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WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Colder thy kiss;
Sorrow to this.
The sculptor's art exhausts the
woe, And storied urns record who rests below; When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been : But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still bis master's own, Who labours, Eghts, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd fails, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul be held on earth : While mao, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. Oh man! thou feeble tepant of an liour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles laypocrisy, thy words deceit! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on-it honours pone you wish to moura : To mark a friend's remains these stones ariseI never knew but one, and here he lies.
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my browIt felt like the warning
Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well;Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met
Ja silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee
After long years, How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
FAREWELL. FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal availd on high,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guili's expiring eye,
Are in that word-Farewell!- Farewell! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass pot by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel; I only kuow we loved in vain
I only seel-Farewell!-Farewell!
Bright be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
As thy soul shall im nortally be; And our sorrow may cease to repine,
When we know that thy God is with thee. Light be the turf of thy tomb!
May its verdure like emeralds be : There should not be the shadow of gloom
In aught that reminds us of thee. Young tlowers and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest: But nor cypress nor yew let us see ;
For why should we mourn for the blest ?
Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of
happiness, are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in
vain The shore to hich their shiver'd sail never stretch
Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself
comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;
'These Verses were given by Lord Byron to Mr Power, Strand, who has published them, with very beautiful music by Sir John Stevenson,
While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover
'T was not well to spurn it so. Though the world for this commend thee
Though it sinile upon the blow,
Founded on another's woe.
Could no other arm be found
To intlict a cureless wound?
may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not
Dearts cau thus be torn away: Still thine own its life retaineth
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat, And the undying thought which paineth
Is that we no more may meet These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;
Wake us from a widow'd bed.
When our child's first accents flow,
Though his care she must forego? When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is prest, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of lain thy love had bless'd! Should hier lineaments resemble
Those thou never more mayst see, Then thy heart will softly tremble With a pulse yet true to me.
faults pereliance thou knowest, Ul my nadness none can know; All my liopes, where'er thou goest,
Wither-yet with thee they go. Escry feeling hatı been slaken;
Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee---by thee forsaken,
Even my soul forsakes me now. But it is done-ul words are idle
Words from me are vailler still; But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will. -
Torn from every nearer tie,
More than this I scarce can die.
And the midnight moon is weaving
Der bright chain o'er the deep; Whose breast is gently heaviny,
As an infant's asleep :
To listen and adore thee;
CARE TIITE WELL!
Alan: they had been fri'nd, in youth;
ind life is thornrind with in vain. And to be wroib with one we love,
Doth work like mundocas in the brain
but never with found another
Liherliffs, which had bein rintasunder,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder
CARE thee well! And if for over,
Still for ever, fare thee well Even though uutorgivinti, never
Gainst thee shull my lieart rebel. Would that breast were bored before the
Where they bread so oft Inth lain,
Woevall around grew drear and dark,
And reason half withheld hier ray, And hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way: Tu that deep midnight of the mind,
And that internal strife of heart, When, dreviny to be deenid 100 kind,
The weak despair-the cold depart;
Showering dowa a fiery flood,
Turning rivers into blood."
When fortune, changed--and love fled far,
And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary star
Which rose and set not to the last. Oh! blest be thine unbroken light!
That watch'd me as a seraph's eye, And stood between me and the night,
For ever shining sweetly nigh. And when the cloud upon us came,
Which strove to blacken o'er thy rayThen purer spread its gentle flame,
And dash'd the darkness all away. Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,
And teach it what to brave or brookThere's more in one soft word of thine,
Than in the world's defied rebuke.
The chief has fallen, but not by you,
Who, of all the despots banded, With that youthful chief competed ? Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone tyranny commanded ?
Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,
That still unbroke, though gently bent, Still waves with food fidelity
Its boughs above a monument. The winds might rend- the skies might pour,
But there thou wert-and still wouldst be Devoted in the stormiest hour
To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. But thou and thine shall know no blighi,
Whatever fate op me may fall; For heaven in suosline will requite
The kind-and thee the most of all.
Then let the ties of baffled love
Be broken--thine will never break; Thy heart can feel - but will not move;
Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. And these, when all was lost beside,
Were found, and still are fixed, in thee And bearing still a breast so tried,
Earth is no deserl-even to me.
And thou too of the snow-white plume!
On thy war-horse through the ranks,
Like a stream which burst its banks, While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, Shone and shiver'd fast around theeOf the fate at last which found thee. Was that haughty plume laid low By a slave's dishonest blow? Once-as the moon sways o'er the tide, It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide; Through the smoke-created night Of the black and sulphurous fight, The soldier raised his seeking eye To catch that crest's ascendancy, And as it onward rolling rose, So moved his heart upon our foes. There, where death's brief pang was quickest, And the battle's wreck lay thickest, Strew'd beneath the advancing banner
Of the eagle's burning crest(There, with thunder-clouds to fan ber,
Who could then her wing arrest
Victory beaming from her breast?) While the broken line enlarging
Fell, or fled along the plain: There be sure was Murat charging!
There he pe'er shall charge again!
[FROM THE FRENCH.] We do not curse thee, Waterloo ! Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew; There 't was shed, but is not sunkRising from each gory trunk, Like the water-spout from ocean, With a strong and growing motion : It soars and mingles in the air, With that of lost LABEDOYERE -With that of him whose bonour'd
grave Contains the « bravest of the brave.» A crims cloud it spreads and glows, But sball return to wlience it rose; When 't is fuli't will burst asunder-Never yet was heard such thunder As then shall shake the world with wonder Never yet was seen such lightning, As o'er heaven shall then be brightning! Like the Wormwood star foretold By the sainted seer of old,
Sec Rer. chap. vili, vepse, ete. The first angel sounded, and there followed bail and fire mingled with blood, etc.
