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V

Longius sed tu fuge curiosus
Cæteras laudes fuge suspicari,
Cæteras culpas fuge velle tractas
Sede tremendâ.

VI

Spe tremescentes recubant in illâ
Sede virtutes pariterque culpæ,
In sui Patris gremio, tremendâ
Sede Deique.

IN HOROLOGIUM

I come, care-worn tenant of life, from the grave,

Where Innocence sleeps 'neath the
peace-giving sod,

And the good cease to tremble at
Tyranny's nod ;

I offer a calm habitation to thee,
Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber
with me?

INTER marmoreas Leonora pendula
colles

My mansion is damp, cold silence is there,

Fortunata nimis Machina dicit horas. Quas manibus premit illa duas insensa But it lulls in oblivion the fiends of papillas

despair,

Cur mihi sit digito tangere, amata, nefas.

SONG FROM THE WANDERING
JEW

SEE yon opening flower

Spreads its fragrance to the blast; It fades within an hour,

Its decay is pale—is fast. Paler is yon maiden ;

Faster is her heart's decay; Deep with sorrow laden,

She sinks in death away.

FRAGMENT FROM THE
WANDERING JEW

THE Elements respect their Maker's
seal!

Still like the scathed pine tree's height, Braving the tempests of the night Have I 'scap'd the bickering flame. Like the scath'd pine, which a monument stands

A DIALOGUE

Of faded grandeur, which the brands
Of the tempest-shaken air
Have riven on the desolate heath;
Yet it stands majestic even in death,
And rears its wild form there.

DEATH

FOR my dagger is bathed in the blood of the brave,

Not a groan of regret, not a sigh, not a breath,

Dares dispute with grim Silence the
empire of Death.

I offer a calm habitation to thee,
Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber
with me?

MORTAL

Mine eyelids are heavy; my soul seeks

repose,

It longs in thy cells to embosom its

woes,

It longs in thy cells to deposit its load, Where no longer the scorpions of Perfidy goad;

Where the phantoms of Prejudice vanish away,

And

Bigotry's bloodhounds lose scent of their prey; Yet tell me, dark Death, when thine empire is o'er, What awaits on Futurity's mist-covered shore?

DEATH

Cease, cease, wayward Mortal! I dare not unveil

The shadows that float o'er Eternity's vale;

Nought waits for the good but a spirit

For thine orb is bright,
And the clouds are light,

of Love,

That will hail their blest advent to That at intervals shadow the star-studded regions above.

night.

For Love, Mortal, gleams thro' the
gloom of my sway,
And the shades which surround me fly
fast at its ray.

Hast thou loved? Then depart from
these regions of hate,

And in slumber with me blunt the
arrows of fate.

I offer a calm habitation to thee,
Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber
with me?

MORTAL

Oh, sweet is thy slumber! oh! sweet is the ray

Which after thy night introduces the day;

How concealed, how persuasive, selfinterest's breath,

Tho' it floats to mine ear from the bosom of Death.

I hoped that I quite was forgotten by all,

Yet a lingering friend might be grieved at my fall,

And duty forbids, tho' I languish to die,

TO THE MOONBEAM

II

I

MOONBEAM, leave the shadowy vale,
To bathe this burning brow.
Moonbeam, why art thou so pale,
As thou walkest o'er the dewy dale,
Where humble wild-flowers grow?
Is it to mimic me?
But that can never be ;

Now all is deathy still on earth,
Nature's tired frame reposes,
And ere the golden morning's birth
Its radiant hues discloses,

Flies forth its balmy breath.
But mine is the midnight of
Death,

And Nature's morn,

To my bosom forlorn,

Brings but a gloomier night, implants a deadlier thorn.

III

When departure might heave Virtue's breast with a sigh.

O Death! O my friend! snatch this form to thy shrine,

I

And I fear, dear destroyer, I shall not DAR'ST thou amid the varied multitude

repine.

Wretch Suppress the glare of mad

ness

Struggling in thine haggard eye,
For the keenest throb of sadness,
Pale Despair's most sickening sigh,
Is but to mimic me;

And this must ever be,

When the twilight of care,
And the night of despair,

Seem in my breast but joys to the pangs
that rankle there.

THE SOLITARY

To live alone, an isolated thing?

To see the busy beings round thee

spring,

And care for none; in thy calm solitude, A flower that scarce breathes in the desert rude

To Zephyr's passing wing?

II

Not the swart Pariah in some Indian
grove,
Lone, lean, and hunted by his brother's
hate,

Hath drunk so deep the cup of bitter fate

As that poor wretch who cannot, cannot love :

He bears a load which nothing can

remove,

A killing withering weight.

III

He smiles-'tis sorrow's deadliest mock

ery ;

He speaks the cold words flow not from his soul;

He acts like others, drains the genial bowl,

Yet, yet he longs--although he fears

to die;

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Perish her sceptred sway;

From Death's pale front fades Pride's fastidious frown.

In Death's damp vault the lurid fires decay,

That Envy lights at heaven-born Virtue's beam

He pants to reach what yet he seems to To sleep within the palace of the dead! fly, Oh! not the King, around whose dazzling throne

Dull life's extremest goal.

To know in dissolution's void,

That mortals' baubles sunk decay, That everything, but Love, destroyed Must perish with its kindred clay. Perish Ambition's crown,

That all the cares subside, Which lurk beneath the tide

Of life's unquiet stream.
Yes! this is victory!

on yon rock, whose dark form
glooms the sky,

stretch these pale limbs, when the soul is fled;

To baffle the lean passions of their prey,

And

To

His countless courtiers mock the words they say, Triumphs amid the bud of glory blown, As I in this cold bed, and faint expiring groan!

Tremble, ye proud, whose grandeur mocks the woe,

Which props the column of unnatural

state,

You the plainings faint and low, From misery's tortured soul that

flow,

Shall usher to your fate.

Tremble, ye conquerors, at whose fell command

The war-fiend riots o'er a peaceful land.
You desolation's gory throng
Shall bear from Victory along
To that mysterious strand.

LOVE'S ROSE

I

HOPES, that swell in youthful breasts, Live not thro' the waste of time? Love's rose a host of thorns invests; Cold, ungenial is the clime,

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I

I

'Twas dead of the night, when I sat in GHOSTS of the dead! have I not heard my dwelling; your yelling

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