But there it stings for evermore The soul that must endure it.

WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY.

WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay, Ah! whither strays the immortal mind? It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darken'd dust behind.
Then, unembodied, doth it trace

By steps each planet's heavenly way?
Or fill at once the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey?
Eternal, boundless, undecay'd,

A thought unseen, but seeirg all,
All, all in earth or skies display'd,
Shall it survey, shall it recall :
Each fainter trace that memory holds
So darkly of departed years,
In one broad glance the soul beholds,
And all that was at once appears.
Before Creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back;
And where the furthest heaven had birth,
The spirit trace its rising track.
And where the future mars or makes,
Its glance dilate o'er all to be,
While sun is quench'd, or system breaks,
Fix'd in its own eternity.

Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear,

It lives all passionless and pure : An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing,

O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly, A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die.

VISION OF BELSHAZZAR.

THE King was on his throne,
The Satraps throng'd the hall :
A thousand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,
In Judah deem'd divine-
Jehovah's vessels hold

The godless Heathen's wine.
In that same hour and hall,
The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand:
The fingers of a man ;-
A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,

And traced them like a wand. The monarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice; All bloodless wax'd his look, And tremulous his voice.

'Let the men of lore appear,

The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear,
Which mar our royal mirth.
Chaldea's seers are good,

But here they have no skill;
And the unknown letters stood
Untold and awful still.
And Babel's men of age

Are wise and deep in lore;
But now they were not sage,
They saw-but knew no more.
A captive in the land,

A stranger and a youth,
He heard the king's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,
The prophecy in view;
He read it on that night,-
The morrow proved it true.
'Belshazzar's grave is made,
His kingdom pass'd away,
He, in the balance weigh'd,

Is light and worthless clay;
The shroud his robe of state,
His canopy the stone;
The Mede is at his gate!

The Persian on his throne !'

WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU
DEEM'ST IT TO BE.
WERE my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to
be,

I need not have wander'd from far Galilee;
It was but abjuring my creed to efface [race.
The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my

If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free!
If the exile on earth is an outcast on high,
Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.

I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,

[know:

As the God who permits thee to prosper doth In His hand is my heart and my hope-and in

thine

The land and the life which for Him I resign.

A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE ME.

FROM JOB.

A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld The face of immortality unveil'd

'Is man more just than God? Is man more pure

Than He who deems even Seraphs insecure? Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! The moth survives you, and are ye more just?

Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!'

'The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the Italians, and by the Provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues and military talents were loudly celebrated; and those who derived any private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains the restoration of public felicity. By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very ambiguous state, between an Emperor and an Exile, till-GIBBON'S Decline and Fall, vol. vi. p. 220.

'Tis done-but yesterday a King!

And arm'd with Kings to strive-
And now thou art a nameless thing:
So abject-yet alive!

Is this the man of thousand thrones,
Who strew'd our earth with hostile bones,

And can he thus survive?
Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star,
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.

Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind
Who bow'd so low the knee?
By gazing on thyself grown blind,

Thou taught'st the rest to see.
With might unquestion'd,-power to save,-
Thine only gift hath been the grave,

To those that worshipp'd thee;
Nor till thy fall could mortals guess
Ambition's less than littleness!

Thanks for that lesson-it will teach

To after-warriors more
Than high Philosophy can preach,
And vainly preach'd before.
That spell upon the minds of men
Breaks never to unite again,

That led them to adore
Those Pagod things of sabre sway,
With fronts of brass, and feet of clay.

The triumph, and the vanity,
The rapture of the strife

'Certaminis gaudia-the expression of Attila in his harangue to his army, previous to the battle of Chalons, given in Cassiodorus.

The earthquake voice of Victory,
To thee the breath of life;
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway
Which man seem'd made but to obey,

Wherewith renown was rife

All quell'd!-Dark Spirit! what must be The madness of thy memory!

The Desolator desolate !

The Victor overthrown! The Arbiter of others' fate

A Suppliant for his own! Is it some yet imperial hope

That with such change can calmly cope?
Or dread of death alone?

To die a prince-or live a slave-
Thy choice is most ignobly brave!

He who of old would rend the oak,"
Dream'd not of the rebound;
Chain'd by the trunk he vainly broke-
Alone-how look'd he round!
Thou, in the sternness of thy strength,
An equal deed has done at length,"

And darker fate has found:
He fell, the forest prowlers' prey:
But thou must eat thy heart away!

The Roman,† when his burning heart
Was slaked with blood of Rome,
Threw down the dagger-dared depart
In savage grandeur, home:
He dared depart, in utter scorn
Of men that such a yoke had borne,
Yet left him such a doom!
His only glory was that hour
Of self-upheld abandon'd power.

The Spaniard, when the lust of sway,
Had lost its quickening spell,

Cast crowns for rosaries away,

An empire for a cell;

A strict accountant of his beads,
A subtle disputant on creeds,
His dotage trifled well :

Yet better had he neither known

A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne.

But thou-from thy reluctant hand
The thunderbolt is wrung-

Too late thou leav'st the high command
To which thy weakness clung;
All Evil Spirit as thou art,
It is enough to grieve the heart

To see thine own unstrung;

To think that God's fair world hath been
The footstool of a thing so mean!