Verse $. « And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea ; and the third part of iba sea became blood, - etc. Verse 10.
Aud the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burn bas it were a lamp: and it fell upon a third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters.
Verse 11. And the name of the star is called Wormwood: and the third part of the waters berame normwood, and many men died of the waters, boause they were made bitter.
* Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burnt.
Would that I were cold with those,
Since this hour I live to see; When the doubts of coward foes
Scarce dare trust a man with thee, Dreading caclı should set thee free.
Oh! although in dungeons pent, All their chaios were light to me,
Gazing on thy soul unbent.
O'er glories gone the invaders march,
Would the sycophants of him
Nowv so deaf to dury's prayer, Were his borrow'd glories dim,
In his native darkuess share? Were that world this hour his own,
All thou calmly dose resigo, Could be purchase with that throne
llearts like those which still are thine
My chief, my king, my friend, adieu'
Never did I droop before; Never to my sovereign sue,
As his foes I now implore. AL a kis to divide
Every peril he must brave, Sharing by the hero's side
His fall, his exile, and lis grave.
But the heart and ibe mind,
ON THE STAR OF « THE LEGION OF HONOUR..
[FROM THE FRENCH) STAR of the brave!-whose beam hath shed Sucha glory o'er the quick and deadThou radiant and adored deceit! Which millions rush'd in arms to greet, Wild meteor of immortal birth! Why rise in bicaven to set on earth? Souls of slain heroes form d thy rays; Eternity bastid through thy blaze! The music of thy martial spliere Was fame on high and lionour here; And the light broke on human eyes Like a volcano of the skies.
(FROM TJIE FRENCH.] All event, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who had been xalted from the ranks by Bonaparte'. lle lung to his master's knee, wroie a liter to Lordheith, entreating permission in a company him, reo in the most renal capacity, which could not be admitted..
Must thou yo, my glorious chief,
Severd from thy faithful few? Who can tell thy warrior's grief,
Maddening o'er that long dicu? Woman's love, and friendship's zoal--
Dear as both have been to meWe are they to all I feel,
With a soldier's faith, for thee?
Like luva rolli thy stream of blood,
Wol of the soldier's soul!
First in light, but mightiest now Many could a world control:
Thce alone no doom can bow. By thy side for
I dared Death, and envied thosr who fell, Wlarn clocir dying bout was beard
Blessing him thiry served so well.'
Before thee rose, and with thee grew,
One lint was of the sunbeam's dyes; Oue, the blue depth of seraphs' eyes; the
pure spirit's veil of white Ilid robed in radiance of its light; The three so mingled did beseem The texture of a heavenly dream.
1. Waterloo, one man was 'I, Those left arm was shattered by a cannondall, to wrenbit off with the other, and, throwing in min the air, axla med to ben con rails, Vice Imprurju qu'a la mon.' Thirrwere many other instants of the life; this you may, however, depend on a trio
1 prirate Letter from Briels
i The tri- olour.
Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,
And freedom hallows with her tread
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF THE
PLEASURES OF MEMORY., ABSENT or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong ! As all can tell, who share, like me,
In turn, thy converse and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall come,
By friendship ever deem'd too nigh, And « MEMORY » o'er her Druid's tomb
Shall weep that aught of thee can die, How fondly will she then repay
Thy homage offer'd at her shrine, And blend, while ages roll away, Her name immortally with thine!
April 19, 1812.
[FROM THE FRENCH.] Farewell to the land where the gloom of my glory Arose and o'ershadow'd the earth with her name : She abandons me now,- but the page of her story, The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame. I have warrd 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! Farewell to thee, France !--when thy diadem crown'd me, I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth, But thy weakness decrces I should leave as I found thee, Decay'd in thy glory and sunk in thy worth. Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted In strife with the storm, when their battles were won! Then the eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted, Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on Victory's sun!
Farewell to thee, France !—but when liberty rallies
bound usThen turn thee, and call on the chief of thy choice!
STANZAS TO *** Though the day of my destiny 's over,
And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover
The fanlts which so many could find : Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted,
It shrunk not to share it with me,
It never hath found but in thee.
The last smile which answers to mine,
Because it reminds me of thine;
As the breasts I believed in with me,
It is that they bear me from thee.
And its fragments are sunk in the wave,
To pain-it shall not be its slave. There is many a pang to pursue me:
They may crush, but they shall not contemnThey may lorture, but shall not subdue me:
*T is of thee that I think-not of them. Though human, thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake, Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me,
Though slander'd thou never couldst shake, -
Though parted, it was not to fly,
Nor mute, that the world might belie.
Nor the war of the many with one ; If my soul was not fitted to prize it,
'T was folly not sooner to shun. And if dearly that error hath cost me,
And more than I once could foresee, I have found that, whatever it lost me,
It could not deprive me of thee.
Thus much I at least may recal,
Deserved to be dearest of all.
Leman!' these names are worthy of thy shore,
Thy shore of names like these ; wert thou no more, Their memory thy remembrance would recal: 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 hearts the ruin of a wall
Where dwelt the wise and wondrous; but by thee How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel,
Jo sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea,
Which of the heirs of immortality
Geneva, Ferncy, Coppet, Lausanno.