From out the whole but such and such an act,
As sets aside the slightest thought of trick.
Tis every tittle true, beyond suspicion,
And accurate as any other vision.

XXXV.

The spirits were in neutral space, before
The gate of heaven: like eastern thresholds is
The place where Death's grand cause is argued
o'er,

And souls despatch'd to that world or to this;

And therefore Michael and the other wore

A civil aspect; though they did not kiss, Yet still between his Darkness and his Brightness There pass'd a mutual glance of great politeness.

XXXVI.

The Archangel bow'd, not like a modern beau,
But with a graceful Oriental bend,
Pressing one radiant arm just where below

The heart in good men is supposed to tend. He turn'd as to an equal, not too low,

But kindly; Satan met his ancient friend With more hauteur, as might an old Castilian Poor noble meet a mushroom rich civilian, XXXVII.

He merely bent his diabolic brow

An instant; and then raising it, he stood In act to assert his right or wrong, and show Cause why King George by no means could or should

Make out a case to be exempt from woe

Eternal, more than other kings, endued With better sense and hearts, whom history mentions, [tentions.

Who long have 'paved hell with their good in

Cast crowns for rosaries away,
An empire for a cell;
A strict accountant of his beads,
A subtle disputant on creeds,
His dotage trifled well :

Yet better had he neither known
A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne.

But thou-from thy reluctant hand
The thunderbolt is wrung-

Too late thou leav'st the high command
To which thy weakness clung;

All Evil Spirit as thou art,
It is enough to grieve the heart

To see thine own unstrung;

To think that God's fair world hath been
The footstool of a thing so mean!

And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,
Who thus can hoard his own!
And Monarchs bow'd the trembling limb,
And thank'd him for a throne !
Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear
In humblest guise have shown.
Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind!
Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,
Nor written thus in vain-
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,
Ör deepen every stain:

If thou hadst died as honour dies,
Some new Napoleon might arise,

To shame the world again-
But who would soar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night?
Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust
Is vile as vulgar clay;

Thy scales, Mortality! are just
To all that pass away:

But yet methought the living great
Some higher sparks should animate,

To dazzle and dismay:

Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth Of these, the Conquerors of the earth.

And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,*
Thy still imperial bride,

How bears her breast the torturing hour?
Still clings she to thy side?

Must she, too, bend: must she, too, share
Thy late repentance, long despair,

Thou throneless Homicide?

If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,-
'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem!

Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
And gaze upon the sea;

That element may meet thy smile-
It ne'er was ruled by thee!
Or trace with thine all idle hand,
In loitering mood upon the sand,
That Earth is now as free!

• Maria Louisa.

That Corinth's pedagogue hath now
Transferr'd his byword to thy brow.
Thou Timour! in his captive's cage,†
What thoughts will there be thine,
While brooding in thy prison'd rage,
But one-The world was mine!'
Unless, like he of Babylon,
All sense is with thy sceptre gone,
Life will not long confine
That spirit pour'd so widely forth-
So long obey'd-so little worth!
Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
And share, with him, the unforgiven,
His vulture and his rock?
Foredoom'd by God--by man accurst,
And that last act, though not thy worst,
The very Fiend's arch mock;
He in his fall preserved his pride,
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died!
There was a day-there was an hour,
While earth was Gaul's-Gaul thine-
When that immeasurable power
Unsated to resign,

Had been an act of purer fame,
Than gathers round Marengo's name,
And gilded thy decline,

Through the long twilight of all time,
Despite some passing clouds of crime.
But thou, forsooth, must be a king,
And don the purple vest!
As if that foolish robe could wring
Remembrance from thy breast.
Where is that faded garment? where
The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear,
The star, the string, the crest?
Vain froward child of empire! say,
Are all thy playthings snatch'd away?
Where may the wearied eye repose
When gazing on the Great,
Where neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?
Yes-one--the first-the last-the best-
The Cincinnatus of the West,

Whom envy dared not hate, Bequeath'd the name of Washington, To make man blush there was but one!

It soars and mingles in the air,
With that of lost Labedoyère-
With that of him whose honour'd 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,
Showering down a fiery flood,
Turning rivers into blood.*

II.

The chief has fallen! but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo !
When the soldier-citizen
Sway'd 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 enthrall !

III.

And thou, too, of the snow-white plume,
Whose realm refused thee even a tomb, t
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 shiver'd 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 roll'd in air, the warrior's guide;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,

* See Rev. viii. 7, &c., 'The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood,' &c. Ver. 8, And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea; and the third part of the sea became blood,' &c. Ver. 10, And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp; and it fell upon the third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters. Ver. 11, And the name of the star is called Wormwood; and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter.'

Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burat.

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,
Strew'd 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 levell'd 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' 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 renew'd:
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.

TO NAPOLEON.

FROM THE FRENCH.

MUST thou go, my glorious Chief,* Sever'd from thy faithful few?

All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer, who had been exalted from the ranks by Bonaparte. He clung to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial ca pacity, which could not be admitted."