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Still prouder glories beam on history's page, Imperial CHARLES ! to mark thy prosperous age Those golden days of arts and fancy bright, When Science pour'd her mild, refulgent light; When Painting bade the glowing canvass breathe Creative Sculpture claim'd the living wreath; When roved the Muses in Ausonian bowers, Weaving immortal crowns of fairest flowers; When angel-truth dispersed, with beam divine, The clouds that veil'd religion's hallow'd shrine Those golden days beheld Iberia tower High on the pyramid of fame and power; Vain all the efforts of her numerous foes, Her might, superior still, triumphant rosc. Thus on proud Lebanon's exalted brow, The cedar, frowning o'er the plains below, Though storms assail, its regal pomp to rend, Majestic, still aspires, disdaining e'er to bend !
With splendid trophies graced his sovereign's
throne, And bade Granada's realms his prowess own. Nor were his deeds thy only boast, О Spain ! In mighty FERDINAND's illustrious reign; 'Twas then thy glorious Pilot spread the sail, Unfurl'd his flag before the eastern gale; Bold, sanguine, fearless, ventured to explore Seas unexplored, and worlds unknown before. Fair science guided o'er the liquid realm, Sweet hope, exulting, steer'd the daring helm; While on the mast, with ardour-flashing eye, Courageous enterprise still hover'd nigh: The hoary genius of th’ Atlantic main Saw man invade his wide majestic reignHis empire, yet by mortal unsubdued, The throne, the world of awful solitude. And e'en when shipwreck seem'd to rear his
form, And dark destruction menaced in the storm; In every shape when giant-peril rose, To daunt his spirit and his course oppose; O’er ev'ry heart when terror sway'd alone, And hope forsook each bosom but his own: Moved by no dangers, by no fears repell’d, His glorious track the gallant sailor held; Attentive still to mark the sea-birds lave, Or high in air their snowy pinions wave. Thus princely Jason, launching from the steep, With dauntless prow explored th' untravell’d
When Gallia pour'd to Pavia's trophied plain, Her youthful knights, a bold, impetuous train ; When, after many a toil and danger past, The fatal morn of conflict rose at last; That morning saw her glittering host combine, And form in close array the threat'ning line ; Fire in each eye, and force in ev'ry arm, With hope exulting, and with ardour warm ; Saw to the gale their streaming ensigns play, Their armour flashing to the beam of day; Their gen’rous chargers panting, spurn the ground, Roused by the trumpet's animating sound; And heard in air their warlike music float, The martial pipe, the drum's inspiring note !
Pale set the sun-the shades of evening fell, The mournful night-wind rung their funera
knell; And the same day beheld their warriors dead, Their sovereign captive, and their glories fled ! Fled, like the lightning's evanescent fire, Bright, blazing, dreadful-only to expire ! Then, then, while prostrate Gaul confess'd her
might, Iberia's planet shed meridian light ! Nor less, on famed St Quintin's deathful day, Castilian spirit bore the prize awayLaurels that still their verdure shall retain, And trophies beaming high in glory's fane ! And lo! her heroes, warm with kindred flame, Still proudly emulate their fathers' fame; Still with the soul of patriot-valour glow, Still rush impetuous to repel the foe; Wave the bright falchion, lift the beamy spcar, And bid oppressive Gallia learn to fear !
Go, bid the rolling orbs thy mandate hear
Be theirs, be theirs unfading honour's crown,
mind ! Oh ! if at midnight round thy regal bed, When soothing visions fly thine aching head; When sleep denies thy anxious cares to calm, And lull thy senses in his opiate balm; Invoked by guilt, if airy phantoms rise, And murder'd victims bleed before thine eyes; Loud let them thunder in thy troubled ear, “Tyrant! the hour, th' avenging hour is near !" It is, it is ! thy star withdraws its raySoon will its parting lustre fade away; Soon will Cimmerian shades obscure its light, And veil thy splendours in eternal night! Oh! when accusing conscience wakes thy soul With awful terrors and with dread control, Bids threat'ning forms, appalling, round thee stand, And summons all her visionary band;. Calls up the parted shadows of the dead, And whispers, peace and happiness are fled; E'en at the time of silence and of rest, Paints the dire poniard menacing thy breast; Is then thy cheek with guilt and horror pale? Then dost thou tremble, does thy spirit fail ? And wouldst thou yet by added crimes provoke The bolt of heaven to launch the fatal stroke? Bereave a nation of its rights revered, Of all to morals sacred and endear'd? And shall they tamely liberty resign, The soul of life, the source of bliss divine? Canst thou, supreme destroyer ! hope to bind, In chains of adamant, the noble mind?
