I dare not paint the agonising look
The mother gave when Gaul her infant took,—— Took, and while yet the cherub's smile was
Pierced its fair limbs and tore its baby-flesh;-
I dare not paint the wife's transporting woe,
When sunk her husband by Massena's blow.—
Hear, thou dread warrior! hear, thou man of
blood!
Hear, thou with female, infant gore imbrued!
When sinking in the horrors of the tomb,
The avenging angel shall pronounce thy doom—
When war's loud yell grows faint, the drum's
dead roll
Strikes languid, and more languid on the soul—
When Britain's cannons may unheeded roar,
And Wellesley's name has power to fright no
more,-
Yon widow's shrieks shall pierce thee till thou
And form a dread artillery in the grave!
Heard ye that burst of joy? From Beira's coast To Algarva's southern boundaries it crost; It passed from undulating Tagus' source, And burst where Guadiana holds his course. "Farewell! proud France! (they cried) thy power is broke ;
Farewell for ever to thy iron yoke !
But blest for ever be old Ocean's queen,
Still on his bosom may she reign serene.
When on these plains our future offspring gaze,
To them our grateful heart shall sound thy
praise.
To Britain's generous aid these plains we owe,
For us she drew the sword, and bent the bow.
We sunk, we crouched beneath a tyrant's hand-
Victorious Britain loosed the usurper's hand.
We bowed to France, obeyed each stern decree,—
Majestic Britain rose-and all was free."
THE RAISING OF LAZARUS.
SILENT and sad, deep gazing on the clay,
Where Lazarus breathless, cold, and lifeless lay,
The Saviour stood: he dropped a heavenly tear,
The dew of pity from a soul sincere :
He heaved a groan !-though large his cup of woe,
Yet still for others' grief his sorrows flow;
He knew what pains must pierce a sister's heart, When death had sped his sharpest, deadliest dart,
And seized a brother's life. Around they stand,
Sisters and friends, a weeping, mournful band :-
His prayer he raises to the blest abode,
And mercy bears it to the throne of God:
"Lord! thou hast always made thy Son thy care,
Ne'er has my soul in vain preferred its prayer;
Hear now, O Father! this thy flock relieve,—
Dry thou their tears, and teach them to believe
Thy power the sinking wretch from death can
save,
And burst the iron fetters of the grave :
Awake! arise!" The healing words he spoke,
And death's deep slumbers in a moment broke :
Fate hears astonished,―trembles at the word,
And nature yields, o'ercome by nature's Lord.
Light peeps with glimmering rays into his eyes;
With lingering paces misty darkness flies;
The pulse slow vibrates through the languid
frame,
The frozen blood renews the vital flame;
His body soon its wonted strength regains,
And life returning rushes to his veins.—
They look! they start! they look !-'tis he, 'tis
he!
They see him,—and yet scarce believe they see !
On Him-on Him they turn their thankful eyes,
From whom such wondrous benefits arise :
On Him they look, who, God and Man combined, Joined mortal feelings with a heavenly mind: On Him their warm collected blessings poured; As Man, they loved Him—and as God, adored.
IN youthful dignity and lovely grace,
With heaven itself reflected on his face,
In purity and innocence arrayed,
The perfect work of God was Abel made.
To him the fleecy charge his sire consigned :
An angel's figure with an angel's mind,
In him his father every blessing viewed,
And thought the joys of Paradise renewed.
But stern and gloomy was the soul of Cain ;
A brother's virtue was the source of pain ;
Malice and hate their secret wounds impart,
And envy's vulture gnaws upon his heart :
With discontented hand he turned the soil,
And inly grieving, murmured o'er his toil.
Each with his offering to the Almighty came,
Their altars raised, and fed the sacred flame.
Scarce could the pitying Abel bear to bind
A lamb, the picture of his Master's mind;
Which to the pile with tender hand he drew,
And wept, as he the bleating victim slew.
Around, with fond regard the zephyr played
Nor dared disturb th' oblation Abel made.
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