No More Learning

II.

In that same hour and hall,
The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand:
The fingers of a man;--
A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,
And traced them like a wand.

III.

The monarch saw, and shook,
And bade no more rejoice;
All bloodless waxed his look,
And tremulous his voice.
"Let the men of lore appear,
The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear,
Which mar our royal mirth. "

IV.

Chaldea's seers are good,
But here they have no skill;
And the unknown letters stood
Untold and awful still.
And Babel's men of age
Are wise and deep in lore;
But now they were not sage,
They saw--but knew no more.

V.

A captive in the land,
A stranger and a youth,[300]
He heard the King's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,
The prophecy in view;
He read it on that night,--
The morrow proved it true.

VI.

"Belshazzar's grave is made,[lz]
His kingdom passed away.
He, in the balance weighed,
Is light and worthless clay;
The shroud, his robe of state,
His canopy the stone;
The Mede is at his gate!
The Persian on his throne! "



SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
How like art thou to Joy remembered well!
So gleams the past, the light of other days,
Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays:
A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,
Distinct, but distant--clear--but, oh how cold!



WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST IT TO BE.

I.

Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
I need not have wandered from far Galilee;
It was but abjuring my creed to efface
The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.

II.

If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
If the slave only sin--thou art spotless and free!
If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high,
Live on in thy faith--but in mine I will die.

III.

I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know;
In his hand is my heart and my hope--and in thine
The land and the life which for him I resign.

Seaham, 1815.



HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE. [301]

I.

Oh, Mariamne! now for thee
The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding;
Revenge is lost in Agony[ma]
And wild Remorse to rage succeeding. [mb]
Oh, Mariamne! where art thou?
Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading:[mc]
Ah! could'st thou--thou would'st pardon now,
Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.

II.

And is she dead? --and did they dare
Obey my Frenzy's jealous raving? [md]
My Wrath but doomed my own despair:
The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving. --
But thou art cold, my murdered Love!
And this dark heart is vainly craving[me]
For he who soars alone above,
And leaves my soul unworthy saving.

III.

She's gone, who shared my diadem;
She sunk, with her my joys entombing;
I swept that flower from Judah's stem,
Whose leaves for me alone were blooming;
And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,
This bosom's desolation dooming;
And I have earned those tortures well,[mf]
Which unconsumed are still consuming!

_Jan. _ 15, 1815.



ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS.

I.

From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,[mg]
I beheld thee, oh Sion! when rendered to Rome:[mh]
'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall
Flashed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.

II.

I looked for thy temple--I looked for my home,
And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;[mi]
I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,
And the fast-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain.

III.

On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;
While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline
Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.

IV.

And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
But I marked not the twilight beam melting away;
Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead,
And the thunderbolt burst on the Conqueror's head! [mj]

V.

But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane
The shrine where Jehovah disdained not to reign;
And scattered and scorned as thy people may be,
Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee.

1815.



BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN AND WEPT. [302]

I.

We sate down and wept by the waters[303]
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;
And Ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.

II.

While sadly we gazed on the river
Which rolled on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the Stranger shall know! [mk]
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!

III.

On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! its sound should be free;[ml]
And the hour when thy glories were ended
But left me that token of thee:
And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the Spoiler by me!

_Jan. _ 15, 1813.



"BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON. "

I.

In the valley of waters we wept on the day
When the host of the Stranger made Salem his prey;
And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
And our hearts were so full of the land far away!

II.

The song they demanded in vain--it lay still
In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill--
They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill
Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.

III.

All stringlessly hung in the willow's sad tree,
As dead as her dead-leaf, those mute harps must be:
Our hands may be fettered--our tears still are free
For our God--and our Glory--and Sion, Oh _Thee! _

1815.



THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

I.

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

II.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,[304]
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

III.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved--and for ever grew still!

IV.

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,[mm]
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. [mn]

V.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:[mo]
And the tents were all silent--the banners alone--
The lances unlifted--the trumpet unblown.

VI.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,[mp]
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,[mq]
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

Seaham, Feb. 17, 1815.



A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE ME.

FROM JOB.

I.

A spirit passed before me: I beheld
The face of Immortality unveiled--
Deep Sleep came down on every eye save mine--
And there it stood,--all formless--but divine:
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:

II.

"Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure?
Creatures of clay--vain dwellers in the dust!
The moth survives you, and are ye more just?
Things of a day! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light! "





POEMS 1814-1816.




