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The hope of an immortal state,

And with the King of kings!

And ye may gaze upon my brow,

Which is not sad, tho' pale; These hope-illumin'd features show

But little to bewail,

Death should not chase the wonted bloom

From off the Christian's face; Ill prelude of the bliss to come,

Prepar'd by heavenly grace. Lament no more — no longer weep

That I depart from men; Brief is the intermediate sleep,

And bliss awaits me then!

Whence is your course ? and do ye

bear The sighs of other worlds along, When through the dark immense of air

Ye rush in tempests loud and strong ? Methinks, upon your moaning course

I hear the army of the dead; Each on his own invisible horse,

Triumphing in his trackless tread. For when the moon conceals her ray,

And midnight spreads her darkest veil, Borne on the air, and far away,

Upon the eddying blasts they sail. Then, then their thin and feeble bands

Along the echoing winds are rollid; The bodyless tribes of other lands!

The formless, misty sons of old !


And then at times their wailings rise,

The shrilly wailings of the grave! And mingle with the madden'd skies,

The rush of wind, and roar of wave.

These lines are signed ' A. T. (?),' and may be safely assigned to Charles.

Tu fais naitre la lumière
Du sein de l'obscurité.'


How gaily sinks the gorgeous sun within his

golden bed, As heaven's immortal azure glows and deepens

into red! How gaily shines the burnish'd main beneath

that living light, And trembles with his million waves magnifi

cently bright! But ah ! how soon that orb of day must close

his burning eye, And night, in sable pall array'd, involve yon

lovely sky! E'en thus in life our fairest scenes are preludes For fleeting as that glorious beam is happiness

below. But what ? though evil fates may frown upon

our mortal birth, Yet Hope shall be the star that lights our night

of grief on earth: And she shall point to sweeter morns, when

brighter suns shall rise, And spread the radiance of their rays o'er earth,

and sea, and skies !

Heard you that sound ? It was the hum

Of the innumerable host,
As down the northern sky they come,

Lamenting o'er their glories lost.
Now for a space each shadowy king,

Who sway'd of old some mighty realm, Mounts on the tempest's squally wing,

And grimly frowns thro' barred helm. Now each dim ghost, with awful yells,

Uprears on high his cloudy form; And with his feeble accent swells

The hundred voices of the storm. Why leave ye thus the narrow cell,

Ye lords of night and anarchy! Your robes the vapours of the dell.

Your swords the meteors of the sky ? Your bones are whitening on the heath;

Your fame is in the minds of men: And would ye break the sleep of death,

That ye might live to war again?

to our woe:


Signed ' A. T. (?),' and I am inclined to believe the poem Charles's, though Mr. Shepherd, in his “Tennysoniana,' compares the closing lines with “The red fool-fury of the Seine ' in * In Memoriam.'

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Tous les objets de mon amour,
Nos clairs ruisseaux,
Nos hameaux,
Nos coteaux,
Nos montagnes ?'

With Memory's eye,
Thou land of joy!

I view thy cliffs once more;

Oh! ye wild winds, that roar and rave

Around the headland's stormy brow, That toss and heave the Baltic wave,

And bid the sounding forest bow,

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BABYLON Come down, and sit in the dust, О virgin daughter of Babylon ; sit on the ground : there is no throne.' ISAIAH xlvii. 1. Bow, daughter of Babylon, bow thee to dust! Thine heart shall be quell’d, and thy pride shall

be crush'd: Weep, Babylon, weep! for thy splendour is

past; And they come like the storm in the day of the


For I am the Lord, who have mightily spann'd The breadth of the heavens, and the sea and

the land; And the mountains shall flow at my presence, 3

and earth Shall reel to and fro in the glance of my wrath! Your proud domes of cedar on earth shall be

thrown, And the rank grass shall wave o'er the lonely

hearthstone; And your sons and your sires and your daugh

ters shall bleed By the barbarous hands of the murdering

Mede! I will sweep ye away in destruction and death, As the whirlwind that scatters the chaff with

its breath; And the fanes of your gods shall be sprinkled

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with gore,

Though thy streets be a hundred, thy gates be

all brass, Yet thy proud ones of war shall be wither'd

like grass;

Thy gates shall be broken, thy strength be laid

And the course of your stream shall be heard

of no more ! There the wandering Arab shall ne'er pitch his

low, And thy streets shall resound to the shouts of

the foe! 1 * Arise, ye princes, and anoint the shield.' - ISAIAH xxi. 5.

