Lines composed on the occasion of His Royal Highness the

Prince Regent being seen standing between the coffins of

Henry VIII. and Charles I., in the royal vault at Windsor.
Famed for contemptuous breach of sacred ties,
By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies;
Between them stands another sceptred thing-
It moves, it reigns--in all but name, a king:
Charles to his people, Henry to his wife,
In him the double tyrant starts to life:
Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain,
Each royal vampire wakes to life again.
Ah, what can tombs avail !-since these disgorge
The blood and dust of both-to mould a George.

ODE TO NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.(2) "Expende Annibalem :-quot libras in duce summo Invenies ?”

Jurenal, Sat. X.(3) « 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 bis government announced in prophetic strains the restoration of public felicity.

Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star,
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.
Il-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(6)
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 quelld!—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?

By this shameful abdication, be 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. (4)

"T is 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? (5)

(1) “I cannot conceive how the Vault has got ahont-but (3) Produce the urn that Hannibal contains, so it is. It is too farouche ; but, truth to say, my sallies are

And weigh the mighty dust whích yet rent not very playful." Lord B. to Mr. Moore.

AND IS THIS ALL!'"I am accused of ingratitude to a certain personage. It I know not that this was ever done in the old w is pretended that, after his civilities, I should not have spoken least, with regard to Hannibal: but, in the Statistical of him disrespectfully. Those epigrams were written long count of Scotland, I find that Sir John Paterson before my introduction to him ; which was, after all, en. curiosity to collect, and weigh, the ashes of a penes tirely accidental, and unsought for on my part. I met him covered a few years since in the parish of Eccles; the one evening at Colonel J's. As the party was a small one, was happily enabled to do with great facility, as a he could not help observing me; and as I made a consider side of the coffin was smooth, and the whole body i able noise at that time, and was one of the lions of the Wonderful to relate, he found the whole did not a day, he sent General -- to desire I would be presented | in weight one ounce and a half! AND IS TRIS ALL! Ala

Tere ! Alas! to him. I would willingly bave declined the honour. I quot libras itself is a satirical exaggeration." Guru but could not with decency. His request was in the nature (4) «I send you an additional motto from Globe of a command. He was very polite, for he is the politest you will find singularly appropriate." Lord B. man in Europe, and paid me some compliments, that meant | April 12. 1814.-L.E. nothing. This was all the civility he ever showed me, and it

(5) “I don't know-but I think I, ever I (an insect com does not burthen my conscience much.” Medwin.-P.E. pared with this creature). have set my life on caso

(2) The reader has seen that Lord Byron, when publish millionth part of this man's. But, after all, a cross ing The Corsair, in January, 1814, announced an apparently not be worth dying for. Yet, to outlive Lodi for quite serious resolution to withdraw, for some years at Oh that Juvenal or Johnson could rise from the dead least, from poetry. His letters, of the February and March pende-quot libras in duce summo invenies? Tar! following, abound in repetitions of the same determination. were light in the balance of mortality; but I thous On the morning of the ninth of April, be writes" No more living dust weighed more carats. Alas! this imp rhyme for-- or rather from --me. I have taken my leave of mond hath a law in it, and is now bardly til to that stage, and henceforth will mountebank it no longer." glazier's pencil ;---the pen of the historian o In the evening, a Gazette Extraordinary announced the ab | worth a ducat. Psha! something too much of dication of Fontainebleau, and the poet violated his vows I won't give him up, even now; though all next morning, by composing this Ode, which he immediately have, like the Thanes, fallen from him." B. Diary, published, though without his name. His diary says : -L. E. " April 10. To-day I have boxed one hour-written an Ode

“Certaminis gaudia"- the expression of I to Napoleon Bonaparte-- copied it-eaten six biscuits-drunk foar bottles of soda water, and redde away the rest of my | given in Cassiodorus. time."--L. E.

Alas! this inapenia! Ša

historian won't net i

00 much of this pa ""; though all his admires

Vary, Arad

expression of Attikal • previous to the battle of China

Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear

In bumblest 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?(6)

To die a prince-or live a slave-
Thy choice is most ignobly brave!
He who of old would rend the oak (1)

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 hast done at length,

And darker fate hast found:
He fell, the forest prowlers' prey;
But thou must eat thy heart away!
The Roman, (2) when his burning heart

Was slaked with blood of Rome,
Threw down the dagger—dared depart,

In savage grandeur, home.
He dared depart, in atter 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,(3)
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:(4)
Yet Letter had be neither known
A bigot's shrine nor despot's throne. (5)
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!

