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Blush with the big and purple drops
That dribbled from the leafy copse!
I paced the valley, when the yell

Of triumph's voice had ceased to swell;
When battle's brazen throat no more
Raised its annihilating roar.
There lay ye on each other piled,
Your brows with noble dust defiled;"
There, by the loudly-gushing water,
Lay man and horse in mingled slaughter.
Then wept I not, thrice gallant band;
For though no more each dauntless hand
The thunder of the combat hurl'd,
Yet still with pride your lips were curl'd;
And e'en in death's o'erwhelming shade
Your fingers linger'd round the blade!
I deem'd, when gazing proudly there
Upon the fix'd and haughty air

That mark'd each warrior's bloodless face,
Ye would not change the narrow space
Which each cold form of breathless clay
Then cover'd, as on earth ye lay,
For realms, for sceptres, or for thrones-
I dream'd not on this Vale of Bones!

But years have thrown their veil between, And alter'd is that lonely scene; And dreadful emblems of thy might, Stern Dissolution! meet my sight: The eyeless socket, dark and dull, The hideous grinning of the skull, Are sights which Memory disowns, Thou melancholy Vale of Bones!

TO FANCY.

BRIGHT angel of heavenliest birth!
Who dwellest among us unseen,
O'er the gloomiest spot on the earth

There's a charm where thy footsteps have been. We feel thy soft sunshine in youth,

While our joys like young blossoms are new; For oh thou art sweeter than Truth, And fairer and lovelier too!

The exile, who mourneth alone,

Is glad in the glow of thy smile, Tho' far from the land of his own, In the ocean's most desolate isle: And the captive, who piues in his chain, Sees the banners of glory unroll'd, As he dreams of his own native plain, And the forms of the heroes of old.

In the earliest ray of the morn,

In the last rosy splendor of even,
We view thee-thy spirit is borne

On the murmuring zephyrs of heaven:
Thou art in the sunbeam of noon,
Thou art in the azure of air,

If I pore on the sheen of the moon,

If I search the bright stars, thou art there!

Thou art in the rapturons eye

Of the bard, when his visions rush o'er him; And like the fresh iris on high

Are the wonders that sparkle before him.
Thou stirrest the thunders of song,

Those transports that brook not control;
Thy voice is the charm of his tongue,
Thy magic the light of his soul!

Like the day-star that heralds the sun,

But ah! when the day is begun,

Thou art gone like the star of the morning! Like a beam in the winter of years,

When the joys of existence are cold, Thine image can dry up our tears,

And brighten the eyes of the old!

Tho' dreary and dark be the night
Of affliction that gathers around,
There is something of heaven in thy light,
Glad spirit! where'er thou art found:
As calmly the sea-maid may lie
In her pearly pavilion at rest,
The heart-broken and friendless may fly
To the shade of thy bower, and be blest!

BOYHOOD.

"Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy? Childe Harold.

BOYHOOD's blest hours! when yet unfledged and cal

low,

We prove those joys we never can retain, In riper years with fond regret we hallow, Like some sweet scene we never see again.

For youth-whate'er may be its petty woes,
Its trivial sorrows-disappointments-fears,
As on in haste life's wintry current flows-
Still claims, and still receives, its debt of tears.

Yes! when, in grim alliance, grief and time
Silver our heads and rob our hearts of ease,
We gaze along the deeps of care and crime
To the far, fading shore of youth and peace;

Each object that we meet the more endears
That rosy morn before a troubled day;
That blooming dawn-that sunrise of our years-
That sweet voluptuous vision past away!

For by the welcome, tho' embittering power
Of wakeful memory, we too well behold
That lightsome-careless-unreturning hour,
Beyond the reach of wishes or of gold.

And ye, whom blighted hopes or passion's heat Have taught the pangs that care-worn hearts en

dure,

Ye will not deem the vernal rose so sweet! Ye will not call the driven snow so pure!

"DID NOT THY ROSEATE LIPS OUT

VIE."