Ye sons of Albion ! first in danger's field, The sword of Britain and of truth to wield ! Still prompt the injured to defend and save, Appal the despot, and assist the brave; Who now intrepid lift the generous blade, The cause of Justice and Castile to aid ! Ye sons of Albion ! by your country's name, Her crown of glory, her unsullied fame; Oh! by the shades of Cressy's martial dead, By warrior-bands at Agincourt who bled; By honours gain'd on Blenheim's fatal plain, By those in Victory's arms at Minden slain; By the bright laurels Wolfe immortal won, Undaunted spirit! valour's favourite son ! By Albion's thousand, thousand deeds sublime, Renown'd from zone to zone, from clime to clime; Ye British heroes ! may your trophies raise A deathless monument to future days ! Oh! may your courage still triumphant rise, Exalt the “lion banner" to the skies ! Transcend the fairest names in history's page, The brightest actions of a former age; The reign Freedom let your arms restore, And bid oppression fall—to rise no more ! Then soon returning to your native isle, May love and beauty hail you with their smile; For you may conquest weave th' undying wreath, And fame and glory's voice the song of rapturo
breathe! Ah! when shall mad ambition cease to rage ? Ah! when shall war his demon-wrath assuage? When, when, supplanting discord's iron reign, Shall mercy wave her olive-wand again? Not till the despot's dread career is closed, And might restrain'd and tyranny deposed!
Return, sweet Peace, ethereal form benign ! Fair blue-eyed seraph ! balmy power divine ! Descend once more! thy hallow'd blessings bring, Wave thy bright locks, and spread thy downy wing! Luxuriant plenty, laughing in thy train, Shall crown with glowing stores the desert-plain:
THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS,
AND OTHER POEMS.
[In 1812, another and much smaller volume, entitled The Domestic Affections, and other Poems, was given to the worldthe last that was to appear with the name of Felicia Browne; for, in the summer of the same year, its author exchanged that appellation for the one under which she has become so much more generally known. Captain Hemans had returned to Wales in the preceding year, when the acquaintance was renewed which had begun so long before at Gwrych ; and as the sentiments then mutually awakened continued unaltered, no further opposition was made to a union, on which (however little in accordance with the dictates of worldly prudence) the happiness of both parties seemed so entirely to depend.-Memoir, p. 24.]
Young smiling Hope, attendant on thy way,
THE SILVER LOCKS.
ADDRESSED TO AN AGED FRIEND.
Though youth may boast the curls that fluw
As graceful on thy hoary head
His wreath of snow !
As frost-work on the trees display'd
E'en more than Flora, charms the sight;
Youth's vernal rose decay'd !
To grace the nymph whose tresses play Light on the sportive breeze of May,
Let other bards the garland twine, Where sweets of every hue combine ; Those locks revered, that silvery shine,
Invite my lay!
O Thou ! whose fiat lulls the storm asleep! Thou, at whose nod subsides the rolling deep! Whose awful word restrains the whirlwind's force, And stays the thunder in its vengeful course; Fountain of life! Omnipotent Supreme ! Robed in perfection! crown'd with glory's beam! Oh! send on earth thy consecrated dove, To bear the sacred olive from above; Restore again the blest, the halcyon time, The festal harmony of nature's prime! Bid truth and justice once again appear, And spread their sunshine o'er this mundane
sphere; Bright in their path, let wreaths unfading bloom, Transcendant light their hallow'd fane illume; Bid war and anarchy for ever cease, And kindred seraphs rear the shrine of Peace; Brothers once more, let men her empire own, And realms and monarchs bend before the throne, While circling rays of angel-mercy shed Eternal baloes round her sainted head !
And joys of heaven would thrill thy heart To bid one bosom-grief depart,
One tear, one sorrow cease !
Long, long, ye snowy ringlets, wave !
May bliss your latest evening crown,
In gladness to the grave !
And as the parting beams of day
And tints of roseate lustre shed;
His mildest ray !