? ‘I will make drunk her princes.' - JEREMIAH li. 57.

3 • The mountains melted from before the Lord.' JUDG. v.5 Oh! that the mountains might flow down

tent, But the beasts of the desert shall wail and la

ment; In their desolate houses the dragons shall lie, And the satyrs shall dance, and the bittern

shall cry !5 at thy presence.! - Isaiah lxiv. 1. And again, ver. 3, • The mountains flowed down at thy presence.'

• ' A drought is upon her waters.' - JEREMIAH 1. 38. 5 Vide ISAIAH xiii. 20.

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To sit beside a chrystal spring,
Cool'd by the passing zephyr's wing,
And bend my every thought to thee,
Is life, is bliss, is ecstacy !
And as within that spring I trace
Each line, each feature of my face;
The faithful mirror tells me true —
It tells me that I think of you !


ALMIGHTY Love! whose nameless power

This glowing heart defines too well, Whose presence cheers each fleeting hour,

Whose silken bonds our souls compel,

Diffusing such a sainted spell, As gilds our being with the light

Of transport and of rapturous bliss, And almost seeming to unite

The joys of other worlds to this,

The heavenly smile, the rosy kiss; Before whose blaze my spirits shrink,

My senses all are wrapt in thee, Thy force I own too much, to think

(So full, so great thine ecstacy)

That thou art less than deity!
Thy golden chains embrace the land,

The starry sky, the dark blue main;
And at the voice of thy command,

(So vast, so boundless is thy reign) All nature springs to life again!

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The glittering fly, the wondrous things

That microscopic art deseries;
The lion of the waste, which springs,

Bounding upon his enemies;
The mighty sea-snake of the storm,
The vorticella's viewless form,
The vast leviathan, which takes

His pastime in the sounding floods;
The crafty elephant, which makes

His haunts in Ceylon's spicy woods
Alike confess thy magic sway,
Thy soul-enchanting voice obey !
0! whether thou, as bards have said,

Of bliss or pain the partial giver,
Wingest thy shaft of pleasing dread

From out thy well-stor'd golden quiver, O'er earth thy cherub wings extending, Thy sea-born mother's side attending; — Or else, as Indian fables say,

Upon thine emerald lory riding, Through gardens, mid the restless play

Of fountains, in the moon-beam gliding, Mid sylph-like shapes of maidens dancing, Thy scarlet standard high advancing; — Thy fragrant bow of cane thou bendest,2

I wanging the string of honey'd bees,
And thence the flower-tipp'd arrow sendest,

Which gives or robs the heart of ease;
Camdeo, or Cupid, O be near,
To listen, and to grant my prayer!

En illa, illa quam sæpe optastis, libertas !

SALLUST. AROUSE thee, O Greece ! and remember the

day, When the millions of Xerxes were quellid on

their way! Arouse thee, O Greece ! let the pride of thy Awake in thy bosom the light of thy fame! Why hast thou shone in the temple of glory?

Why hast thou blaz'd in those annals of fame? For know, that the former bright page of thy

story Proclaims but thy bondage and tells but thy

shame: Proclaims from how high thou art fallen --- how

low Thou art plung'd in the dark gulf of thraldom

and woe! Arouse thee, O Greece! from the weight of thy

slumbers ! The chains are upon thee! arise from thy

sleep! Remember the time, when nor nations nor num

bers Could break thy thick phalanx embodied and

deep. Old Athens and Sparta remember the morning, When the swords of the Grecians were red to

the hilt: And, the bright gem of conquest her chaplet

adorning; Platæa rejoic'd at the blood that ye spilt ! Remember the night, when, in shrieks of af

fright, The fleets of the East in your ocean were

sunk: Remember each day, when, in battle array, From the fountain of glory how largely ye

drunk! For there is not ought that a freeman can fear,

As the fetters of insult, the name of a slave; And there is not a voice to a nation so dear, As the war-song of freedom that calls on the KING CHARLES'S VISION