"Ulla si juris tibi pejerati

Pona, Barine, nocuisset unquam;
Denti si nigro fieres, vel uno
Turpior ungui

Crederem."-HORACE.

DID not thy roseate lips outvie
The gay anana's spicy bloom;*
Had not thy breath the luxury,

The richness of its deep perfume

Were not the pearls it fans more clear
Than those which grace the valved shell;

Thy foot more airy than the deer,

When startled from his lonely dell

* Ulloa says that the blossom of the West-Indian anana is of

Thou seem'st, when our young hopes are dawning; so elegant a crimson as even to dazzle the eye, and that the fragrancy of the fruit discovers the plant, though concealed from sight. See ULLOA's Voyages, vol. i., p. 72.

"Non indecoro pulvere sordidos."-HORACE.

Were not thy bosom's stainless whiteness,
Where angel loves their vigils keep,
More heavenly than the dazzling brightness
Of the cold crescent on the deep-

Were not thine eye a star might grace
Yon sapphire concave beaming clear,
Or fill the vanish'd Pleiad's place,
And shine for aye as brightly there-

Had not thy locks the golden glow That robes the gay and early east, Thus falling in luxuriant flow

Around thy fair but faithless breast:

I might have deem'd that thou wert she
Of the Cumæan cave, who wrote
Each fate-involving mystery

Upon the feathery leaves that float,

Borne thro' the boundless waste of air, Wherever chance might drive along. But she was wrinkled-thou art fair: And she was old-but thou art young. Her years were as the sands that strew The fretted ocean-beach; but thouTriumphant in that eye of blue,

Beneath thy smoothly-marble brow;

Exulting in thy form thus moulded,

By nature's tenderest touch design'd; Proud of the fetters thou hast folded

Around this fond deluded mind

Deceivest still with practised look,
With fickle vow, and well-feign'd sigh.
I tell thee, that I will not brook
Reiterated perjury!

Alas! I feel thy deep control,

E'en now when I would break thy chain : But while I seek to gain thy soul, Ah! say-hast thou a soul to gain?

HUNTSMAN'S SONG.

"Who the melodies of morn can tell ?"-BEATTIE.

OH! what is so sweet as a morning in spring, When the gale is all freshness, and larks, on the wing,

In clear liquid carols their gratitude sing?

I rove o'er the hill as it sparkles with dew,
And the red flush of Phoebus with ecstasy view,
As he breaks thro' the east o'er thy crags, Benvenue !

And boldly I bound o'er the mountainous scene, Like the roe which I hunt thro' the woodlands so green,

Or the torrent which leaps from the height to the plain.

The life of the hunter is chainless and gay,

As the wing of the falcon that wins him his prey; No song is so glad as his blithe roundelay.

His eyes in soft arbors the Moslem may close,
And Fayoum's rich odors may breathe from the

rose,

To scent his bright harem and lull his repose:

Th' Italian may vaunt of his sweet harmony, And mingle soft sounds of voluptuons glee; But the lark's airy music is sweeter to me.

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LAND of bright eye and lofty brow!
Whose every gale is balmy breath
Of incense from some sunny flower,
Which on tall hill or valley low,

In clustering maze or circling wreath,
Sheds perfume; or in blooming bower
Of Schiraz or of Ispahan,

In bower untrod by foot of man,
Clasps round the green and fragrant stem
Of lotos, fair and fresh and blue,
And crowns it with a diadem

Of blossoms, ever young and new;
Oh! lives there yet within thy soul
Aught of the fire of him who led
Thy troops, and bade thy thunder roll
O'er lone Assyria's crownless head?
I tell thee, had that conqueror red
From Thymbria's plaiu beheld thy fall,
When stormy Macedonia swept

Thine honors from thee one and all, He would have wail'd, he would have wept, That thy proud spirit should have bow'd To Alexander, doubly proud. Oh, Iran! Iran! had he known The downfall of his mighty throne, Or had he seen that fatal night,

When the young king of Macedon In madness led his veterans on, And Thais held the funeral light, Around that noble pile which rose