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's 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!(7)
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!
That Corinth's pedagogue (8) hath now
Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow.

[ocr errors]


(1) « Out of town six days. On my return, find my poor austerity. Not satisfi little pagod, Napoleon, pushed off his pedestal. It is his his shroud, was laid in his coffin with much solemnity, own fault. Like Milo, he would rend the oak; but it closed joined in the prayers which were offered up for the rest of again, wedged his hands, and now the beasts-lion, bear, his soul, and mingled his tears with those which his attenddown to the dirtiest jackall-may all tear him. That ants shed, as if they had been celebrating a real funeral.--LE. Muscovite winter wedged his arms ;-ever since, he has (5) "I looked," says Boswell, “ into Lord Kaimes's fought with his feet and teeth. The last may still leave Sketches of the History of Man, and mentioned to Dr. Johntheir marks; and I guess now (as the Yankees say), that son his censure of Charles the Fifth, for celebrating his he will yet play them a pass." B. Diary, April 8.-L. E. funeral obsequies in his life-time, which, I told him, I had

(2) Sylla.-[We find the germ of this stanza in the diary been used to think a solemn and affecting act." JOHNSON. of the evening before it was written:-“ Methinks Sylla did “Why, sir, a man may dispose his mind to think so of that better; for he revenged, and resigned in the height of his act of Charles ; but it is so liable to ridicule, that if one man sway, red with the slaughter of his foes-the finest instance out of ten thousand laughs at it, he 'll make the other nine of glorious contempt of the rascals upon record. Dioclesian thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine laagh too,”. did well too-Amurath not amiss, had he become aught Croker's Boswell, vol. iv. p. 102.-L.E. except a dervise-Charles the Fifth but so so; but Napoleon

(6) In the MS.worst of all." B. Diary, April 9.]-L. E. (3) "Alter potent spell' to quickening spell :' the first

“But who would rise in brightest day (as Polonias says) is a vile phrase,' and means nothing,

To set without one parting ray?"-L.E. besides being common place and Rosa Matildaish. After (7) It is well known that Count Neipperg, a gentleman the resolution of not publishing, though our Ode is a thing in the suite of the Emperor of Austria, who was first preof little length and less consequence, it will be better alto. sented to Maria Louisa within a few days after Napoleon's gether that it is anonymous.” Lord B. to Mr. M. April II. abdication, became, in the sequel, her chamberlain, and - L.E.

then her husband. He is said to have been a man of re(4) Charles the Fifth, Emperor of Germany, and King of markably plain appearance. The Count died in 1831. L.B. Spain, resigned, in 1555, bis imperial crown to his brother (8) Dionysius the Younger, esteemed a greater tyrant Ferdinand, and the kingdom of Spain to his son Philip, and than his father, on being for the second time banished retired to a monastery in Estremadura, where he conform from Syracuse, retired to Corintb, where he was obliged to ed, in his manner of living, to all the rigour of monastic I turn schoolmaster for a subsistence.-L. E.

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?

Thou, Timour! in his captive's cage(1)

What thoughts will there be thine,
Wbile 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, (2)

Wilt thou withstand the shock? And share with him, the unforgiven,

His vulture and his rock! Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst, (3) And that last act, though not thy worst,

The very fiend's arch mock;(4) He in his fall preserved his pride, And, if a mortal, had as proudly died ! There was a day—there was an hour, (5)

While earth was Gaul's-Gaul thineWhen 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.

Where may the wearied eye repose

When gazing on the great;(6) Where neither guilty glory glows,

Nor despicable state? Yes! one ;-- the first-the last-the bestThe Cincinnatus of the West,

Whom envy dared not hate, Bequeath'd the name of Washington, To make man blush there was but one!(7)

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.(8) I Speak pot, I trace not, I breathe not thy name, There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame: But the tear which now burns on my cheek may imparti The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart!

