The spear-point pierced him not, the scymitar And bowed before its will. Upon the banks And flanks incarnadined, his poitral smeared Lay near; and Julian's sword, its hilt and chain Days, months, and years, and generations pass'd, And centuries held their course, before, far off Within a hermitage near Viseu's walls A humble tomb was found, which bore inscribed In ancient characters King Roderick's name. FROM 'THALABA.' He found a Woman in the cave, The pine boughs were cheerfully blazing, The thread she spun it gleam'd like gold A stronger than thee, Who can break this thread of mine!' And up she raised her bright blue eyes, And round and round his right hand, Thalaba strove, but the thread By magic hands was spun, And then again she sung, A stronger than thee, Who can break this thread of mine!' And up she raised her bright blue eyes, And fiercely she smiled on him: I thank thee, I thank thee, Hodeirah's son! I thank thee for doing what can't be undone, For binding thyself in the chain I have spun!' Then from his head she wrench'd A lock of his raven hair, And cast it in the fire, And cried aloud as it burnt, 'Sister! Sister! hear my voice! 'Sister! Sister! come and rejoice! The prize is won, The work is done, For I have made captive Hodeirah's Son.' FROM KEHAMA.' O force of faith! O strength of virtuous will! Behold him in his endless martyrdom, Triumphant still! The Curse still burning in his heart and brain, Patient the while, and tranquil, and content! Such strength the will reveal'd had given Trampling his path through wood and brake, On comes the Elephant, to slake He moves it to and fro. But when that form of beauty meets his sight, The trunk its undulating motion stops, From his forgetful hold the plane-branch drops, Reverent he kneels, and lifts his rational eyes To her as if in prayer; And when she pours her angel voice in song Entranced he listens to the thrilling notes, Till his strong temples, bathed with sudden dews, Their fragrance of delight and love diffuse. Lo! as the voice melodious floats around, The Tigress leaves her toothless cubs to hear; By that enchanting song; The antic Monkeys, whose wild gambols late, When not a breeze waved the tall jungle grass, Shook the whole wood, are hush'd, and silently Hang on the cluster'd tree. All things in wonder and delight are still; Only at times the Nightingale is heard, Not that in emulous skill that sweetest bird Her rival strain would try, A mighty songster, with the Maid to vie; She only bore her part in powerful sympathy. Well might they thus adore that heavenly Maid! Or Grove, or Lake, or Fountain, Her natural grace, Musk-spot, nor sandal-streak, nor scarlet stain, Ear-drop nor chain, nor arm nor ankle-ring, Nor trinketry on front, or neck, or breast, Marring the perfect form: she seem'd a thing Of Heaven's prime uncorrupted work, a child Of early nature undefiled, A daughter of the years of innocence. And therefore all things loved her. When she stood Quick as an arrow from all other eyes, Sought not to tempt her from her secret nest, Ode, written DURING THE NEGOCIATIONS WITH BUONAPARTE, IN JANUARY, 1814. I Who counsels peace at this momentous hour, When God hath given deliverance to the oppress'd, And to the injured power? Who counsels peace, when Vengeance like a flood From the four corners of the world cries out |