POEMS 1814-1816.



FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.

1.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal availed on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
'Twere vain to speak--to weep--to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from Guilt's expiring eye,[305]
Are in that word--Farewell! --Farewell!

2.

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though Grief and Passion there rebel:
I only know we loved in vain--
I only feel--Farewell! --Farewell!

[First published, _Corsair_, Second Edition, 1814. ]



WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

1.

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold[mr]
Sorrow to this.

2.

The dew of the morning[ms]
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,[mt]
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

3. [mu]

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:--
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

4.

In secret we met--
In silence I grieve.
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee[mv]
After long years,
How should I greet thee? --
With silence and tears.

[First published, _Poems_, 1816. ]



[LOVE AND GOLD. [306]]

1.

I cannot talk of Love to thee,
Though thou art young and free and fair!
There is a spell thou dost not see,
That bids a genuine love despair.

2.

And yet that spell invites each youth,
For thee to sigh, or seem to sigh;
Makes falsehood wear the garb of truth,
And Truth itself appear a lie.

3.

If ever Doubt a place possest
In woman's heart, 'twere wise in thine:
Admit not Love into thy breast,
Doubt others' love, nor trust in mine.

4.

Perchance 'tis feigned, perchance sincere,
But false or true thou canst not tell;
So much hast thou from all to fear,
In that unconquerable spell.

5.

Of all the herd that throng around,
Thy simpering or thy sighing train,
Come tell me who to thee is bound
By Love's or Plutus' heavier chain.

6.

In some 'tis Nature, some 'tis Art
That bids them worship at thy shrine;
But thou deserv'st a better heart,
Than they or I can give for thine.

7.

For thee, and such as thee, behold,
Is Fortune painted truly--blind!
Who doomed thee to be bought or sold,
Has proved too bounteous to be kind.

8.

Each day some tempter's crafty suit
Would woo thee to a loveless bed:
I see thee to the altar's foot
A decorated victim led.

9.

Adieu, dear maid! I must not speak
Whate'er my secret thoughts may be;
Though thou art all that man can reck
I dare not talk of Love to _thee_.



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. [307]

1.

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,[mw]
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame:
But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.

2. [mx]

Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours--can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain,--
We will part, we will fly to--unite it again!

3.

Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt! [my]
Forgive me, adored one! --forsake, if thou wilt;--
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased[mz]
And _man_ shall not break it--whatever _thou_ mayst. [na]

4.

And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be:[nb]
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.

5. [nc]

One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,[nd]
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign--
Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to _mine_.

_May_ 4, 1814.
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, i. 554. ]



ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT
THE CALEDONIAN MEETING. [308]

Who hath not glowed above the page where Fame
Hath fixed high Caledon's unconquered name;
The mountain-land which spurned the Roman chain,
And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane,
Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand
No foe could tame--no tyrant could command?
That race is gone--but still their children breathe,
And Glory crowns them with redoubled wreath:
O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,
And, England! add their stubborn strength to thine.
The blood which flowed with Wallace flows as free,
But now 'tis only shed for Fame and thee!
Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim,
But give support--the world hath given him fame!

The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled
While cheerly following where the Mighty led--[309]
Who sleep beneath the undistinguished sod
Where happier comrades in their triumph trod,
To us bequeath--'tis all their fate allows--
The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:
She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise
The tearful eye in melancholy gaze,
Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose
The Highland Seer's anticipated woes,
The bleeding phantom of each martial form
Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;[310]
While sad, she chaunts the solitary song,
The soft lament for him who tarries long--
For him, whose distant relics vainly crave
The Coronach's wild requiem to the brave!

'Tis Heaven--not man--must charm away the woe,
Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow;
Yet Tenderness and Time may rob the tear
Of half its bitterness for one so dear;
A Nation's gratitude perchance may spread
A thornless pillow for the widowed head;
May lighten well her heart's maternal care,
And wean from Penury the soldier's heir;
Or deem to living war-worn Valour just[311]
Each wounded remnant--Albion's cherished trust--
Warm his decline with those endearing rays,
Whose bounteous sunshine yet may gild his days--
So shall that Country--while he sinks to rest--
His hand hath fought for--by his heart be blest!

_May_, 1814.
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, i. 559. ]



ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF
SIR PETER PARKER, BART. [312]

1.