Irradiant with the pomp of gold, In high Persepolis of old, Encompass'd with its frenzied foes:

He would have groan'd, he would have spread The dust upon his laurell'd head,

To view the setting of that star,

Which beam'd so gorgeously and far
O'er Anatolia and the fane

Of Belus, and Caïster's plain,

And Sardis, and the glittering sands
Of bright Pactolus, and the lands
Where Croesus held his rich domain:
On fair Diarbeck's land of spice,*
Adiabene's plains of rice,

Where down th' Euphrates, swift and strong,
The shield-like kuphars bound along;†
And sad Cunaxa's field, where, mixing
With host to adverse host opposed,
'Mid clashing shield and spear transtixing,
The rival brothers sternly closed.
And further east, where, broadly roll'd,
Old Indus pours his stream of gold;
And there where, tumbling deep and hoarse,
Blue Ganga leaves her vaccine source;‡
Loveliest of all the lovely streams
That meet immortal Titan's beams,
And smile upon their fruitful way
Beneath his golden Orient ray:
And southward to Cilicia's shore,
Where Cydnus meets the billows' roar,

Xenophon says that every shrub in these wilds had an aromatic odor.

+ Rennel on Herodotus.

The cavern in the ridge of Himmalah, whence the Ganges seems to derive its original springs, has been moulded, by the mind of Hindoo superstition, into the head of a cow.

And where the Syrian gates divide
The meeting realms on either side:*
E'en to the land of Nile, whose crops
Bloom rich beneath his bounteous swell,
To hot Syene's wondrous well,
Nigh to the long-lived Æthiops.
And northward far to Trebizonde,
Renown'd for kings of chivalry,

Near where old Hyssus, rolling from the strand,
Disgorges in the Euxine Sea-

The Euxine, falsely named, which whelms
The mariner in the heaving tide,

To high Sinope's distant realms,

Whence cynics rail'd at human pride.

EGYPT.

"Egypt's palmy groves,

Her grots, and sepulchres of kings."

MOORE'S Lalla Rookh.

THE sombre pencil of the dim-gray dawn Draws a faint sketch of Egypt to mine eye, As yet uncolor'd by the brilliant morn,

And her gay orb careering up the sky.

And see at last he comes in radiant pride,
Life in his eye, and glory in his ray;
No veiling mists his growing splendor hide,
And hang their gloom around his golden way.

The flowery region brightens in his smile,
Her lap of blossoms freights the passing gale,
That robs the odors of each balmy isle,

Each fragrant field and aromatic vale.

But the first glitter of his rising beam

Falls on the broad-based pyramids sublime, As proud to show us with his earliest gleam Those vast and hoary enemics of Time.

E'en History's self, whose certain scrutiny Few eras in the list of Time beguile, Pauses, and scans them with astonish'd eye, As unfamiliar with their aged pile.

Awful, august, magnificent, they tower

Amid the waste of shifting sands around; The lapse of year and month and day and hour, Alike unfelt, perform th' unwearied round.

How often hath yon day-god's burning light,
From the clear sapphire of his stainless heaven,
Bathed their high peaks in noontide brilliance
bright,

Gilded at morn, and purpled them at even !t

THE DRUID'S PROPHECIES.‡ MONA! with flame thine oaks are streaming, Those sacred oaks we rear'd on high: Lo! Mona, lo! the swords are gleaming Adown thine hills confusedly.

Hark! Mona, hark! the chargers' neighing!
The clang of arms and helmets bright!
The crash of steel, the dreadful braying
Of trumpets thro' the madd'ning fight!

* See Xenophon's "Expeditio Cyri." + See Savary's letters.

"Stabat pro littore diversa acies, densa armis virisque, intercursantibus feminis in modum Furiarum, quæ veste ferali, crinibus dejectis, faces præferebant. Druidæque circum, preces diras, sublatis ad cœlum manibus, fundentes," etc.-TACIT., Annal., xiv., c. 30.

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** At the siege of Jerusalem.

