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A theme to crowds that knew them not, When thou wert changed, they alter'd too; Lamented by admiring foes,

The chain is broke, the music mute: Who would not share their glorious lot? Tis past to them and thee adieu

Who would not die the death they chose? False heart, frail chain, and silent lute! And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be ;

SONNET And early valour, glowing, find

A model in thy memory. But there are breasts that bleed with thee THINE eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair In woe, that glory cannot quell ;

hair, And shuddering hear of victory,

And the wan lustre of thy features Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.


From contemplation where serenely Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?

wrought, When cease to hear thy cherish'd name? Seems Sorrow's softness charm'd from its Time cannot teach forgetfulness,

despair While Grief's full heart is fed' by Fame. Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine

air, Alas! for them, though not for thee,

That but I know thy blessed bosom They cannot choose but weep the more;

fraught Deep for the dead the grief must be,

With mines of unalloyed and stainless Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.

thoughtI should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly

care. With such an aspect, by his colours blent,

When from his beauty-breathing pencil TO A LADY WEEPING.


(Except that thou hast nothing to repent) Weep, daughter of a royal line,

The Magdalen of Guido saw the mornA Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay ;

Such seemst thou--but how much more

excellent! Ah, happy! if each tear of thine Could wash a father's fault away!

With nought Remorse can claim

Virtue scorn. Weep—for thy tears are Virtue's tears

Auspicious to these suffering isles ;
And be each drop in future years

Repaid thee by thy people's smiles !
March, 1812.

Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not

And yet so lovely, that if mirth could flush

Its rose of whiteness with the brightest The chain I gave was fair to view,

My heart would wish away that ruder The lute I added sweet in sound,

glow:The heart that offer'd both was true,

And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes—but oh! And ill deserved the fate it found.

While gazing on them sterner eyes will

gush, These gifts were charm’d by seeret spell

And into mine my mother's weakness rush, Thy truth in absence to divine;

Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy

bow. And they have done their duty well, Alas! they could not teach thee thine.

For, through thy long dark lashes low.

depending, That chain was firm in every link,

The soul of melancholy Gentleness But not to bear a stranger's touch ;

Gleams like a seraph from the sky desThat lute was sweet-till thou couldst think

cending, In other hands its notes were such.

Above all pain, yet pitying all distress ;
At such majesty with sweetness

Let him, who from thy neck unbound
The chain which shiver'd in his grasp,

I worship more, but cannot love thee less. Who saw that lute refuse to sound, Restring the chords, renew the clasp.


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In the orbs of the blessed to shine.

On earth thou wert all but divine, ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEW FOUNDLAND-DOG.

As thy soul shall immortally be; WHEN some proud son of man returns to And our sorrow may cease to repine, earth,

When we know that thy God is with thee. Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, Light be the turf of thy tomb! And storied urns record who rests below; May its verdure like emeralds be: When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,

There should not be the shadow of gloom, Not what he was, but what he should have In aught that reminds us of thee.


Young flowers and an evergreen tree But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, May spring from the spot of thy rest: The first to welcome, foremost to defend, But nor cypress nor yew let us see; Whose honest heart is still his master's own, For why should we mourn for the blest? Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for

him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,

WAEN we two parted Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:

In silence and tears, While man, vain insect! hopes to be for

Half broken-hearted given,

To sever for years, And claims himself a sole exclusive hearen.

Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,

Colder thy kiss; Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,

Truly that hour foretold Who knows thee well must quit thee with

Sorrow to this.

disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust!

The dew of the morning Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,

Sunk chill on my brow Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!

It felt like the warning By nature vile, ennobled but by name,

Of what I feel now. Each kindred brute might bid thee blush

Thy vows are all broken, for shame,

And light is thy fame; Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,

I hear thy name spoken, Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn:

And share in its shame. To mark a friend's remains these stones


They name thee before me,
I never knew but one, and here he lies.

Aknell to mine ear;
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808.

A shudder comes o'er me—

Why wert thon so dear?
They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well:-

Long, long shall I rue thee,
FARIWELL! if ever fondest prayer

Too deeply to tell. For others' weal avail'd on high,

In secret we metMine will not all be lost in air,

In silence But waft thy name beyond the sky.

grieve, 'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:

That thy heart could forget, Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

After long years, Are in that word -Farewell!- Farewell!

How should I greet thee ? —
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

With silence and tears.
But in my breast, and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My sonl nor deigns nor dares complain,

Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only know we loved in vain-

THERE be none of Beauty's daughters I only feel - Farewell!_Farewell!

With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me:

When, as if its sound were causing Bright be the place of thy soul !

