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Is thy fair form indeed for ever flown? Dank lurid meteors shoot a livid And love and concord hast thou swept gleam ; away,
From the dark storm-clouds flashes a As if incongruous with thy parted sway?
fearful glare, Alas I fear thou hast, for none appear. It shows the bending oak, the roaring Now o'er the palsied earth stalks giant
I ponder'd on the woes of lost mankind, With War, and Woe, and Terror, in his I ponder'd on the ceaseless rage of train ;
Kings; List'ning he pauses on the embattled My rapt soul dwelt upon the ties that plain,
bind Then speeding swiftly o'er the en- The mazy volume of commingling sanguin'd heath,
things, Has left the frightful work to hell and When fell and wild misrule to man stern death.
sorrow brings. See! gory Ruin yokes his blood-stain'd I heard a yell—it was not the knell, car,
When the blasts on the wild lake He scents the battle's carnage from afar ; sleep, Hell and destruction mark his mad career, That floats on the pause of the summer He tracks the rapid step of hurrying Fear; gale's swell, Whilst ruin'd towns and smoking cities O'er the breast of the waveless deep.
tell, That thy work, Monarch, is the work I thought it had been death's accents of hell,
cold It is thy work! I hear
That bade me recline on the shore ; Shakes the broad basis of thy blood. I laid mine hot head on the surge-beaten stained seat ;
mould, And at the orphan's sigh, the widow's
And thought to breathe no more. moan,
But a heavenly sleep Totters the fabric of thy guilt-stained That did suddenly steep throne
In balm my bosom's pain, “ It is thy work, O Monarch ;” now
Pervaded my soul, the sound
And free from control, Fainter and fainter, yet is borne around, Did mine intellect range again. Yet to enthusiast ears the murmurs tell That heaven, indignant at the work of Methought enthron'd upon a silvery hell,
cloud, Will soon the cause,
the hated cause
Which floated 'mid a strange and remove,
brilliant light ; Which tears from earth peace, innocence, My form upborne by viewless ether and love.
And spurn’d the lessening realms of FRAGMENT
What heavenly notes burst on my SUPPOSED TO BE AN EPITHALAMIUM
ravish'd ears, OF FRANCIS RAVAILLAC AND
What beauteous spirits met my dazzled CHARLOTTE CORDÉ 'Tis midnight now-athwart the murky Hark! louder swells the music of the air,
More clear the forms of speechless From its base shrine a despot's haughty bliss float by,
soul, And heavenly gestures suit ethereal To laugh at sorrow in secure despair, melody.
To mock, with smiles, life's lingering
control, But fairer than the spirits of the air, And triumph 'mid the griefs that round More graceful than the Sylph of thy fate did roll.
symmetry, Than the enthusiast's fancied love more Yes! the fierce spirits of the avenging fair,
deep Were the bright forms that swept the With endless tortures goad their guilty azure sky.
shades. Enthron’d in roseate light, a heavenly I see the lank and ghastly spectres band
sweep Strew'd flowers of bliss that never fade Along the burning length of yon away ;
arcades; They welcome virtue to its native land, And I see Satan stalk athwart the plain ; And songs of triumph greet the joyous He hastes along the burning soil of day
hell. When endless bliss the woes of fleeting “Welcome thou despots to my dark
With maddening joy mine anguish'd Congenial minds will seek their kindred senses swell soul,
To welcome to their home the friends E'en though the tide of time has
I love so well." roll'd between ; They mock weak matter's impotent Mark ! to those notes, how sweet, how control,
thrilling sweet And seek of endless life the eternal
They echo to the sound of angels' feet. At death's vain summons this will never die,
Oh haste to the bower where roses are In nature's chaos this will not decay
spread, These are the bands which closely, For there is prepared thy nuptial bed. warmly, tie
Oh haste-hark ! hark they're gone. Thy soul, O Charlotte, 'yond this
chain of clay, To him who thine must be till time
Chorus of Spirits shall fade away.
Stay ye days of contentment and joy,
Whilst love every care is erasing, Yes, Francis ! thine was the dear knife Stay ye pleasures that never can cloy, that tore
And ye spirits that can never cease A tyrant's heart-strings from his guilty
pleasing. breast, Thine was the daring at a tyrant's gore, And if any soft passion be near, To smile in triumph, to contemn the Which mortals, frail mortals, can rest ;
know, And thine, lov'd glory of thy sex! to Let love shed on the bosom a tear, tear
And dissolve the chill ice-drop of woe.
Can you, ye flow'rets, spread your per
fumed balm Francis.
'Mid pearly gems of dew that shine "Soft, my dearest angel stay,
so bright? Oh! you suck my soul away ;
And you wild winds, thus can you sleep Suck on, suck on, I glow, I glow ! Tides of maddening passion roll,
Whilst throbs the tempest of my And streams of rapture drown my soul.
breast so high? Now give me one more billing kiss, Can the fierce night-fiends rest Let your lips now repeat the bliss,
yonder hill, Endless kisses steal my breath,
And, in the eternal mansions of the No life can equal such a death."
Can the directors of the storm in powerCharlotte.
less silence lie? “Oh! yes I will kiss thine eyes so fair, And I will clasp thy form ;
Hark! I hear music on the zephyr's Serene is the breath of the balmy air,
wing, But I think, love, thou feelest me warm. Louder it floats along the unruffled And I will recline on thy marble neck
sky; Till I mingle into thee.
Some fairy sure has touch'd the viewless And I will kiss the rose on thy cheek,
stringAnd thou shalt give kisses to me.
Now faint in distant air the murmurs For here is no morn to flout our delight,
die, Oh! dost thou not joy at this ?
