And said, "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery! 15 Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery." FAREWELL!-BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE HOUR Farewell!-but whenever you welcome the hour That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the friend who once welcom❜d it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. 5 His griefs may return, not a hope may remain Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway of pain, But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw Its enchantment around him, while ling'ring with you. And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up 10 To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup, Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night; Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles, And return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles 15 Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay Her smile when Beauty granted, 15 Oft meet in glen that's haunted. 20 Oh, winds could not outrun me. And are those follies going? 25 Again to set it glowing? 30 Is now as weak as ever. With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave, Its temples, and grottos, and fountains as clear As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave? 5 Oh! to see it at sunset, when warm o'er the lake Its splendor at parting a summer eve throws, Like a bride, full of blushes, when ling 'ring to take A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes! When the shrines through the foliage are gleaming half shown, 10 And each hallows the hour by some rites of its own. And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet 20 From the cool, shining walks where the young people meet: Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks, Hills, cupolas, fountains, call'd forth every one Out of darkness, as if but just born of the Sun. 25 When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with 30 the day, From his Haram of night-flowers stealing When the East is as warm as the light of first hopes, And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurl'd, Shines in through the mountainous portal that opes, Sublime, from that valley of bliss to the world! But never yet, by night or day, In dew of spring or summer's ray, 35 Did the sweet valley shine so gay As now it shines-all love and light, Visions by day and feasts by night! A happier smile illumes each brow, With quicker spread each heart uncloses, 40 And all its ecstasy, for now 45 50 The valley holds its Feast of Roses; The joyous time, when pleasures pour Profusely round and, in their shower, Hearts open, like the season's rose, The flow 'ret of a hundred leaves, Expanding while the dew-fall flows, And every leaf its balm receives. 'Twas when the hour of evening came 55 And wak'd to moonlight and to play. Than look'd the valley in that hour. 60 A thousand restless torches play'd Through every grove and island shade; A thousand sparkling lamps were set On every dome and minaret; And fields and pathways, far and near, 65 Were lighted by a blaze so clear, That you could see, in wand'ring round, The smallest rose-leaf on the ground. Yet did the maids and matrons leave Their veils at home, that brilliant eve; 70 And there were glancing eyes about, And cheeks, that would not dare shine out 75 80 85 90 110 In open day, but thought they might 115 Look lovely then, because 'twas night. And all were free, and wandering, And all exclaim'd to all they met, That never did the summer bring So gay a Feast of Roses yet; The moon had never shed a light So clear as that which bless'd them there; The roses ne'er shone half so bright, Nor they themselves look'd half so fair. And what a wilderness of flow'rs! It seem'd as though from all the bow'rs Had fall'n upon it from the sky! The minaret-crier's chant of glee 95 From neighboring Haram, wild and 100 105 sweet; The merry laughter, echoing From gardens, where the silken swing Wafts some delighted girl above The top leaves of the orange-grove; Or, from those infant groups at play Among the tents that line the way, Flinging, unaw'd by slave or mother, Handfuls of roses at each other. Then the sounds from the lake:-the low whisp'ring in boats, As they shoot through the moonlight; the dipping of oars; And the wild, airy warbling that ev'rywhere floats, Through the groves, round the islands, as if all the shores, 1 joyous chorus I've had a dream that bodes no good As far as it is right or lawful A dome of frost-work, on the plan In this said palace, furnish'd all And lighted as the best on land are, 15 I dreamt there was a splendid ball, Given by the Emperor Alexander,2 To entertain with all due zeal, 70 75 Scarce was the luckless strain begun, Run, France-a second Waterloo Is come to drown you-sauve qui peut!'" Why, why will monarchs caper so In palaces without foundations?- Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decorations-- With double heads for double dealingsHow fast the globes and sceptres glided Out of their claws on all the ceilings! 85 Proud Prussia's double bird of prey Tame as a spatchcock,2 slunk away; While-just like France herself, when she 90 Proclaims how great her naval skill isPoor Louis' drowning fleurs-de-lys Imagin'd themselves water-lilies. And not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves, But-still more fatal executionThe Great Legitimates themselves Seem'd in a state of dissolution. 95 The indignant Czar-when just about To issue a sublime ukase,3 "Whereas all light must be kept out"Dissolv'd to nothing in its blaze. Next Prussia took his turn to melt, 100 And, while his lips illustrious felt The influence of this southern air, This precious brace would, hand in 105 hand, go; Now-while old Louis,2 from his chair, Call'd loudly out for a fandango.3 60 And a fandango, 'faith, they had, At which they all set to, like mad! Never were kings (though small the expense is Of wit among their Excellencies) So out of all their princely senses. 65 But, ah, that dance-that Spanish dance 1 A stately Polish dance. Louis XVIII, King of France (1814-24). A lively Spanish dance. Some word, like "constitution"-long And sighing out a faint adieu 110 Or like that goodly king they make |