The charm'd ocean's pausing, No lovelier spirit than thine

The waves lie still and gleaming, E'er burst from its mortal control,

And the lull'd winds seem dreaming,

And the midnight moon is weaving

FARE THEE WELL. Her bright chain o'er thee deep;

Alas! they had been friends in youth; Whose breast is gently heaving,

But whispering tongues can poison truth; As an infant's asleep:

And constancy lives in realme above: So the spirit bows before thee,

And Life is thorny; and youth is vain :

And to be wroth with one we love,
To listen and adore thee;

Doch work like madness in the brain :
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.

But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining-
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs, which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between,

But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder

Shall wholly do away, I ween,

The marks of that which once hath been.
O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros

Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem

FARB thee well! and if for ever,
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.

Still for ever, fare thee well :

Even though unforgiving, never
TUERR's not a joy the world can give liko

'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. that it takes away,

Would that breast were bared before thee When the glow of early thought declines

Where thy head so oft hath lain, in feeling's dull decay;

While that placid sleep came o'er thee

Which thou ne'er canst know again : Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,

Would that breast, by thee glanced over, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere

Every inmost thought could show!

Then thou wouldst at last discover youth itself be past.

'Twas not well to spurn it so.

Though the world for this commend thee — Then the few whose spirits float above

Though it smile upon the blow, the wreck of happiness,

Even its praises must offend thee, Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean Founded on another's woe of excess :

Though my many faults defaced me, The magnet of their course is gone, or Could no other arm be found only points in vain

Than the one which once embraced me, The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall

To inflict a cureless wound ? never stretch again.

Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not ;

Love may sink by slow decay, Then the mortal coldness of the soul like But by sudden wrench, believe not

death itself comes down; Hearts can thus be torn away: It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not Still thine own its life retainethdream its own;

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fount- And the undying thought which paineth ain of our tears,

Is—that we no more may meet.
And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis These are words of deeper sorrow
where the ice

Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow

Wake us from a widow'd bed. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and 'mirth distract the breast, And when thou wouldst solace gather,

When our child's first accents flow, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;

Wilt thou teach her to say “Father! Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd

Though his care she must forego ?

When her little hands shall press thee, turret wreathe,

When her lip to thine is prest, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath.

Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,

Think of him thy love had bless'd !

Should her lineaments resemble Oh could I feel as I have felt, -or be

Those thou never more mayst see, what I have been,

Then thy heart will softly tremble Or weep, as I could once have wept, o'er

With a pulse yet true to me. many a vanish'd scene :

All my faults perchance thou knowest, As springs, in deserts found, seem sweet

All my madness none can know ; all brackish though they be,

All my hopes, where'er thou goest, So, midst the wither'd waste of life, those

Wither-yet with thee they go. tears would flow to me.

Every feeling hath been shaken;

Pride, which not a world could bow,

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Bows to thee-by thee forsaken,

And these, when all was lost beside, Even my soul forsakes me now:

Were found, and still are fixed, in theeBut 'tis done-all words are idle- And bearing still a breast so tried, Words from me are vainer still ;

Earth is no desert-even to me. But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.-
Fare thee well !- thus disunited,

Torn from every nearer tie,
Sear’d in heart, and lone, and blighted-

(FROM THB FRENCH.) More than this I scarce can die.

“All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish

officer who had been exalted from the ranks by Buonaparte. He clang to his master's knees : wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating per

mission to accompany him, even in the most TO

menial capacity, which could not be admitted.'

Must thou go, my glorious Chief,
When all around grew drear and dark,
And reason half withheld her ray-

Sever'd from thy faithful few ?

Who can tell thy warrior's grief,
And hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way;

Maddening o'er that long adieu ?
Woman's love, and friendship’s zeal-

Dear as both have been to me-
In that deep midnight of the mind,

What are they to all I feel,
And that internal strife of heart,

With a soldier's faith, for thee?
When dreading to be deem'd too kind,
The weak despair--the cold depart;

Idol of the soldier's soul!
When fortune changed—and love fled far, Many could a world control;

First in fight, but mightiest now: And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast,

Thee alone no doom can bow. Thou wert the solitary star

By thy side for years I dared Which rose and set not to the last.

Death, and envied those who fell,

When their dying shout was heard
Oh! blest be thine unbroken light!
That watch'd me as a seraph's eye,

Blessing him they served so well.
And stood between me and the night,

Would that I were cold with those, For ever shining sweetly nigh.

Since this hour I live to see;

When the doubts of coward foes
And when the cloud upon us came,

Scarce dare trust a man with thee,
Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray-Dreading each should set thee free.
Then purer spread its gentle flame,
And dash'd the darkness all away.