Awhile it stills the tide of agony. And here we may lie an endless night,
—now it loftier swells—again A long, long night of bliss.”
Arises with the awakening melody. Spirits ! when raptures move,
Again fierce torments, such as demons Say what it is to love,
know, When passion's tear stands on the cheek, In bitterer, feller tide, on this torn When bursts the unconscious sigh;
bosom flow. And the tremulous lips dare not speak
What is told by the soul-felt eye. Arise ye sightless spirits of the storm, But what is sweeter to revenge's ear Ye unseen minstrels of the aërial Than the fell tyrant's last expiring song,
Pour the fierce tide around this lonely Yes! than love's sweetest blisses 'tis
form, more dear
And roll the tempest's wildest swell To drink the floatings of a despot's along. knell.
Dart the red lightning, wing the forked I wake-'tis done-'tis o'er.
flash, Pour from thy cloud-form'd hills the
thunder's roar ;
Arouse the whirlwind - and let ocean DESPAIR
dash AND can'st thou mock mine agony, thus In fiercest tumult on the rocking calm
shore, In cloudless radiance, Queen of silver Destroy this life or let earth's fabric be night?
Yes ! every tie that links me here is Swell’d 'mid the tumult of the battling dead;
air, Mysterious fate thy mandate I obey, 'Twas like a spirit's song, but yet more Since hope and peace, and joy, for aye soft and fair. are fied,
I met a maniac, like he was to me, I come, terrific power, I come away,
I said—“Poor victim wherefore dost Then o'er this ruin'd soul let spirits of
thou roam ? hell,
And canst thou not contend with agony, In triumph, laughing wildly, mock
That thus at midnight thou dost quit its pain ;
thine home?" And though with direst pangs mine
“Ah there she sleeps : cold is her blood. heart-strings swell,
less form, I'll echo back their deadly yells again, Cursing the power that ne'er made
And I will go to slumber in her
grave; aught in vain.
And then our ghosts, whilst raves the
madden'd storm, FRAGMENT
Will sweep at midnight o'er the
wilder'd wave; Yes! all is past-swift time has fled Wilt thou our lowly beds with tears of
pity lave?" away, Yet its swell pauses on my sickening
“Ah! no, I cannot shed the pitying
tear, How long will horror nerve this frame
This breast is cold, this heart can of clay?
feel no more ; I'm dead, and lingers yet my soul But I can rest me on thy chilling bier, behind.
Can shriek in horror to the tempest's Oh ! powerful fate, revoke thy deadly
roar." spell, And yet that may not ever, ever be, Heaven will not smile upon the work
THE SPECTRAL HORSEMAN of hell ; Ah! no, for heaven cannot smile on What was the shriek that struck fancy's
me ; Fate, envious fate, has seald my way. As it sate on the ruins of time that is ward destiny.
Hark! it floats on the fitful blast of the I sought the cold brink of the midnight wind, surge,
And breathes to the pale moon a funeral I sigh'd beneath its wave to hide my sigh.
It is the Benshie's moan on the storm, The rising tempest sung a funeral dirge, Or a shivering fiend that thirsting for And on the blast a frightful yell arose.
sin, Wild flew the meteors o'er the madden'd Seeks murder and guilt when virtue main,
sleeps, Wilder did grief athwart my bosom Wing'd with the power of some ruthless glare ;
king, Still’d was the unearthly howling, and And sweeps o'er the breast of the a strain,
It was not a fiend from the regions of Still secure 'mid the wildest war of the hell
sky, That poured its low moan on the still. The phantom courser scours the waste, ness of night :
And his rider howls in the thunder's It was not a ghost of the guilty dead, Nor a yelling vampire reeking with O'er him the fierce bolts of avenging gore ;
heaven But aye at the close of seven years' Pause, as in fear, to strike his head. end,
The meteors of midnight recoil from his That voice is mixed with the swell of figure, the storm
Yet the wildered peasant that oft passes And aye at the close of seven years' by, end,
With wonder beholds the blue flash A shapeless shadow that sleeps on the thro' his form : hill
And his voice, though faint as the sighs Awakens and floats on the mist of the
of the dead, heath.
The startled passenger shudders to hear, It is not the shade of a murdered More distinct than the thunder's wildest
man, Who has rushed uncalled to the throne | Then does the dragon, who chain'd in of his God,
the caverns And howls in the pause of the eddying To eternity, curses the champion of storm.
Erin, This voice is low, cold, hollow, and Moan and yell loud at the lone hour of chill,
midnight, 'Tis not heard by the ear, but is felt in And twine his vast wreaths round the the soul.
forms of the demons; 'Tis more frightful far than the death. Then in agony roll his death-swimming demon's scream,
eyeballs, Or the laughter of fiends when they Though wilder'd by death, yet never to howl o'er the corpse
die ! Of a man who has sold his soul to Then he shakes from his skeleton folds hell.
the nightmares, It tells the approach of a mystic form, Who, shrieking in agony, seek the A white courser bears the shadowy couch sprite ;
Of some fevered wretch who courts More thin they are than the mists of the sleep in vain ; mountain,
Then the tombless ghosts of the guilty When the clear moonlight sleeps on the
dead waveless lake.
In horror pause on the fitful gale. More pale his cheek than the snows of They Aoat on the swell of the eddying Nithona,
tempest, When winter rides on the northern blast, And scared seek the caves of gigantic ... And howls in the midst of the leafless Where their thin forms pour unearthly wood.
sounds Yet when the fierce swell of the tempest On the blast that sweeps the breast of is raving,
the lake, And the whirlwinds howl in the caves And mingles its swell with the moon of Inisfallen,