There is a tear for all that die,[313]
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
But nations swell the funeral cry,
And Triumph weeps above the brave.

2.

For them is Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:
In vain their bones unburied lie,
All earth becomes their monument!

3.

A tomb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue:
The present hours, the future age,
For them bewail, to them belong.

4.

For them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hushed, _their name_ the only sound;
While deep Remembrance pours to Worth
The goblet's tributary round.

5.
A theme to crowds that knew them not,
Lamented by admiring foes,
Who would not share their glorious lot?
Who would not die the death they chose?

6.

And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined
Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
And early valour, glowing, find
A model in thy memory.

7.

But there are breasts that bleed with thee
In woe, that glory cannot quell;
And shuddering hear of victory,
Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.

8.

Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?
When cease to hear thy cherished name?
Time cannot teach forgetfulness,
While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.

9.

Alas! for them, though not for thee,
They cannot choose but weep the more;
Deep for the dead the grief must be,
Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.

_October_ 7, 1814.
[First published, _Morning Chronicle_, October 7, 1814. ]



JULIAN [A FRAGMENT]. [314]

1.

The Night came on the Waters--all was rest
On Earth--but Rage on Ocean's troubled Heart.
The Waves arose and rolled beneath the blast;
The Sailors gazed upon their shivered Mast.
In that dark Hour a long loud gathered cry
From out the billows pierced the sable sky,
And borne o'er breakers reached the craggy shore--
The Sea roars on--that Cry is heard no more.

2.

There is no vestige, in the Dawning light,
Of those that shrieked thro' shadows of the Night.
The Bark--the Crew--the very Wreck is gone,
Marred--mutilated--traceless--all save one.
In him there still is Life, the Wave that dashed
On shore the plank to which his form was lashed,
Returned unheeding of its helpless Prey--
The lone survivor of that Yesterday--
The one of Many whom the withering Gale
Hath left unpunished to record their Tale.
But who shall hear it? on that barren Sand
None comes to stretch the hospitable hand.
That shore reveals no print of human foot,
Nor e'en the pawing of the wilder Brute;
And niggard vegetation will not smile,
All sunless on that solitary Isle.

3.

The naked Stranger rose, and wrung his hair,
And that first moment passed in silent prayer.
Alas! the sound--he sunk into Despair--
He was on Earth--but what was Earth to him,
Houseless and homeless--bare both breast and limb?
Cut off from all but Memory he curst
His fate--his folly--but himself the worst.
What was his hope? he looked upon the Wave--
Despite--of all--it still may be his Grave!

4.

He rose and with a feeble effort shaped
His course unto the billows--late escaped:
But weakness conquered--swam his dizzy glance,
And down to Earth he sunk in silent trance.
How long his senses bore its chilling chain,
He knew not--but, recalled to Life again,
A stranger stood beside his shivering form--
And what was he? had he too scaped the storm?

5.

He raised young Julian. "Is thy Cup so full
Of bitterness--thy Hope--thy heart so dull
That thou shouldst from Thee dash the Draught of Life,
So late escaped the elemental strife!
Rise--tho' these shores few aids to Life supply,
Look upon me, and know thou shalt not die.
Thou gazest in mute wonder--more may be
Thy marvel when thou knowest mine and me.
But come--The bark that bears us hence shall find
Her Haven, soon, despite the warning Wind. "

6.

He raised young Julian from the sand, and such
Strange power of healing dwelt within the touch,
That his weak limbs grew light with freshened Power,
As he had slept not fainted in that hour,
And woke from Slumber--as the Birds awake,
Recalled at morning from the branched brake,
When the day's promise heralds early Spring,
And Heaven unfolded woos their soaring wing:
So Julian felt, and gazed upon his Guide,
With honest Wonder what might next betide.

Dec. 12, 1814.



TO BELSHAZZAR.

1. [ne]

Belshazzar! from the banquet turn,
Nor in thy sensual fulness fall;
Behold! while yet before thee burn
The graven words, the glowing wall,[nf]
Many a despot men miscall
Crowned and anointed from on high;
But thou, the weakest, worst of all--
Is it not written, thou must die? [ng]

2.

Go! dash the roses from thy brow--
Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them;
Youth's garlands misbecome thee now,
More than thy very diadem,[nh]
Where thou hast tarnished every gem:--
Then throw the worthless bauble by,
Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn;
And learn like better men to die!

