FRONTING the wave-environ'd shore of France, And bulwark'd with her everlasting main, O'er which the cloud-white cliffs sublimely gaze Like genii, rear'd for her defence, behold The Isle-queen!-every billow sounds her fame! The ocean is her proud triumphal car Whereon she rideth, and the rolling waves The vassals which secure her victory; Alone, and matchless in her scepter'd might, She dares the world. The spirit of the brave Burns in her; laws are liberty; and kings Wear crowns that glitter with a people's love, And, while undimm'd, their glory aye endures; But once dishonour'd,-and the sceptre falls, The throne is shaken, patriot voices rise, And, like storm'd billows by the tyrant gale Awaken'd, loud and haughty is their roar !
Heaven-favour'd land! of grandeur, and of gloom. Of mountain pomp, and majesty of hills, Though other climates boast, in thee supreme A beauty and a gentleness abound; Here all that can soft worship claim, or tone The sweet sobriety of tender thought, Is thine the sky of blue intensity,
Or charm'd by sunshine into picture-clouds, That make bright landscapes when they blush abroad, The dingle gray, and wooded copse, with hut And hamlet, nestling in the bosky vale,
And spires brown peeping o'er the ancient elms, And steepled cities faint and far away,
With all that bird and meadow, brook and gale Impart, are mingled for admiring eyes That love to banquet on thy blissful scene.
EVENING SCENE ON THE SEA-SHORE. 'Tis evening hour; the hour when heaven descends In dream-like radiance on the calmed earth, Wither! thou victim of luxurious halls,
The glory of these west'ring clouds behold, That, rich as eastern fancies, float the skies Along and hark!--the revelry of waves; Now, like the whirling of unnumber'd wheels In faint advance, now wild as battle-roar In shatter'd echoes voyaging the wind; Then, snake-like hissing, they enring the shore, Dissolve, and flower the shelly beach with foam. Brief as a fancy, and as brightly vain, The sky-pomp fades; and in his sumptuous robe Of cloudy sheen, the great high priest of earth Hath bosom'd him beyond the ocean bound. Like weary eyelids, flowers are closing up Their beauty; faint as rain-falls sound the leaves, When ruffled by the dying breath of day; And Twilight, that true hour for mellow dream, Or tender thought, now dimly, o'er the wave 'Tis halcyon wing unfolds; in spectral gloom The cloud-peak'd hills depart, and all the shore Lies calm, where nothing mars its pebbly sleep, Save when the step of yon lone wand'rer moves, Watching the boats in sailless pomp reposed; Or, mournful listening to the curfew sound Of eve-bells, hymning from their distant spires.
With Summer hymning through her haunted vales, 'Tis beauty, bloom, and brightness all! How rich The wooing luxury of floral meads,
Reposing in the noon; where scented winds Exult, and many a happy brooklet sings; Sure, Admiration might romance it here! Tall mansions, shadow'd through patrician trees, Those brown-spread farms, grey villages and cots, With castled relics, and cathedral piles
Where dreaming solitude may muse and sigh,- Enchant dead ages from their tombs, or hear The dark soliloquy of ancient Time,— Adorn the landscape, and delight the view: While haggard rocks, and heaven-aspiring hills, Balking the ocean, here and there create A mountain charm, to solemnize the scene.
EXULTATION OF SATAN AT HIS POWER OVER MANKIND.
THEN roll thee on, thou high and haughty world, And queen it bravely o'er the universe! Still be thy sun as bright, thy sea as loud In her sublimity, thy floods and winds As potent, and thy lording elements As vast in their creative range of power, As each and all have ever been build thrones, And empires, heap the mountain of thy crimes, Be mean or mighty, wise or worthless still,—
Yet I am with thee! and my power shall reign Until the trumpet of thy doom be heard,
Thine ocean vanish'd, and thy heavens no more! Till thou be tenantless, a welt'ring mass Of fire, a dying and dissolving world:
And then, Thy hidden lightnings are unsheath'd, O God! the thunders of Despair shall roll; Mine hour is come, and I am wreck'd of all, All, save Eternity, and that is mine!
FEMALE LOVELINESS THE FOUNT OF
POETICAL INSPIRATION.
NOT for that unloving race,
Who scorn each intellectual grace;
Or them, whose coarseness would destroy
The elegance of human joy,—
Be mine the lay. Yet should there be
A heart that loves true heart to see;
A father who has felt how dear The woman whom his thoughts revere; A mother in whose watchful eye Affections deep and endless lie;
A maiden who hath known how sweet The sister of her soul to greet; Or lover, who in lofty youth Hath pleaded with impassion'd truth To shape of Beauty, by whose light The universe became so bright!— If such one hour this page beguile, My guerdon be their grateful smile.
Oh! might he cull the richest tones Poetical enchantment owns,
For melody to waft along
The spirit of prevailing song ;
And summon from the caves of Thought Whatever shaping dreams hath wrought,— A bard might think his visions rife With rays of feeling, caught from life, For in that life what bliss was owed To all that woman's reign bestowed!- The smoothest voice, the softest word, Delighted moments ever heard; The dearest smile that Pity shed To tame the darkness sorrow bred; The shadow of an angel seen,
Where Goodness unobserved had been; And, more than all, devoted truth, Whose years retain'd undying youth,- If such a crowd of memory's charms No passion in the poet warms, It is because no words
The light of woman's loveliness; And more than Poetry can speak Is mirror'd on her brow and cheek; While feelings oft the most sublime Refuse to be portray'd in rhyme,
Though brightly round the heart they throng, And seem the archetype of song,— If doom like this attend my aim,
The song, but not the subject, blame.
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