• He bends the luscious cane, and twists the string;
With bees how sweet, but ah! how keen the sting!
He with five flowrets tips thy ruthless darts,
Which thro' five senses pierce enraptur'd hearts'

1 See BAKER on Animalcule.
· See Sir WILLIAM JONES'S WORK3, vol. vi. p. 313.

(A Vision somewhat resembling the following, and prophetic of the Northern Alexander, is said to have been witnessed by Charles XI. of Sweden, the antagonist of Sigismund. The reader will exclaim, 'Credet Judæus Apella ! '] KING CHARLES was sitting all alone,

In his lonely palace-tower,
When there came on his ears a heavy groan,

At the silent midnight hour.
He turn'd him round where he heard the sound,

But nothing might he see;
And he only heard the nightly bird

That shriek'd right fearfully.
He turn'd him round where he heard the sound,

To his casement's arched frame; * And he was aware of a light that was there,' 1

But he wist not whence it came. He looked forth into the night,

'Twas calm as night might be; But broad and bright the flashing light

Stream'd red and radiantly.
From ivory sheath his trusty brand

Of stalwart steel he drew;
And he rais'd the lamp in his better hand,

But its flame was dim and blue.

(Four and twenty on each side)

Stand in that lordly hall. The king had been pight 2 in the mortal fight,

And struck the deadly blow; The king he had strode in the red red blood,

Often, afore, and now: Yet his heart had ne'er been so harrow'd with

fear As it was this fearful hour; For his eyes were not dry, and his hair stood on

high, And his soul had lost its power. For a blue livid flame, round the hall where he

In fiery circles ran;
And sounds of death, and chattering teeth,

And gibbering tongues began.
He saw four and twenty statesmen old

Round a lofty table sit;
And each in his hand did a volume hold,

Wherein mighty things were writ.
In burning steel were their limbs all cas'd;

On their cheeks was the flush of ire:
Their armour was brac'd, and their helmets

were lac'd, And their hollow eyes darted fire. With sceptre of might, and with gold crown

bright, And locks like the raven's wing, And in regal state at that board there sate

The likeness of a king.

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And he open'd the door of that palace-tower,

But harsh turn'd the jarring key: * By the Virgin's might,' cried the king that

night, "All is not as it should be !'

Slow turn d the door of the crazy tower,

And slowly again did it close; And within and without, and all about,

A sound of voices rose.

The king he stood in dreamy mood,

For the voices his name did call;
Then on he past, till he came at last

To the pillar'd audience-hall.
Eight and forty columns wide,
Many and carv'd and tall,
1. And he was aware of a Grey-friar.'

The Grey Brother. ' And he was aware of a knight that was there.'

The Baron of Smalhome.
3 ' A hideous rock is PIGHT
Ot mighty magues-stone.'

• You vile abominable tents,
Thus proudly PIGHT upon our Phrygian plains !'

SHAKESPEARE. This is, perhaps, an unpardonable falsehood, since it is well known that Charles was so great an enemy to finery as even to object to the appearance of the Duke of Marlborough on that account. Let those readers, therefore, whose critical nicety this passage offends,

With crimson ting'd, and with ermine fring'd,

And with jewels spangled o'er, And rich as the beam of the sun on the stream,

A sparkling robe he wore.8 Yet though fair shone the gem on his proud

diadem, Though his robe was jewell'd o'er, Though brilliant the vest on his mailed breast,

Yet they all were stain'd with gore ! And his eye darted ire, and his glance shot fire,

And his look was high command; substitute the following stanza, which is the whole truth, and nothing but the truth':

With buttons of brass that glitter'd like glass,

And brows that were crown'd with bays.
With large blue coat, and with black jack-boot,

The theme of his constant praise. Nothing indeed could exceed Charles's affection for his boots: he eat, drank, and slept in them; nay, he never went on a bootless errand. When the dethroned monarch Augustus waited upon him with proposals of peace, Charles entertained him with a long dissertation on his unparalleled aforesaid jack-boots: he even went so far as to threaten (according to Voltaire), in an authoritative epistle to the senate at Stockholm, that unless they proved less refractory, he would send them one of his boots as regent ! Now this, we must allow, was a step beyond Caligula's consul.