3.

Oh! early in the balance weighed,
And ever light of word and worth,
Whose soul expired ere youth decayed,
And left thee but a mass of earth.
To see thee moves the scorner's mirth:
But tears in Hope's averted eye
Lament that even thou hadst birth--
Unfit to govern, live, or die.

_February_ 12, 1815.
[First published, 1831. ]



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. [315]

"O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. "
Gray's _Poemata_.
[Motto to "The Tear," _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 49. ]

1.

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,
When the glow of early thought declines in Feeling's dull decay;
'Tis not on Youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades
so fast,[ni]
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere Youth itself be past.

2.

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness
Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:
The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain
The shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again.

3.

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like Death itself comes down;
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;
That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,
And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.

4.

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,
Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;
'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath[nj][316]
All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.

5.

Oh, could I feel as I have felt,--or be what I have been,
Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene;
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,
So, midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me.

_March, 1815. _
[First published, _Poems, 1816. _]



ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF DORSET. [317]

1.

I heard thy fate without a tear,
Thy loss with scarce a sigh;
And yet thou wast surpassing dear,
Too loved of all to die.
I know not what hath seared my eye--
Its tears refuse to start;
But every drop, it bids me dry,
Falls dreary on my heart.

2.

Yes, dull and heavy, one by one,
They sink and turn to care,
As caverned waters wear the stone,
Yet dropping harden there:
They cannot petrify more fast,
Than feelings sunk remain,
Which coldly fixed regard the past,
But never melt again.

[1815. ]



STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

1.

Bright be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;[nk]
And our sorrow may cease to repine
When we know that thy God is with thee.

2.

Light be the turf of thy tomb! [nl][318]
May its verdure like emeralds be! [nm]
There should not be the shadow of gloom
In aught that reminds us of thee.
Young flowers and an evergreen tree[nn]
May spring from the spot of thy rest:
But nor cypress nor yew let us see;
For why should we mourn for the blest?

[First published, _Examiner_, June 4, 1815. ]



NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL. [319]

[FROM THE FRENCH. ]

1.

Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name--
She abandons me now--but the page of her story,
The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame. [no]
I have warred with a World which vanquished me only
When the meteor of conquest allured me too far;
I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,
The last single Captive to millions in war.

2.

Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me,
I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,--
But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,[np]
Decayed in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won--
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted
Had still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun! [nq]

3.

Farewell to thee, France! --but when Liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then,--
The Violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again--
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice--
There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,
_Then_ turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!

_July_ 25, 1815. London.
[First published, _Examiner_, July 30, 1815. ]



FROM THE FRENCH. [320]

I.

Must thou go, my glorious Chief,
Severed from thy faithful few?
Who can tell thy warrior's grief,
Maddening o'er that long adieu? [nr]
Woman's love, and Friendship's zeal,
Dear as both have been to me--[ns]
What are they to all I feel,
With a soldier's faith for thee? [nt]

II.

Idol of the soldier's soul!
First in fight, but mightiest now;[nu]
Many could a world control;
Thee alone no doom can bow.
By thy side for years I dared
Death; and envied those who fell,
When their dying shout was heard,
Blessing him they served so well. [321]

III.

Would that I were cold with those,
Since this hour I live to see;
When the doubts of coward foes[nv]
Scarce dare trust a man with thee,
Dreading each should set thee free!
Oh! although in dungeons pent,
All their chains were light to me,
Gazing on thy soul unbent.

IV.

Would the sycophants of him
Now so deaf to duty's prayer,[nw]
Were his borrowed glories dim,
In his native darkness share?
Were that world this hour his own,
All thou calmly dost resign,
Could he purchase with that throne
Hearts like those which still are thine? [nx]

V.

My Chief, my King, my Friend, adieu!
Never did I droop before;
Never to my Sovereign sue,
As his foes I now implore:
All I ask is to divide
Every peril he must brave;
Sharing by the hero's side
His fall--his exile--and his grave. [ny]

[First published, _Poems_, 1816,]



ODE FROM THE FRENCH. [322]

I.