(1) The cage of Bajazet, by order of Tamerlane.
(2) Prometheus.
(3) In the first draught-

" He suffered for kind acts to men
Who have not seen his like again,

At least of kingly stock;
Since he was good, and thou but great,
Thou canst not quarrel with thy fate."--LE.

- The very fiend's arch mock

Tolipa wanton, and suppose her chaste." Shakspeare. We believe there is no doubt of the anecdote here alluded to-of Napoleon's having found leisure for an unworthy amour, the very evening of his arrival at Fontainebleau. -L. E.)

(6) The three last stanzas, which Lord Byron had been solicited by Mr. Murray to write, to avoid the stamp duty then imposed upon publications not exceeding a sheet, were not published with the rest of the poem. “I don't like them at all," says Lord Byron, “and they had better be left out. The fact is, I can't do any thing I am asked to do, however gladly I would; and at the end of a week my interest in a composition goes off."-L. E.

The poem originally contained but eleven stanzas; the rest were afterwards added in successive editions.-P. E.

(6) In one of Lord Byron's MS. Diaries, begun at Ravenna in May, 1821, we find the following:-“What shall I write ? -another Journal? I think not. Any thing that comes uppermost, and call it

My Dictionary. Augustus.- I have often been puzzled with his character. Was he a great man ? Assuredly. But not one of my great men. I have always looked upon Sylla as the greatest character in history, for laying down his power at the mosnent when it was

• To great to keep or to resign.' and thus despising them all. As to the retention of his power by Augustus, the thing was already settled. If he had given it up-the commonwealth was gone--the republic was long past all resuscitation. Had Brutus and Cassius gained the battle of Philippi, it would not have restored the republic. Its days ended with the Gracchi; the rest was a mere struggle of parties. You might as well cure a consumption, or restore a broken egg, as revive a state so long a prey to every uppermost soldier, as Rome had long been. As for a despotism, if Augustus could have been sure that all his successors would have been like himself-I mean not as Octavius, but Augustus or Napoleon could have in.

sured the world that none of his successors would be been like himself-- the ancient or modern world might have i gone on, like the empire of China, in a state of letharge prosperity. Suppose, for instance, that, instead of Tiberiu and Caligula, Augustus had been immediately succeeded ! Nerva, Trajan, the Antonines, or even by Titus and is ther-what a difference in our estimate of himself Lee from gaining by the contrast, I think that one ball of our dislike arises from his having been heired by Tiberis-ad one half of Julius Cæsar's fame, from his having trai bis empire consolidated by Augustus.-Suppose that there bad been no Octavius, and Tiberius bad jumped the life' tei tween, and at once succeeded Julius ?-And yet it is a to say whether hereditary right or popular choice prodest the worser sovereigns. The Roman Consals make a goodly show; but then they only reigned for a year, and were under a sort of personal obligation to distinguish them selves. It is still more dificult to say which form of vernnient is the worst-all are so bad. As for democracy. it is the worst of the whole ; for what is, in fact, democracy! -an aristocracy of blackguards."--LE.

(7) On being reminded by a friend of his recent presise not to write any more for years—“There was," replied Lord Byron, “a mental reservation in my pact with the public, in behalf of anonymes ; and, even had there not, the provocation was such as to make it physically impossible to pass over this epoch of triamphant tameness. "Tis and business; and, after all, I shall think bigher of rhyme as reason, and very humbly of your heroic people, till-Elbs 1 becomes a volcano, and sends him out again. I can't think it is all over yet." -L. E.

(8) “Thou hast asked me for a song, and I enclose yok az experiment, which has cost me something more than trouble, and is, therefore, less likely to be worth your taking any in your proposed setting. Now, if it be so, throw it into the fire without phrase.” Lord B. to Mr. Moore, May tê. 1814.-L. E.

"Many of the best poetical pieces of Lord Byron, batisk the least amatory feeling, have been strangely distorted by his calumniators, as if applicable to the lamented circum stances of his latter life. The foregoing verses were writte snore than two years previously to his marriage, and to show how averse bis lordsbip was from touching, in the most distant manner, upon the theme which might be deemed to have a personal allusion, be requested me, the morning before he last left London, either to sappress the verses entirely, or to be careful in putting the date la they were originally written." Nathan.-P. E.

[merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors]

Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace Yet tenderness and time may rob the tear
Were those hours-can their joy or their bitterness of half its bitterness for one so dear;

(chain, - A nation's gratitude perchance may spread We repent—we abjure we will break from our A thornless pillow for the widow'd head; We will part, —we will fly to--unite it again! May lighten well her heart's maternal care,

And wean from penury the soldier's heir. Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!

May, 1814. Forgive me, adored one!-forsake, if thou wilt;But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased, And man shall not break it-whatever thou mayst. FRAGMENT OF AN EPISTLE TO THOMAS And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,

MOORE. This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be; (sweet, And our days seem as swift, and our moments more “Wuat say I?»--not a syllable further in prose; With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet. I'm your man of all measures," dear Tom,—so,

here goes! One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,

Here goes, for a swim on the stream of old Time, Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove; And the heartless may wonder at all I resign

On those buoyant supporters, the bladders of rhyme.

If our weight breaks them down, and we sink in the Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine.

flood, May, 1814.

We are smother'd, at least, in respectable mud,

Where the divers of Bathos lie drown'd in a heap, ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT

And Southey's last pæan has pillow'd his sleep; THE CALEDONIAN MEETING.

That “ Felo de se” who, half drunk with his malmsey, Wao hath not glow'd above the page where fame

Walk'd out of his depth and was lost in a calm sea, Hath fix'd high Caledon's unconquer'd name;

Singing “Glory to God” in a spick-and-span stanza, The mountain-land which spurn’d the Roman chain,

The like (since Tom Sternbold was choked) never man And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane,

saw. Whose bright claymore and hardihood of band

The papers have told you, no doubt, of the fusses, (1) No foe could tame--no tyrant could command? That race is gone-but still their children breathe,

The fètes, and the gapings to get at these Russes,

of his Majesty's suite, up from coachman to hetman,And glory crowns them with redoubled wreath: O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,

And what dignity decks the flat face of the great man. And, England! add their stubborn strength to thine.

I saw him, last week, at two balls and a party, The blood which flow'd with Wallace flows as free,

For a prince, his demeanour was rather too hearty. But now 't is only shed for fame and thee!

You know, we are used to quite different graces, Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim, But give support—the world hath given him fame!

The Czar's look, I own, was much brighter and brisker, The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled

But then he is sadly deficient in whisker; While cheerly following where the mighty led

And wore but a starless blue coat, and in kerseyWho sleep beneath the undistinguish'd sod

-mere breeches whisk'd round, in a waltz with the Where happier comrades in their triumph trod,

Jersey, To us bequeath—'tis all their fate allows

Who, lovely as ever, seem'd just as delighted
The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:

With majesty's presence as those she invited.
She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise
The tearful eye in melancholy gaze,

June, 1814.
Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose
The Highland seer's anticipated woes,
The bleeding phantom of each martial form

Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;
While sad, she chants the solitary song,

TO SARAH, COUNTESS OF JERSEY, ON THE PRINCE REThe soft lament for him who tarries long

GENT'S RETURNING HER PICTURE TO MRS. MEE.(2) For him, whose distant relics vainly crave The coronach's wild requiem to the brave!

When the vain triumph of the imperial lord

Whom servile Rome obey'd, and yet abhorr'd, "Tis Heaven—not man-must charm away the woe Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust, Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow; That left a likeness of the brave or just;

(1) “The newspapers will tell you all that is to be told sent away from Carlton House. The affair at the time made of emperors, etc. They have dined and supped, and shown | much noise in the fashionable world, and formed the sub

eir flat faces in all thoroughfares and several saloons. ject of the condolatory address in question, from Lord Their uniforms are very becoming, but rather short in the | Byron's pen." Finden's hlustrations.-P. E. skirts; and their conversation is a catechism, for which, "The newspapers have got hold (I know not how) of and the answers, I refer you to those who have heard it." the Condolatory Address to Lady Jersey on the picture abLord B. to Mr. Moore, June 14.-P. E.

duction by our Regent, and have published them with my (2) “ His late Majesty, George the Fourth, when Prince name, too, smack-without even asking leave, or inquiring Regent, formed a collection of miniature portraits of the whether or no! D-n their impudence, and d-n every ladies of his Court, the most celebrated for their beauty. thing. It has put me out of patience, and so-1 shall say DO The Countess of Jersey's was necessarily among them, but more about it.” B. Letters.-L.E. some pique against that lady subsequently led to its being

Where thou hast tarnish'd every gem :

Then throw the worthless bauble by, Which, worn by thee, even slaves contema;

And learn, like better mer, to die! Oh! early in the balance weigh'd,

And ever light of word and worth, Whose soul expired ere youth decay'd,

And left thee but a mass of earth. To see thee moves the scorner's mirth:

But tears in Hope's averted eye Lament that even thou hadst birth

Unfit to govern, live, or die.

