemn the rest:—

And thine, loved glory of thy sex! to tear
From its base shrine a despot's haughty soul,

To laugh at sorrow in secure despair,
To mock with smiles life's lingering control,
And triumph 'mid the griefs that round thy fate did roll.

Yes! the fierce spirits of the avenging deep

With endless tortures goad their guilty shades! I see the lank and ghastly spectres sweep

Along the burning length of yon arcades; And I see Satan stalk athwart the plain—

He hastes along the burning soil of hell:— "Welcome, thou despots, to my dark domain!

With maddening joy mine anguished senses swell To welcome to their home the friends I love so well!"

IV.

Hark to those notes! How sweet, how thrilling sweet, They echo to the sound of angels' feet!

v.

Oh! haste to the bower where roses are spread,
For there is prepared thy nuptial bed!

Oh! haste! . . Hark, hark! . . They're gone!

vr.
Chorus Op Spirits.
Stay, ye days of contentment and joy,

Whilst love every care is erasing!
Stay, ye pleasures that never can cloy,
And ye spirits that can never cease pleasing!

And, if any soft passion be near

Which mortals, frail mortals, can know,

Let love shed on the bosom a tear,
And dissolve the chill icedrop of woe.

VII.

Symphony. Francis. Soft, my dearest angel, stay! Oh! you suck my soul away! Suck on, suck on! I glow, I glow! Tides of maddening passion roll, And streams of rapture drown my soul! VOL. II. 2 K

Now give me one more billing kiss—
Let your lips now repeat the bliss!
Endless kisses steal my breath!
No life can equal such a death.

VIII.
Charlotte.
Oh yes! I will kiss thine eyes so fair,

And I will clasp thy form.
Serene is the breath of the balmy air,

But I think, love, thou feelest me warm!
And I will recline on thy marble neck

Till I mingle into thee;
And I will kiss the rose on thy cheek,

And thou shalt give kisses to me;—
For here is no mor n to flout our delight,

Oh ! dost thou not joy at this?
And here we may lie an endless night,

A long long night of bliss.

IX.

Spirits, when raptures move,
Say what it is to love,
When passion's tear stands on the cheek,
When bursts the unconscious sigh,

And the tremulous lips dare not speak
What is told by the soul-felt eye.
But what is sweeter to Revenge's ear

Than the fell tyrant's last expiring yell?
Yes! than love's sweetest blisses 'tis more dear
To drink the floatings of a despot's knell!

x.
I wake! . . . 'Tis done—'tis o'er!

DESPAIR.

I. And canst thou mock mine agony, thus calm In cloudless radiance, Queen of silver night?

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