We do not curse thee, Waterloo!
Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew;
There 'twas shed, but is not sunk--
Rising from each gory trunk,
Like the water-spout from ocean,
With a strong and growing motion--
It soars, and mingles in the air,
With that of lost La Bedoyere--[323]
With that of him whose honoured grave
Contains the "bravest of the brave. "
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose;
When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder--
Never yet was heard such thunder
As then shall shake the world with wonder--
Never yet was seen such lightning
As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!
Like the Wormwood Star foretold
By the sainted Seer of old,
Show'ring down a fiery flood,
Turning rivers into blood. [324]

II.

The Chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo!
When the soldier citizen
Swayed not o'er his fellow-men--
Save in deeds that led them on
Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son--
Who, of all the despots banded,
With that youthful chief competed?
Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone Tyranny commanded?
Till, goaded by Ambition's sting,
The Hero sunk into the King?
Then he fell:--so perish all,
Who would men by man enthral!

III.

And thou, too, of the snow-white plume!
Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb;[325]
Better hadst thou still been leading
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;
Such as he of Naples wears,
Who thy blood-bought title bears.
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 shivered fast around thee--
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;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,
The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendancy,--
And, as it onward rolling rose,
So moved his heart upon our foes.
There, where death's brief pang was quickest,
And the battle's wreck lay thickest,
Strewed beneath the advancing banner
Of the eagle's burning crest--
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,
_Who_ could then her wing arrest--
Victory beaming from her breast? )
While the broken line enlarging
Fell, or fled along the plain;
There be sure was Murat charging!
There he ne'er shall charge again!

IV.

O'er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps Triumph o'er each levelled arch--
But let Freedom rejoice,
With her heart in her voice;
But, her hand on her sword,
Doubly shall she be adored;
France hath twice too well been taught
The "moral lesson"[326] dearly bought--
Her safety sits not on a throne,
With Capet or Napoleon!
But in equal rights and laws,
Hearts and hands in one great cause--
Freedom, such as God hath given
Unto all beneath his heaven,
With their breath, and from their birth,
Though guilt would sweep it from the earth;
With a fierce and lavish hand
Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter!

V.

But the heart and the mind,
And the voice of mankind,
Shall arise in communion--
And who shall resist that proud union?
The time is past when swords subdued--
Man may die--the soul's renewed:
Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;
Millions breathe but to inherit
Her for ever bounding spirit--
When once more her hosts assemble,
Tyrants shall believe and tremble--
Smile they at this idle threat?
Crimson tears will follow yet. [327]

[First published, _Morning Chronicle_, March 15, 1816. ]



STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

1.

There be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed Ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lulled winds seem dreaming:

2.

And the midnight Moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant's asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.

_March_ 28 [1816].
[First published, _Poems_, 1816. ]



ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION OF HONOUR. "[328]

[FROM THE FRENCH. ]

1.

Star of the brave! --whose beam hath shed
Such glory o'er the quick and dead--
Thou radiant and adored deceit!
Which millions rushed in arms to greet,--
Wild meteor of immortal birth!
Why rise in Heaven to set on Earth?

2.

Souls of slain heroes formed thy rays;
Eternity flashed through thy blaze;
The music of thy martial sphere
Was fame on high and honour here;
And thy light broke on human eyes,
Like a Volcano of the skies.

3.

Like lava rolled thy stream of blood,
And swept down empires with its flood;
Earth rocked beneath thee to her base,
As thou didst lighten through all space;
And the shorn Sun grew dim in air,
And set while thou wert dwelling there.

4.

Before thee rose, and with thee grew,
A rainbow of the loveliest hue
Of three bright colours,[329] each divine,
And fit for that celestial sign;
For Freedom's hand had blended them,
Like tints in an immortal gem.

5.

One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;
One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes;
One, the pure Spirit's veil of white
Had robed in radiance of its light:
The three so mingled did beseem
The texture of a heavenly dream.

6.

Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,
And darkness must again prevail!
But, oh thou Rainbow of the free!
Our tears and blood must flow for thee.
When thy bright promise fades away,
Our life is but a load of clay.

7.

And Freedom hallows with her tread
The silent cities of the dead;
For beautiful in death are they
Who proudly fall in her array;
And soon, oh, Goddess! may we be
For evermore with them or thee!

[First published, _Examiner_, April 7, 1816. ]



STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

I.

They say that Hope is happiness;
But genuine Love must prize the past,
And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:
They rose the first--they set the last;

II.

And all that Memory loves the most
Was once our only Hope to be,
And all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.

III.

Alas! it is delusion all:
The future cheats us from afar,
Nor can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are.