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One wants society,

Another variety, Others a tranquil life ;

Some want food,

Others, as good, Only want a wife.


Adorn her lovely neck !

Nlephistopheles. Ay, she can carry Her head under her arm upon occasion; Perseus has cut it off for her. These

pleasures End in delusion. — Gain this rising

ground, It is as airy here as in a . And if I am not mightily deceived, I see a theatre. —What may this mean? Attendant. Quite a new piece, the

last of seven, for 'tis The custom now to represent that

number. 'Tis written by a Dilettante, and The actors who perform are Dilettanti; Excuse me, gentlemen; but I must

vanish. I am a Dilettante curtain-lister.

But this poor little cat

Only wanted a rat, To stuff out its own little maw;

And it were as good

Some people had such food, To make them hold their jaw!

FRAGMENT : OMENS HARK ! the owlet flaps his wings

In the pathless dell beneath ; Hark! 'tis the night-raven sings

Tidings of approaching death.







A cat in distress,

Nothing more, nor less; Good folks, I must faithfully tell ye,

As I am a sinner,

It waits for some dinner To stuff out its own little belly.

Hic sinu fessum caput hospitali
Cespitis dormit juvenis, nec illi
Fata ridebant, popularis ille

Nescius auræ.

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the grave,

A DIALOGUE Longius sed tu fuge curiosus Cæteras laudes fuge suspicari, Cæteras culpas fuge velle tractas Sede tremendâ. For my dagger is bathed in the blood

of the brave,

I come, care-worn tenant of life, from Spe tremescentes recubant in illâ Sede virtutes pariterque culpæ,

Where Innocence sleeps 'neath the In sui Patris gremio, tremendâ

peace-giving sod,
Sede Deique. And the good cease to tremble at

Tyranny's nod;

I offer a calm habitation to thee,

Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber INTER marmoreas Leonora pendula with me? colles

My mansion is damp, cold silence is Fortunata nimis Machina dicit horas.

there, Quas manibus premit illa duas insensa But it lulls in oblivion the fiends of papillas

despair, Cur mihi sit digito tangere, amata, nefas. Not a groan of regret, not a sigh, not a

breath, SONG FROM THE WANDERING Dares dispute with grim Silence the JEW

empire of Death.

I offer a calm habitation to thee, See yon opening flower

Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber Spreads its fragrance to the blast ;

with me? It fades within an hour,

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

Mine eyelids are heavy; my soul seeks
Faster is her heart's decay ;

repose, Deep with sorrow laden,

It longs in thy cells to embosom its She sinks in death away.


It longs in thy cells to deposit its load, FRAGMENT FROM THE

Where no longer the scorpions of Perfidy


Where the phantoms of Prejudice vanish The Elements respect their Maker's

away, seal !

And Bigotry's bloodhounds lose scent Still like the scathed pine tree's height, Braving the tempests of the night

Yet tell me, dark Death, when thine Have I ’scap'd the bickering flame.

empire is o'er, Like the scath'd pine, which a monu

What awaits on Futurity's mist-covered ment stands


Of faded grandeur, which the brands
Of the tempest-shaken air

Cease, cease, wayward Mortal! I dare Have riven on the desolate heath ;

not unveil Yet it stands majestic even in death, The shadows that float o'er Eternity's And rears its wild form there.


of their prey ;


Nought waits for the good but a spirit

For thine orb is bright, of Love,

And the clouds are light, 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,

Now all is deathy still on earth, And the shades which surround me fly

Nature's tired frame reposes, fast at its ray.

And ere the golden morning's birth Hast thou loved ?—Then depart from

Its radiant hues discloses, these regions of hate,

Flies forth its balmy breath. And in slumber with me blunt the

But mine is the midnight of arrows of fate.

Death, I offer a calm habitation to thee,

And Nature's morn, Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber

To my bosom forlorn, with me?

Brings but a gloomier night, implants a

deadlier thorn. Oh, sweet is thy slumber! oh! sweet


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Which after thy night introduces the Wretch! Suppress the glare of mad

day; How concealed, how persuasive, self- Struggling in thine haggard eye, interest's breath,

For the keenest throb of sadness, Tho' it floats to mine ear from the Pale Despair's most sickening sigh, bosom of Death.

Is but to mimic me ; I hoped that I quite was forgotten by

And this must ever be, all,

When the twilight of care, Yet a lingering friend might be grieved

And the night of despair, at my fall,

Seem in my breast but joys to the pangs And duty forbids, tho' I languish to that rankle there.

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

THE SOLITARY O Death! O my friend ! snatch this

form to thy shrine, And I fear, dear destroyer, I shall not Dar'st thou amid the varied multitude repine.

To live alone, an isolated thing?
To see the busy beings round thee

TO THE MOONBEAM And care for none; in thy calm solitude,

A fower that scarce breathes in the

desert rude MOONBEAM, leave the shadowy vale,

To Zephyr's passing wing? To bathe this burning brow. Moonbeam, why art thou so pale, As thou walkest o’er the dewy dale, Not the swart Pariah in some Indian Where humble wild-flowers grow ? grove, Is it to mimic me?

Lone, lean, and hunted by his brother's But that can never be ;






Hath drunk so deep the cup of bitter

Perish her sceptred sway; fate

From Death's pale front fades Pride's As that poor wretch who cannot, cannot

fastidious frown. love :

In Death's damp vault the lurid fires He bears a load which nothing can

decay, reinove,

That Envy lights at heaven-born Virtue's
A killing withering weight.

That all the cares subside,

Which lurk beneath the tide
He smiles-'tis sorrow's deadliest mock-

Of life's unquiet stream. ery ;

Yes! this is victory! He speaks-the cold words flow not And on yon rock, whose dark form from his soul ;

glooms the sky, He acts like others, drains the genial | To stretch these pale limbs, when the bowl,-

soul is fled; Yet, yet he longs—although he fears- To baffle the lean passions of their to die;

prey, He pants to reach what yet he seems to To sleep within the palace of the dead! fly,

Oh! not the King, around whose dazz. Dull life's extremest goal.

ling throne

His countless courtiers mock the TO DEATH

words they say,

Triumphs amid the bud of glory blown, DEATH! where is thy victory?

As I in this cold bed, and saint expiring To triumph whilst I die,

groan ! To triumph whilst thine ebon wing Infolds my shuddering soul.

Tremble, ye proud, whose grandeur O Death! where is thy sting?

mocks the woe, Not when the tides of murder roll,

Which props the column of unnatural When nations groan, that kings may

state, bask in bliss.

You the plainings faint and low, Death! canst thou boast a victory such

From misery's tortured soul that as this?

flow, When in his hour of pomp and power

Shall usher to your fate. His blow the mightiest murderer Tremble, ye conquerors, at whose sell gave,

command 'Mid nature's cries the sacrifice The war-fiend riots o'er a peaceful land. Of millions to glut the grave;

You desolation's gory throng When sunk the tyrant desolation's Shall bear from Victory along slave;

To that mysterious strand. Or Freedom's life-blood streamed upon

thy shrine; Stern tyrant, couldst thou boast a vic

LOVE'S ROSE tory such as mine? To know in dissolution's void,

That mortals' baubles sunk decay, Hopes, that swell in youthful breasts, That everything, but Love, destroyed Live not thro' the waste of time? Must perish with its kindred clay. Love's rose a host of thorns invests; Perish Ambition's crown,

Cold, ungenial is the clime,


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'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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