PRINCE HENRY AND THE CROWN.
WHY doth the crown lie here upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O, polished perturbation! golden care!
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night!-sleep with it now!
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet,
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather, which stirs not:
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move.--My gracious lord! my father!
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep
That from this golden rigol hath divorced
So many English kings. Thy due, from me,
Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood;
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously:
My due, from thee, is this imperial crown;
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits,—
[Putting it on his head. Which Heaven shall guard; and, put the world's whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me. This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.
CATO ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
IT must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well!
Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?
Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?— 'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us,
'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter,
And intimates Eternity to man.
Eternity! thou pleasing-dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold: If there's a Power above us-
And that there is, all Nature cries aloud,
Through all her works-He must delight in virtue;
And that which he delights in, must be happy.
But when? or where? This world was made for Cæsar.
I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them.
[Laying his hand on his sword,
Thus I am doubly armed. My death, my life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment, brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die!
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.—
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds!
THE WILD GAZELLE.
THE wild gazelle on Judah's hills
Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills
That gush on holy ground;
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by.
A step as fleet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah witnessed there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight,
Inhabitants more fair.
The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah's statelier maids are gone!
More bless'd each palm that shades those plaina
Than Israel's scattered race;
For, taking root, it there remains
In solitary grace:
It cannot quit its place of birth,
It will not live in other earth.
But we must wander witheringly,
In other lands to die;
And where our fathers' ashes be,
Our own may never lie.
Our temples have not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.
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