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FRAGMENT OF A POEM
Give utterance to the inward throe !
* Translation of “A Hebrew Dirge, chanted in the Great Synagogue, St. James's Place, Aldgate, on the day of the As wails, of her first love forlorn,
The Virgin clad in robes of woe.
Mourn the young Mother, snatch'd away
From Light and Life's ascending Sun !
Earn'd by long pangs and lost ere won.
Mourn the bright Rose that bloom'd and went
Ere half disclosed its vernal hue !
It brake the stem on which it grew.
Mourn for the universal woe
With solemn dirge and faltering tongue :
So dear, so lovely, and so young!
The blossoms on her Tree of Life
Shone with the dews of recent bliss :
She plucks its fruits in Paradise.
Mourn for the widow'd Lord in chief,
Who wails and will not solaced be! Mourn for the childless Father's grief,
The wedded Lover's agony !
Funeral of her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte, by Hyman Hurwitz, Master of the Hebrew Academy, Highgate, 1817." The Hebrew text with Coleridge's translation appeared at the time in a separate pamphlet form.-Ed.
Mourn for the Prince, who rose at morn
To seek and bless the firstling bud Of his own Rose, and found the thorn,
Its point bedew'd with tears of blood.
O press again that murmuring string!
Again bewail that princely Sire! A destined Queen, a future King,
He mourns on one funereal pyre.
Mourn for Britannia's hopes decay'd,
Her daughters wail their dear defence ; Their fair example, prostrate laid,
Chaste Love and fervid Innocence.
While Grief in song shall seek repose,
We will take up a Mourning yearly : To wail the blow that crush'd the Rose,
So dearly prized and loved so dearly.
Long as the fount of Song o'erflows
Will I the yearly dirge renew : Mourn for the firstling of the Rose
That snapt the stem on which it grew.
The proud shall pass, forgot; the chill,
Damp, trickling Vault their only mourner ! Not so the regal Rose, that still
Clung to the breast which first had worn her! O thou, who mark'st the Mourner's path
To sad Jeshurun's Sons attend !
The showers of Consolation send !
Jehovah frowns ! the Islands bow !
And Prince and People kiss the Rod !
Be thou their Comforter, O God!
ALICE DU CLOS :
OR THE FORKED TONGUE.
“One word with two meanings is the traitor's shield and shaft : and a slit tongue be his blazon !"
Caucasian Proverb. “THE Sun is not yet risen,
But the dawn lies red on the dew : Lord Julian has stolen from the hunters away,
Is seeking, Lady, for you. Put on your dress of green,
Your buskins and your quiver ;
Long waiting brook'd he never.
To wed you on a day,
And you his lady gay.
O Lady! throw your book aside!
Thus spake Sir Hugh the vassal knight
To Alice, child of old Du Clos, As spotless fair, as airy light
As that moon-shiny doe,
She in the garden bower below
A snow-drop on a tuft of snow !
O close your eyes, and strive to see
Ah! earliest-open'd flower ;
The lattice of her bower-
As if in prideful scorn
To brave th' advancing morn.
O ! Alice could read passing well,
And she was conning then Dan Ovid's mazy tale of loves,
And gods, and beasts, and men.
The vassal's speech, his taunting vein,