« ForrigeFortsæt »
2. Souls of slaio heroes form'd tby rays; Eternity flash'd through thy blaze; The music of thy martial sphere Was fame on high and honour here; And thy light broke on human eyes, Like a Volcano of the skies.
3. Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood, And swept down empires with its flood; Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base, As thou didst lighten through all space; And the shorn Sun grew dim in air, And set while thou wert dwelling there.
4. Before thee rose, and with thee grew, A rainbow of the loveliest hue Of three bright colours, * each divine, And fit for that celestial sign; For Freedom's hand had blended them, Like tints in an immortal gein.
5. One tint was of the supbeam's dges; One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes; One, the pure Spirit's veil of white Had robed-in radiaoce of its light: The three so mingled did beseem The texture of a heavenly dream.
6. Star of the brave! thy ray is pale, And darkness must agaio prevail!
* The tri-colour.
But, oh thou Rainbow of the free!
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
1. FAREWELL to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory Arose and o’ershadow'd the earth with her nameShe abandons me now,--but the page of her story, The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame; I have warr'd with a world which vanquish'd me only When the meteor of Conquest allured me too far; I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely, The last single Captive to millions in war!
2. Farewell to thee, France!--when thy diadem crown'd I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,- [me, But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee, Decay'd in thy glory, and supk in thy wortb. Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted lo strife with the storm, when their battles were won
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted, Had still soard with eyes fix'd on victory's sun!
3. Farewell to thee, France!—but when Liberty rallies Once more in thy regions, remember me thenThe violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys, Though wither'd thy tears will unfold it againYet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us, And yet may thy beart leap awake to my voiceThere are links which must break in the chain that has
Then turn thee and call on the chief of thy choice!
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF THE
PLEASURES OF MEMORY."
ABSENT or present still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong!
In turn thy converse, and thy song.
By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh,
Shall weer that aught of thee can die,
Thy homage offer'd at her shrine,
away, Her name immortally with thine!
April 19, 1812.
SONNET. ROUSSEAU-Voltaire-our Gibbon--and de Stael
* Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore,
Thy shore of names like these, wert thou no more, Their memory thy remembrance would recall: To them thy banks were lovely as to all,
But they have made them lovelier, for the lore
Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core Of human bearts the ruin of a wall
Where dwelt the wise and wondrous; but by thee How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel,
In sweetly gliding o'er thy chrystal sea,
Which of the heirs of immortality
And the star of my fate hath declined,
The faults which so many could find;
It shrunk not to share it with me,
It never hath found but in thee,
The last smile which answers to mine,
* Geneva, Ferney, Coppet, Lausanne.
I do not believe it beguiling
Because it reminds me of thine;
As the breasts I believed in with me,
It is that they bear me from thee.
3. Though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd,
And its fragments are sunk in the wave, Though I feel that my soul is deliver'd
To pain-it sball not be its slave, There is many a pang to pursue me:
They may crush, but they shall not contemnThey may torture, but shall not subdue me
'Tis of thee tbat I think not of them,
4. Though human thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, though didst not forsake, Thougb loved, thou forborest to grieve me,
Though slander'd, thou never could'st shakeThougb trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,
Though parted, it was not to fly, Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me,
Nor, mute, that the world migbt belie.
5. Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,
Nor the war of the many with oneIf my soul was not fitted to prize it,
'Twas folly oot sooner to shun: And if dearly that error hath cost me,
And more than I once could foresee,