Oh! heaven is witness I did love, And heaven does know I love thee still, Does know the fruitless sick'ning thrill, When reason's judgment vainly strove To blot thee from my memory; But which might never, never be. Oh! I appeal to that blest day When passion's wildest ecstasy Was coldness to the joys I knew, When every sorrow sunk away. Oh! I had never liv'd before, But now those blisses are no more. And now I cease to live again, That shades the intervening dale. At length shall meet its destiny We all are soldiers fit to fight But if we sink in glory's night Our mother Earth will give ye new The brilliant pathway to pursue Which leads to Death or Victory Though the fiercest of cloud-piercing tyrants approaches, Thirsting-ay, thirsting for blood; And demands, like mankind, his brother for food; ON AN ICICLE THAT CLUNG TO THE GRASS OF A GRAVE I Yet more lenient, more gentle OH! take the pure gem to where southerly breezes, Waft repose to some bosom as faith Waves too pure, too celestial, for For I found the pure gem, when the its stream, mortals to see; vain that I fly: curse him and die? daybeam returning, Ineffectual gleams on covered plain, When to others the wished-for arrival of And why should we grieve that a spirit so fair What remains, but to curse him,-to Seeks Heaven to mix with its own kindred there? WHY is it said thou canst not live Canst bloom for ever there? Though bathed with his paison dew, Still thou retain'st unchanging bloom, Fix'd tranquil, even in the tomb. And oh when on the blest reviving The day-star dawns of love, Each energy of soul surviving More vivid, soars above, Hast thou ne'er felt a rapturous thrill, Like June's warm breath, athwart thee fly, O'er each idea then to steal, When other passions die? Felt it in some wild noonday dream, ON A FÊTE AT CARLTON By the mossy brink, TO A STAR SWEET star, which gleaming o'er the darksome scene Through fleecy clouds of silvery radiance fliest, Spanglet of light on evening's shadowy veil, Which shrouds the day-beam from the waveless lake, Lighting the hour of sacred love; more sweet Than the expiring morn-star's paly fires. Sweet star! When wearied Nature sinks to sleep, And all is hushed,-all, save the voice of Love, Whose broken murmurings swell the balmy blast Of soft Favonius, which at intervals Sighs in the ear of stillness, art thou aught but Lulling the slaves of interest to repose With that mild, pitying gaze! Oh, I would look In thy dear beam till every bond of sense Became enamoured Each arrow of the season's change When thou canst feel such love, thou A balm was in the poison of the sting. This agèd sufferer for many a year Had never felt such comfort. She suppressed shalt be great as they! Till Power, as envying her this only joy, A sigh-and turning round, clasped From her maternal bosom tore the William to her breast! sweet a scope unhappy boy. VII And now cold charity's unwelcome dole Was insufficient to support the pair; And they would perish rather than would bear The law's stern slavery, and the insolent stare With which law loves to rend the poor man's soul— The bitter scorn, the spirit-sinking noise Of heartless mirth which women, men, and boys, Wake in this scene of legal misery. TO THE REPUBLICANS OF NORTH AMERICA I Prince who dost pride thee on thy BROTHERS! between you and me mighty sway, Whirlwinds sweep and billows roar : |