And the glitter of gold, and the statesmen old,

Fled into the gloom of night!

And each, when he spoke, struck his mighty

book, And rais'd his shadowy hand. And a headman stood by, with his axe on high,

And quick was his ceaseless stroke; And loud was the shock on the echoing block,

As the steel shook the solid oak.



While short and thick came the mingled shriek

Of the wretches who died by his blow; And fast fell each head on the pavement red,

And warm did the life-blood flow.

Said the earthly king to the ghostly king,

What fearful sights are those ? Said the ghostly king to the earthly king,

• They are signs of future woes ! Said the earthly king to the ghostly king,

By Saint Peter, who art thou ? Said the ghostly king to the earthly king,

* I shall be, but I am not now.' Said the earthly king to the ghostly king,

But when will thy time draw niglı ? Oh ! the sixth after thee will a warrior be, And that warrior am I.

Church, in 'The Laureate's Country' (London, 1891), says:

“The poet tells a curious story of the way in which this English verse prize came to be won. His father imagined, not, it may be, wholly without reason, that his son was doing very little at the university, and, knowing that he had a certain gift for writing verse, told him that he ought to compete for the Chancellor's medal. Alfred Tennyson had composed, two years before, a poem on “ The Battle of Armageddon." This he took, furnished it with a new beginning and a new end, and sert it in for the theme of “ Timbuctoo." ;

This is confirmed by the ‘Memoir' (vol. i. p. 46), where other interesting information concerning the poem may be found.

The poem was printed in the ‘Prolusiones Academicæ’ at Cambridge in 1829, and was reprinted several times afterwards in the collection of Cambridge Prize Poems. It was never reprinted by the author, but his son appends it to the 1893 edition of . Poems by Two Brothers.'

Arthur Hallam was one of the unsuccessful competitors for this prize. His poem, written in the terza rima of Dante, was privately printed in pamphlet form, and is included in the · Remains of 1834, edited by his father.

• And the lords of the earth shall be pale at my

birth, And conquest shall hover o'er me; And the kingdoms shall shake, and the nations

shall quake, And the thrones fall down before me.


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* And Cracow shall bend to my majesty,

And the haughty Dane shall bow;
And the Pole shall fly from my piercing eye,

And the scowl of my clouded brow. * And around my way shall the hot balls play,

And the red-tongued flames arise; And my pathway shall be on the midnight sea,

'Neath the frown of the wintry skies. • Thro' narrow pass, over dark morass,

And the waste of the weary plain, Over ice and snow, where the dark streams

flow, Thro' the woods of the wild Ukraine.

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Deep in that lion-haunted inland lieu
A mystic city, goal of high emprise.'

I stood upon the Mountain which o'erlooks
The narrow seas, whose rapid interval
Parts Afric from green Europe, when the Sun
Had fall'n below th' Atlantic, and above
The silent heavens were blenchid with faery

light, Uncertain whether faery light or cloud, Flowing Southward, and the chasms of deep,

deep blue Slumber'd unfathomable, and the stars Were flooded over with clear glory and pale. I gazed upon the sheeny coast beyond, There where the Giant of old Time infix'd The limits of his prowess, pillars high Long time erased from earth: even as the Sea When weary of wild inroad buildeth up Huge mounds whereby to stay his yeasty waves. And much I mused on legends quaint and old Which whilome won the hearts of all on earth Toward their brightness, ev'n as flame draws

air; But had their being in the heart of man

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