In every Roman, through all turns of fate, Spirit in him pre-eminent; who guides, Rise as he may, his grandeur scorns the test Of outward symbol, nor will deign to rest So emulous of Macedonian fame, That, when his age was measured with his aim, He drooped, 'mid else unclouded victories, And turned his eagles back with deepdrawn sighs; Oh, weakness of the great! Oh, folly of the wise! * See Forsyth, Where now the haughty empire that was spread With such fond hope? her very speech is dead; Yet glorious art the sweep of time defies, And Trajan still, through various enterprise, Mounts, in this fine illusion, toward the Still are we present with the imperial chief, DION. (SEE PLUTARCH.) FAIR is the swan, whose majesty, pre- O'er breezeless water, on Locarno's lake, Of whitest garniture, like fir-tree boughs A flaky weight of winter's purest snows! That downy prow, and softly cleaves state, Winds the mute creature without visible Or rival, save the queen of night So pure, so bright, so fitted to embrace, Nor less the homage that was seen to On Dion's virtues, when the lunar beam That he, not too elate With self-sufficing solitude, Might in the universal bosom reign, And from affectionate observance gain Help, under every change of adverse fate. Five thousand warriors-Oh, the rapturous day! Each crowned with flowers, and armed with spear and shield, Or ruder weapon which their course might yield, To Syracuse advance in bright array. see Long-exiled Dion marching at their head, The gazers feel; and rushing to the plain, Down the long street, rich goblets filled with wine In seemly order stand, He looks on festal ground with fruits And flowers are on his person thrown Nor doth the general voice abstain from prayer, Invoking Dion's tutelary care, Mourn, hills and groves of Attica! and mourn Ilissus, bending o'er thy classic urn! Mourn, and lament for him whose spirit dreads Your once-sweet memory, studious walks and shades! For him who to divinity aspired, Not on the breath of popular applause, Intent to trace the ideal path of right Which Dion learned to measure with delight; But he hath overleaped the eternal bars; And, following guides whose craft holds no consent With aught that breathes the ethereal element, Hath stained the robes of civil power with blood, Unjustly shed, though for the public good. Whence doubts that came too late, and wishes vain, Hollow excuses, and triumphant pain; He hears an uncouth sound- Saw at a long-drawn gallery's dusky bound, A woman's garb that phantom wore, His force on Caspian foam to try; So, but from toil less sign of profit reaping The sullen spectre to her purpose bowed, Sweeping-vehemently sweepingNo pause admitted, no design avowed? "Avaunt, inexplicable guest !-avaunt!" Exclaimed the chieftain-" Let me rather see The coronal that coiling vipers make; The torch that flames with many a lurid flake, And the long train of doleful pageantry Which they behold, whom vengeful furies haunt : Who, while they struggle from the scourge to flee, Move where the blasted soil is not unworn, And, in their anguish, bear what other minds have borne!" But shapes that come not at an earthly call, Will not depart when mortal voices bid; Ye gods, thought he, that servile implement Upon the ruins of thy glorious name; Who, through the portal of one moment's guilt, Pursue thee with their deadly aim!, Drawn in defiance of the gods, hath laid As he had fallen in magnanimity; Of spirit too capacious to require That destiny her course should change; too just To his own native greatness to desire That wretched boon, days lengthened by mistrust. So were the hopeless troubles, that involved The soul of Dion, instantly dissolved. Released from life and cares of princely state, He left this moral grafted on his fate Retirement then might hourly look With heart as calm as lakes that sleep, ODE TO DUTY. STERN daughter of the voice of God! There are who ask not if thine eye But thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast! Serene will be our days and bright, And they a blissful course may hold 296 Poems Referring to the Period of Old Age. THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR. The class of beggars, to which the old man here described belongs, will probably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and, mostly, old and infirm persons, who confined themselves to a stated round in their neighbourhood, and had certain fixed days, on which, at different houses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in money, but mostly in provisions. I SAW an aged beggar in my walk; Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they Who lead their horses down the steep rough road All white with flour, the dole of village dames, Upon the second step of that small pile, Him from my childhood have I known; and then Shouts to him from behind; and, if thus warned |