What most admired each scrutinising eye
Of all that deck'd that passing pageantry?
What spread from face to face that wondering air?
The thought of Brutus-for his was not there!
That absence proved his worth, that absence fix'd
His memory on the longing mind, unmix’d;
And more decreed his glory to endure,
Than all a gold colossus could secure.

If thus, fair Jersey! our desiring gaze
Search for thy form, in vain and mute amaze,
Amidst those pictured charms, whose loveliness,
Bright though they be, thine own had render'd less;
If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits
Heir of his father's crown, and of his wits,
If his corrupted eye, and wither'd heart,
Could with thy gentle image bear to part;
That tasteless shame be his, and ours the grief,
To gaze on Beauty's band without its chief:
Yet comfort still one selfish thought imparts,
We lose the portrait, but preserve our hearts.

What can his vaulted gallery now disclose ?
A garden with all flowers-except the rose !
A fount that only wants its living stream;
A night, with every star, save Dian's beam.
Lost to our eyes the present forms shall be,
That turn from tracing them to dream of thee;
And more on that recall'd resemblance pause,
Than all he shall not force on our applause.

Long may thy yet meridian lustre shine,
With all that Virtue asks of homage thine:
The symmetry of youth-the grace of mien-
The eye that gladdens—and the brow serene;
The glossy darkness of that clustering hair,
Which shades, yet shows that forehead more than fair!
Each glance that wins us, and the life that throws

A spell which will not let our looks repose,
· But turn to gaze again, and find anew
Some charm that well rewards another view.
These are not lessen'd, these are still as bright,
Albeit too dazzling for a dotard's sight;
And these must wait till every charm is gone,
To please the paltry heart that pleases none;
That dull cold sensualist, whose sickly eye
In envious dimness pass'd thy portrait by;
Who rack'd his little spirit to combine
Its hate of Freedom's loveliness, and thine.

Aug. 1814.


Tvere is a tear for all that die,

A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
Bat nations swell the funeral cry,

And Triumph weeps above the brave.
For them is Sorrow's purest sigh

O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:
In vain their bones unburied lie,

All earth becomes their monument!
A tomb is theirs on every page,

An epitaph on every tongue:
The present hours, the future age,

For them bewail, to them belong.
For them the voice of festal mirth

Grows hush'd, their name the only sound;
While deep Remembrance pours to Worth

The goblet's tributary round.
A theme to crowds that knew them not,

Lamented by admiring foes,
Who would not share their glorious bat?

Who would not die the death they chose?
And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined

Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
And early valour, glowing, find

A model in thy memory.
But there are breasts that bleed with thee

In woe, that glory cannot quell;
And shuddering hear of victory,

Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell
Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?

When cease to hear thy cherish'd name!
Time cannot teach forgetfulness,

While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.
Alas! for them, though not for thee,

They cannot choose but weep the more;
Deep for the dead the grief must be,

Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before


BELSHAZZAR! from the banquet turn,

Nor in thy sensual fulness fall; Behold! while yet before thee burn

The graven words, the glowing wall. Many a despot men miscall

Crown'd and anointed from on high ; But thou, the weakest, worst of all

Is it not written, thou must die?

October, 1814.

Go! dash the roses from thy brow

Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them; Youth's garlands misbecome thee now,

More than thy very diadem,

STANZAS FOR MUSIC. Taere be none of Beauty's daughters

With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me:

(1) This gallant officer fell in August, 1814, in his twenty | ing the American camp near Baltimore. He w ninth year, whilst commanding, on shore, a party belonging | ron's first-cousin; but they had never met e to his ship, the Menelaus, and animating them, in storm | -L.E.

ad never met since baba

« ElőzőTovább »