+ The five good emperors: Nerva, Trajan, Adrian, Antoninus Pius, and Marcus Aurelius, or Antoninus the Philosopher. Perhaps the best commentary on the life and virtues of the last is his own volume of " Meditations."

"Debiles pedibus, et eos, qui ambulare non possent, in gigantum modum, ita ut a genibus de pannis et linteis quasi dracones digererentur; eosdemque sagittis confecit."-EL. LAMPRID. in Vita Comm. Such were the laudable amusements of Commodus !

§§ He was first poisoned; but the operation not fully answering the wishes of his beloved, he was afterward strangled by a robust

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Exulting in his conquests gloriousAh! glorious to his country's fall!

But thou shalt see the Romans flying,
O Albyn! with yon dauntless ranks;*
And thou shalt view the Romans dying,
Blue Carun! on thy mossy banks.

But lo! what dreadful visions o'er me
Are bursting on this aged eye!
What length of bloody train before me
In slow succession passes by !t

Thy hapless monarchs fall together,

Like leaves in winter's stormy ire; Some by the sword, and some shall wither By lightning's flame and fever's fire.t

They come! they leave their frozen regions,
Where Scandinavia's wilds extend;
And Rome, though girt with dazzling legions,
Beneath their blasting power shall bend.

Woe, woe to Rome! though tall and ample
She rears her domes of high renown;
Yet fiery Goths shall fiercely trample

The grandeur of her temples down!

She sinks to dust; and who shall pity Her dark despair and hopeless groans? There is a wailing in her city

Her babes are dash'd against the stones!

Then, Mona! then, though wan and blighted
Thy hopes be now by Sorrow's dearth,
Then all thy wrongs shall be requited--
The Queen of Nations bows to earth!

LINES. §

THE eye must catch the point that shows
The pensile dew-drop's twinkling gleam,
Where on the trembling blade it glows,
Or hueless hangs the liquid gem.

Thus do some minds unmark'd appear
By aught that's generous or divine,
Unless we view them in the sphere
Where with their fullest light they shine.

Occasion-circumstance-give birth

To charms that else unheeded lie, And call the latent virtues forth To break upon the wond'ring eye.

E'en he your censure has enroll'd

So rashly with the cold and dull, Waits but occasion to unfold

An ardor and a force of soul.

Go then, impetuous youth, deny
The presence of the orb of day,
Because November's cloudy sky
Transmits not his resplendent ray.

ern World but those conquests, however glorious, were conducive to the ruin of the Roman Empire.--See GIBBON, vol. vi., chap. v., p. 203. * In allusion to the real or feigned victory obtained by Fingal over Caracul, or Caracalla.-See OSSIAN.

Very few of the emperors after Severus escaped assassination. Macrinus, Heliogabalus, Alexander, Maximin Pupienus, Balbinus, Gordian, Philip, etc., were assassinated; Claudius died of a pestilential fever; and Carus was struck dead by lightning in his

tent.

§ To one who entertained a light opinion of an eminent character, because too impatient to wait for its gradual development.

Time, and the passing throng of things, Full well the mould of minds betray, And each a clearer prospect brings:Suspend thy judgment for a day.

SWISS SONG.

I LOVE St. Gothard's head of snows,
That shoots into the sky,
Where, yet unform'd, in grim repose
Ten thousand avalanches lie.

I love Lucerne's transparent lake,
And Jura's hills of pride,
Whence infant rivers, gushing, break
With small and scanty tide.

And thou, Mont Blanc! thou mighty pile Of crags and ice and snow;

The Gallic foes in wonder smile

That we should love thee so!

But we were nurst within thy breast, And taught to brave thy storms: Thy tutorage was well confest Against the Frank in arms

The Frank who basely, proudly came
To reud us from our home,
With flashing steel and wasting flame.-
How could he, dare he come?

THE EXPEDITION OF NADIR SHAH
INTO HINDOSTAN.

"Quoi vous allez combattre un roi, dont la puissance
Semble forcer le ciel de prendre sa defense,
Sous qui toute l'Asie a vu tomber ses rois

Et qui tient la fortune attachée à ses lois !"

