Billeder på siden


LOVE had a fever - ne'er could close

His little eyes till day was breaking; And wild and strange enough, Heav'n knowe,

The things he rav'd about while waking.

To let him pine so were a sin ;.

One, to whom all the world's a debtor So Doctor Hymen was call’d in,

And Love that night slept rather better.

Next day the case gave further hope yet,

Though still some ugly fever latent;“ Dose, as before”- a gentle opiate,

For which old Hymen has a patent.

After a month of daily call,

So fast the dose went on restoring, That Love, who first ne'er slept at all,

Now took, the roguel to downright snoring



Carbone notatı.

AY - down to the dust with them, slaves as they are, From this hour, let the blood in their dastardly

veins, That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war,

Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains.

On, on like a cloud, through their beautiful vales,

Ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them o'er Fill, fill up their wide sunny waters, ye sails From each slave-mart of Europe, and shadow their

shore !

Let their fate be a mock-word - let men of all lands

Laugh out, with a scorn that shall ring to the poles, When each sword, that the cowards let fall from

their hands, Shall be forg'd into fetters to enter their souls.

And deep, and more deep, as the iron is driv'ri,

Base slaves ! let the whet of their agony be, To think as the Doom'd often think of that heav'n They had once within reach that they might Dh shame! when there was not a bosom, whose heat

have been free.

Ever rose 'bove the zero of Castlereagli's heart, That did not, like echo, your war-hymn repeat,

And send all its prayers with your Liberty's start;

When the world stood in hope when a spirit, that

breath'd The fresh air of the olden time, whisper'd about ; And the swords of all Italy, half-way unsheath'd,

But waited one conquering cry, to flash out!

When around you the shades of your Mighty in fame, FILICAJAS and PETRARCHS, seemed bursting to

view, And their words, and their warnings, like tongues

of bright flame Over Freedom's apostles, fell kindling on you!

Oh shame! that, in such a proud moment of life,

Worth the histry of ages, when, had you but hursd Əne bolt at your tyrant invader, that strife Between freemen and tyrants had spread through

the world

That then-oh! disgrace upon manhood-ev'n then, You should falter, should cling to your pitiful

breath; Cow'r down into beasts, when you might have stood

me And prefer the slave's life of prostration to death.



It is strange, it is dreadful: — shout, Tyranny, shout Through your dungeons and palaces, “ Freedom is

o'er;” If there lingers one spark of her light, tread it out,

And return to your empire of darkness once more.

For, if such are the braggarts that claim to be free,

Come, Despot of Russia, thy feet let me kiss ; Far nobler to live the brute bondman of thee,

Than to sully ev'n chains by a struggle like this ! SONGS



« ForrigeFortsæt »