And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,
Who thus can hoard his own!
And Monarchs bow'd the trembling limb,
And thank'd him for a throne !
Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear
In humblest guise have shown.
Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind!
Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,
Nor written thus in vain-
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,
Or deepen every stain:

If thou hadst died as honour dies,
Some new Napoleon might arise,

To shame the world again-
But who would soar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night?
Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust
Is vile as vulgar clay;

Thy scales, Mortality! are just
To all that pass away:

But yet methought the living great
Some higher sparks should animate,
To dazzle and dismay:

Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth
Of these, the Conquerors of the earth.

And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,*
Thy still imperial bride,

How bears her breast the torturing hour?
Still clings she to thy side?

Must she, too, bend: must she, too, share
Thy late repentance, long despair,

Thou throneless Homicide?

If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,-
'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem!

Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
And gaze upon the sea;
That element may meet thy smile-
It ne'er was ruled by thee!
Or trace with thine all idle hand,
In loitering mood upon the sand,
That Earth is now as free!

María Louisa.

That Corinth's pedagogue hath now
Transferr'd his byword to thy brow.
Thou Timour! in his captive's cage,†
What thoughts will there be thine,
While brooding in thy prison'd rage,

But one-The world was mine!
Unless, like he of Babylon,

All sense is with thy sceptre gone,

Life will not long confine
That spirit pour'd so widely forth-
So long obey'd-so little worth!
Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
And share, with him, the unforgiven,
His vulture and his rock?
Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst,
And that last act, though not thy worst,
The very Fiend's arch mock;

He in his fall preserved his pride,
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died!
There was a day-there was an hour,
While earth was Gaul's-Gaul thine-
When that immeasurable power
Unsated to resign,

Had been an act of purer fame,
Than gathers round Marengo's name,
And gilded thy decline,

Through the long twilight of all time,
Despite some passing clouds of crime.
But thou, forsooth, must be a king,
And don the purple vest!

As if that foolish robe could wring
Remembrance from thy breast.
Where is that faded garment? where
The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear,
The star, the string, the crest ?
Vain froward child of empire! say,
Are all thy playthings snatch'd away?
Where may the wearied eye repose
When gazing on the Great,
Where neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?
Yes-one-the first-the last-the best-
The Cincinnatus of the West,

Whom envy dared not hate, Bequeath'd the name of Washington, To make man blush there was but one!

ODE FROM THE FRENCH.

I.

We do not curse thee, Waterloo !
Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew .
There 'twas shed, but is not sunk-

Rising from each gory trunk,

Like the waterspout from ocean,

With a strong and growing motion :

It soars and mingles in the air,
With that of lost Labedoyère-
With that of him whose honour'd grave
Contains the 'bravest of the brave.'
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose;
When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder-
Never yet was heard such thunder

As then shall shake the world with wonder-
Never yet was seen such lightning

As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!
Like the Wormwood star foretold
By the sainted Seer of old,
Showering down a fiery flood,
Turning rivers into blood.*

II.

The chief has fallen! but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo !
When the soldier-citizen
Sway'd not o'er his fellow-men-
Save in deeds that led them on
Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son-
Who, of all the despots banded,

With that youthful chief competed?
Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone Tyranny commanded?
Till, goaded by ambition's sting,
The Hero sunk into the King?
Then he fell :-so perish all,

Who would men by man enthrall!

III.

And thou, too, of the snow-white plume,
Whose realm refused thee even a tomb, †
Better hadst thou still been leading
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;
Such as he of Naples wears,
Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing

On thy war-horse through the ranks
Like a stream which burst its banks,
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,
Shone and shiver'd fast around thee-
Of the fate at last which found thee!
Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave's dishonest blow?
Once-as the moon sways o'er the tide,
It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,

* See Rev. viii. 7, &c., 'The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood,' &c. Ver. 8, And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea; and the third part of the sea became blood,' &c. Ver. 10, And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp; and it fell upon the third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters. Ver. 11, And the name of the star is called Wormwood; and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter.'

+ Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave

and burnt.

The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendancy-
And, as it onward rolling rose,
So moved his heart upon our foes.
There, where death's brief pang was quickest,
And the battle's wreck lay thickest,
Strew'd beneath the advancing banner
Of the eagle's burning crest -

(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,
Who could then her wing arrest-
Victory beaming from her breast?)
While the broken line enlarging
Fell, or fled along the plain;
There be sure was Murat charging!
There he ne'er shall charge again!

IV.

O'er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps Triumph o'er each levell'd arch-
But let Freedom rejoice,

With her heart in her voice;
But her hand on her sword,
Doubly shall she be adored;
France hath twice too well been taught
The 'moral lesson' dearly bought-
Her safety sits not on a throne,
With Capet or Napoleon!
But in equal rights and laws,

Hearts and hands in one great cause-
Freedom such as God hath given

Unto all beneath His heaven,

With their breath, and from their birth, Though Guilt would sweep it from the earth

With a fierce and lavish hand

Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter!

V.

But the heart and the mind,
And the voice of mankind,
Shall arise in communion-

And who shall resist that proud union?
The time is past when swords subdued-
Man may die-the soul's renew'd:
Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;
Millions breathe but to inherit
Her for ever bounding spirit→→
When once more her hosts assemble,
Tyrants shall believe-and tremble:
Smile they at this idle threat?
Crimson tears will follow yet.

TO NAPOLEON.

FROM THE FRENCH.

MUST thou go, my glorious Chief,* Sever'd from thy faithful few?

All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish offer. who had been exalted from the ranks by Bonaparte. He Jung to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial capacity, which could not be admitted."