Oh! although in dungeons pent,
All their chains were light to me,

Gazing on thy soul unbent.
Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,
And teach it what to brave or brook-

Would the sycophants of him
There's mi re in one soft word of thine,

Now so deaf to duty's prayer, Than in the world's defied rebuke.

Were his borrow'd glories dim,

In his native darkness share ? Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,

Were that world this hour his own,
That still unbroke, though gently bent,

All thou calmly dost resign,
Still waves with fond fidelity
Its boughs above a monument.

Could he purchase with that throne

Hearts like those which still are thine ? The winds might rend_the skies might pour, My chief, my king, my friend, adieu ! But there thou wert- and still wouldst be

Never did I droop before ; Devoted in the stormiest hour

Never to my sovereign sue, To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.

As his foes I now implore.

All I ask is to divide
But thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall;

Every peril he must brave,
For heaven in sunshine will reqnite

Sharing by the hero's side Tho kind- and thee the most of all.

His fall, his exile, and his grave.

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Then let the ties of baffled love
Be broken-thine will never break;

(FROM THE FRENCH.] Thy heart can feel – but will not move; We do not curse thee, Waterloo !

Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. I Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew;

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There 'twas shed, but is not sunk

Victory beaming from her breast ?) Rising from each gory trunk,

While the broken line enlarging
Like the water-spout from ocean,

Fell, or fled along the plain;
With a strong and growing motion There be sure was Murat charging!
It soars, and mingles in the air,

There he ne'er shall charge again!
With that of lost LABEDOYERB-
With that of him whose honour'd grave

O'er glories gone the invaders march, Contains the bravest of the brave."

Weeps Triumph o’er each levell’d arch A crimson cloud it spreads and glows, But let Freedom rejoice, But shall return to whence it rose;

With her heart in her voice ; When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder

But, her hand on her sword,
Never yet was heard such thunder
As then shall shake the world with wonder- France hath twice too well been taught

Doubly shall she be adored ;
Never yet was seen such lightning, The “moral lesson ” dearly bought-
As o'er heaven shall then be brightning!

Her safety sits not on a throne,
Like the Wormwood-Star foretold

With Caper or NAPOLEON ! By the sainted Seer of old,

But in equal rights and laws, Showering down a fiery flood,

Hearts and hands in one great cause — Turning rivers into blood.

Freedom, such as God hath given

Unto all beneath his heaven The Chief has fallen, but not by you,

With their breath, and from their birth, Vanquishers of Waterloo !

Though Guilt would sweep it from the When the soldier-citizen

earth; Sway'd not o'er his fellow-men

With a fierce and lavish hand Save in deeds that led them on

Scattering nations' wealth like sand: Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son

Pouring nations' blood like water,
Who, of all the despots banded,

In imperial seas of slaughter!
With that youthful chief competed ?
Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone Tyranny commanded ?

But the heart and the mind,

And the voice of mankind,
Till, goaded by Ambition's sting,
The Hero sunk into the King ?

Shall arise in communion-
Then he fell;—So perish all,

And who shall resist that proud union ? Who would mcn by man enthral!

The time is past when swords subdued

Man may die- the soul's renew'd : And thon too of the snow-white plume! Even in this low world of care Whose realm refused thee even a tomb;

Freedom ne'er shall want an heir; Better hadst thou still been leading

Millions breathe but to inherit France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,

Her for ever bounding spiritThan sold thyself to death and shame

When once more her hosts assemble, For a meanly royal name,

Tyrants shall believe and trembleSuch as he of Naples wears,

Smile they at this idle threat ?
Who thy blood-bought title bears.

Crimson tears will follow yet.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing
On thy war-horse through the ranks,
Like a stream which burst its banks,
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,
Shone and shiver'd fast around thee-

ON THE STAR OF THE LEGION OF Of the fate at last which found thee:

Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave's dishonest blow?

Once-as the Moon sways o'er the tide,
It rolled in air, the warrior's guide;

STAR of the brave!- whose beam hath shed Through the smoke-created night

Such glory o’er the quick and deadOf the black and sulphurous fight,

Thou radiant and adored deceit! The soldier raised his seeking eye

Which millions rush'd in arms to grcet,To catch that crest's ascendancy,

Wild meteor of immortal birth! And as it onward rolling rose,

Why rise in Heaven to set on Earth? So moved his heart upon our foes. There, where death's brief pang was quickest, Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays ; And the battle's wreck lay thickest, Eternity flash'd through thy blaze; Strew'd beneath the advancing banner The music of thy martial sphere Of the eagle's burning crest

Was fame on high and honour here; (There, with thunder-clouds to fan her, And thy light broke on human eyes Who could then her wing arrest-

Like a Volcano of the skies.

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