RACINE'S Alerandre,

Squallent populatibus agri."

CLAUDIAN.

As the host of the locusts in numbers, in might
As the flames of the forest that redden the night,
They approach: but the eye may not dwell on the

glare

Of standard and sabre that sparkle in air.

Like the fiends of destruction they rush on their way, The vulture behind them is wild for his prey; And the spirits of death, and the demons of wrath, Wave the gloom of their wings o'er their desolate path.

Earth trembles beneath them, the dauntless, the bold; Oh! weep for thy children, thou region of gold;* For thy thousands are bow'd to the dust of the plain, And all Delhi runs red with the blood of her slain.

For thy glory is past, and thy splendor is dim, And the cup of thy sorrow is full to the brim; And where is the chief in thy realms to abide, The "Monarch of Nations," the strength of his pride?

This invader required as a ransom for Mohammed Shah no less than thirty millions, and amassed in the rich city of Delhi the enor mous sum of two hundred and thirty-one millions sterling. Others, however, differ considerably in their account of this treasure.

+ Such pompous epithets the Oriental writers are accustomed to bestow on their monarchs; of which sufficient specimens may be seen in Sir William Jones's translation of the "History of Nadir Shah." We can scarcely read one page of this work without meeting with such sentences as these: "Le roi des rois ;"" Les étendards

Like a thousand dark streams from the mountain | And headlong they go when the bugles blow, they throng,

With the fife and the horn and the war - beating

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And sound from steep to steep:

But lighter far,

Like the motion of air

On the smooth river's bed,

Is the noiseless tread

Of the foot of the Maid of Savoy!

In Savoy's vales, with green array'd,
A thousand blossoms flower,

'Neath the odorous shade by the larches made,
In their own ambrosial bower:
But sweeter still,

Like the cedars which rise

On Lebanon's hill

To the pure blue skies,

Is the breath of the Maid of Savoy!

In Savoy's groves full merrily sing

A thousand songsters gay,

When the breath of spring calls them forth on the

wing,

To sport in the sun's mild ray:

But softer far,

Like the holy soug

Of angels in air,

When they sweep along,

Is the voice of the Maid of Savoy!

IGNORANCE OF MODERN EGYPT.

DAY's genial beams expand the flowers
That bloom in Damietta's bowers;
Beneath the night's descending dew
They close those leaves of finest hue:
So Science droops in Egypt's land,
Beneath the Turkish despot's hand;
The damps of Ignorance and Pride
Close up its leaves, its beauties hide:
The morrow's rays her flowers may woo-
Is there no ray for Science too?

MIDNIGHT.

'Tis midnight o'er the dim mere's lonely bosom,
Dark, dusky, windy midnight: swift are driven
The swelling vapors onward: every blossom
Bathes its bright petals in the tears of heaven.
Imperfect, half-seen objects meet the sight,
The other half our fancy must portray;
A wan, dull, lengthen'd sheet of swimming light
Lies the broad lake: the moon conceals her ray,
Sketch'd faintly by a pale and lurid gleam
Shot thro' the glimmering clouds: the lovely
planet

Is shrouded in obscurity; the scream

Of owl is silenced; and the rocks of granite
Rise tall and drearily, while damp and dank
Hang the thick willows on the reedy bank.
Beneath, the gurgling eddies slowly creep,
Blacken'd by foliage; and the glutting wave,
That saps eternally the cold gray steep,
Sounds heavily within the hollow cave.
All earth is restless-from his glossy wing*
The heath-fowl lifts his head at intervals;
Wet, driving, rainy, come the bursting squalls;
All nature wears her dun dead covering.
Tempest is gather'd, and the brooding storm

qui subjuguent le monde;" "L'âme rayonnante de sa majesté :" Spreads its black mantle o'er the mountain's form;

"Le rayonnant monarque du monde ;" "Sa maiesté conquérante

du monde ;" etc.

The land is as the Garden of Eden before them, and behind

them a desolate wilderness."-Joel

*The succeeding lines are a paraphrase of Ossian.

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