Maiden in thy laughing hour,
Dreaming not of future ill,-
Yet in whom, with certain power,
Destiny shall work its will,-
By thy hopes, that soon must die,
Hear the Widow's troubled cry.
THOU! Who sorrowedst o'er the bier, Where a widow's son was laid,
At the gate of Naïn, — hear!
Look, and lend thy gracious aid. God! the counsel came from Thee, "Let thy Widows trust in Me."
Он, parent, who thy watch art keeping, So pleasing, painful, o'er thy boy,— Whose vigilance is all unsleeping
That he may prove, indeed, thy joy —
Consider! while thy care thou deemest
Enough, at times, thy hope to dim,
A cloud, of which thou little dreamest,
Comes up between his bliss and him.
While he imbibes instruction needed,
And Precept seems to guide the way, Some act of thine, some word, unheeded, In sad Example, leads astray;
In all the influence which in beauty Should cluster round the social hearth,
In every pleasure, toil and duty
Of home, the dearest spot on earth,
With one hand to the living fountain
Pointing, where he may enter in ;
And with the other, like a mountain,
Piling along his path thy sin!
On Inconsistency that's blazing
Thus falsely, where should be true light, Thy helpless, ductile offspring gazingHow can he find the way that's right?
Oh, cruel! that the bosom swelling
With ardor, hope, and promise fair,
Should, by thy folly, be the dwelling
Of guilty pain and keen despair.
Had he not here -a thoughtless stranger, Unskilled life's thousand snares to shunEnough of soul-besetting danger,
That thou shouldst see thy child undone ?
Whose fancy, think'st thou, e'er may enter
Its depths, or analyze the cup
Of which the parent, that durst venture
His children's safety, shall drink up!
How many thus, like stars, for ever
Have set, in baleful night to dwell,
In spite of Wisdom's strong endeavor,
By faithless parents, who may tell?
'Twas in the old Cathedral, at midnight;
Before the altar burned unwonted light,
Which deepened darkness on the fretted wall,
Where hung appropriate shadows, like a pall.
Within the chancel sat men, void of shame,
At the Communion Table, deep in game.
Three mocking wretches impiously were
Joined in the sacrilege. A fourth was there!
That fourth, a ghastly corpse, which had that day
In the damp vault been laid with kindred clay,
Now dragged by these blasphemers from its bed
To help at cards. Uncoffined, the grim dead
Sat thus in chilling silence, while their noise
Went on; nor heeded their infernal joys.
SPEECH OF THE EMPEROR NICHO. LAS, OF RUSSIA,
TO THE MUNICIPAL BODY OF WARSAW, WHILE ON A VISIT TO THAT CITY.*
That you've wished to address us we very well know,
Yet what you would utter being merely so, so,
To save you moreover from telling a lie,
We will that your speech you put quietly by.
Yes, Gentlemen! though we repeat it with pain,
'Tis to spare you duplicity foolish and vain.
We know that your sentiments, faithless to us,
Unlike your pretences, than falsehood are worse.
For similar mockery with you was the mode,
When your vile Revolution was ripe to explode.
And now, that we think on't, to us it appears
You are the same flatterers, who, five and eight years
Ago, tickled us with your loyalty, strong,
When your honey-mouthed talk was as fulsome as long.
The same, who a very few days or weeks after,
Broke every engagement and made us your laughter. Ever since we have lent you our gracious protection, You've spurned at our kindness and called it subjection;
E'en the great Alexander, with cognomen "Good," Who cared for you more than an emperor should,
* Vide the German newspapers of 1836.
Who heaped on you benefits, base as you are,
Beyond his own subjects, who made you his care,-
Yea, though of sedition ye stirred up the coals,
Who would fain have exalted you, highest of Poles,
The good Alexander- with sorrow we say it-
You treated most basely; the knout ought to pay it.
Although your position was noble enough,
Yet with it you've wickedly been in a huff;
We talk to you plainly, and deem we are right,
On these, our relations, to scatter some light;
And on what to depend, that you really may know,
In kindness, we, Nicholas, counsel you so;
And ask honest action, not language of art:
Repentance, the priests say, should come from the
heart.
We speak without anger, you see that we are
As calm and as cool as becomes a great Czar;
No rancor, no malice, ye treacherous elves!
And good we will do you, in spite of yourselves.
The Marshal, -you see him,—though you may not
Fulfils our intention, and that you shan't blink it,
He watches you closely, your welfare in view,
And Warsaw holds none more observant and true.
[The members of the Deputation here bow to the Mar-
shal.]
Well, Gentlemen! well! - we are glad, any how,
That to him, worthy man, you obsequiously bow;
But what signify, we would ask, these salutes,
Or words dipt in oil, if in deeds you are brutes!
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