Then, oh! may Heaven, that loves to bless,
Complains with soft entrancing number, When the lone storm awakes the wire,
And bids enchantment cease to slumber; So filial love, with soothing voice, E'en then shall teach thee to rejoice; E'en then shall sweeter, milder sound, When sorrow's tempest raves around;
While dark misfortune's gales destroy, The frail mimosa-buds of hope and joy !
TO MY MOTHER.
The generous wish or prayer;
My mother's fostering care. And if one flower of charms refined May grace the garden of my mind,
'Twas she who nursed it there : She loved to cherish and adom
Each blossom of the soil; To banish every weed and thorn
That oft opposed her toil !
TO MY YOUNGER BROTHER,
ON HIS RETURN FROM SPAIN, AFTER THE FATAL RETREAT UNDER SIR JOHN MOORE, AND THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA.
And oh ! if e'er I sigh'd to claim
The glowing wreath of praise ;
And gild thy sun-bright days !
Though dark are the prospects and heavy the hours,
Though life is a desert, and cheerless the way; Yet still shall affection adorn it with flowers,
Whose fragrance shall never decay !
And lo! to embrace thee, my Brother! she flies,
With artless delight, that no words can bespeak; With a sunbeam of transport illuming her eyes,
With a smile and a glow on her cheek !
Yet not that splendour, pomp, and power
Diffusing joy and peace;
From the trophies of war, from the spear and the
shield, From scenes of destruction, from perils unblest; Oh! welcome again, to the grove and the field,
To the vale of retirement and rest.
Then warble, sweet muse! with the lyre and the
voice, Oh! gay be the measure and sportive the strain; For light is my heart, and my spirits rejoice
To meet thee, my Brother ! again. When the heroes of Albion, still valiant and true,
Were bleeding, were falling, with victory crown'd, How often would fancy present to my view
The horrors that waited thee round !
How constant, how fervent, how pure was my
prayer, That Heaven would protect thee from danger
and harm; That angels of mercy would shield thee with care,
In the heat of the combat's alarm !
When shall we meet again ?with glowing ray, Heart-soothing hope illumes some future day ; Checks the sad thought, beguiles the starting
tear, And sings benignly still-that day is near ! She, with bright eye, and soul-bewitching voice, Wins us to smile, inspires us to rejoice; Tells that the hour approaches, to restore Our cherish'd wanderer to his home once more; Where sacred ties his manly worth endear, To faith still true, affection still sincere ! Then the past woes, the future's dubious lot, In that blest meeting shall be all forgot ! And joy's full radiance gild that sun-bright hour, Though all around th' impending storm should
How sad and how often descended the tear,
(Ah, long shall remembrance the image retain !) How mournful the sigh, when I trembled with
fear I might never behold thee again !
But the prayer was accepted, the sorrow is o'er, And the tear-drop is fled, like the dew on the
rose; Thy dangers, our tears, have endear'd thee the
more, And my bosom with tenderness glows.
Now distant far, amidst the intrepid host, Albion's firm sons, on Lusitania's coast, (That gallant band, in countless dangers tried, Where glory's pole-star beams their constant
guide) Say, do thy thoughts, my Brother, fondly stray To Cambria's vales and mountains far away? Does fan
oft in busy day-dreams roa And paint the greeting that awaits at home? Does memory's pencil oft, in mellowing huc, Dear social scenes, departed joys renew; In softer tints delighting to retrace Each tender image and each well-known face? Yes, wanderer ! yes ! thy spirit flies to those Whose love, unalter'd, warm and faithful glows.
Oh ! could that love, through life's eventful
hours, Illume thy scenes and strew thy path with
flowers ! Perennial joy should harmonise thy breast, No struggle rend thce, and no cares molest! But though our tenderness can but bestow The wish, the hope, the prayer, averting woe, Still shall it live, with pure, unclouded flame, In storms, in sunshine, far and near the
same! Still dwell enthroned within th' unvarying heart, And, firm and vital, but with life depart !
Bronwylfa, Feb. 8, 1811.
TO MY ELDEST BROTHER.
(WITH THE BRITISH ARMY IN PORTUGAL.)
How many a day, in various hues array'd,
WRITTEX IN THE MEMOIRS OF ELIZABETH SMITH.
O) thou ! whose pure, exalted mind,
Lives in this record, fair and bright;