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• Expende Annibalem :-quot libras in duce summo lovenics!


• The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the Italians, and by the provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues and military talents were loudly celebrated ; and those who derived aos private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains the restoration of publie felicity.

By ibis shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very ambiguous state, between an emperor and an exile, till

GIBBON'S Decline and Fall, vol. vi, p. 220,

ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 'T is done—but yesterday a king!

And arm d with kings to striveAnd now thou art a nameless thing

So abject-yet alive!
Is this the man of thousand thrones,
Who strew'd our earth with hostile bones?

And can lie thus survive?
Since he, miscali'd the Morning Star,
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.
Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind,

Who bow'd so low the knee?
By gazing on thyself grown blind,

Thou taught'st the rest to see.
With might unquestion d, -power to save--
Thine only gift hath been the grave

To those that worshipp'd thee;
Nor, till thy fall, could mortals guess
Ambition's less than littleness !
Thanks for that lesson-it will teach

To after-warriors more
Than bigh philosophy can preach,

And vainly preaclid before.
That spell upon the minds of men
Breaks never to unite again,

That led them to adore
Those pagod things of sabre-sway,
With fronts of brass, and feet of clay.

The triumpli, and the vanity,

The rapture of the strife-
The earthquake shout of Victory,

To thee the breath of life;
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway
Which man seem'd made but to obey,

Wherewith renown was rife-
All quella!--Dark spirit! what must be
The madness of thy memory!
The desolator desolate!

The victor overtlırown! The arbiler of others' fate

A suppliant for his own!
Is it some yet imperial hope
That with such change can calmly cope?

Or dread of death alone?
To die a prince-or live a slave-
Thy choice is most ignobly brave!
Hea who of old would rend the oak

Dream'd not of the rebound;
Chain'd by the trunk be vainly broke --

Alone- how look'd he round ?-
Thou, in the sternness of thy strength,
An equal deed hast done at length,

And darker fate hast found:
He fell, the forest-prowlers' prey;
But thiou must eat thy heart away!
The Roman,3 when his burning heart

Was slaked with blood of Rome, Threw down the dagger--dared depart,

In savage grandeur, home.
He dared depart, in utter scorn
Of men that such a yoke had borne,

Yet left liim such a doom!
His only glory was that hour
Of self-upheld abandon'd power.
The Spaniard 4 when the lust of sway

Had lost its quickening spell,
Cast crowns for rosaries away,

An empire for a cell;
A strict accountant of his beads,
A subtle disputant on creeds,

His dotage trifled well:

"Certaminis gandia, the expression of Attila, in his baran goe to his army, previous to the battle of Chalons, given in Cassiodorus.

Milo. 3 Sylla. 4 Charles V.

L'oless, like he of Babylon,
All scuse is with thy sceptre goue,

Life will nou long confine
That spirit pour'd so widely forte-
So lony obey'd--so little wortha!
Or like the thief of fire from heaven,'

Wilt thou withstand the shock?
And share with him, the unforgiven,

Dis vulture and his rock? Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst, And that last act, though not thy worst,

The very fiend's arch mock;? Ile in his fall preserved his pride, And, if a mortal, had as proudly died !



itself away,

Yet better liad le neither known
A bigot's shrine, nor despot's tbronc.
But thou—from thy reluctant hand

The thunderbolt is wrung;
Too late thou leavest the high command

To which thy weakness clung:
All evil spirit as thou art,
It is enough to grieve the heart,

To see ibine own instrunt;
To think that God's fair world hath been
The footstool of a thing so mean;
And earth batlı spilt hier blood for liim,

Who thus can board his own!
And monarchs bowd the trembling limb,

And thank'd him for a throne!
Fair freedom! we may bold thee dear,
When thus they mightiest for their fear

In bumblest guise have shown.
Oh! pc'er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind !
Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,

Nor written thus in vain
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,

Or deepen every stain.
If thou hadai died as honour dies,
Some new Napoleon might arise,

To share the world again,
But who would soar the solar hcigli,
To set in such a starless night?
Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust

Is vile as vulgar clay;
Thy scales, mortality! are just

To all that pass away;
But yel, methought, the living great
Some higher sparks should animate,

To dazzle and dismay;
Nor deem'd contempt could thus make mirih
Of these, the conquerors of the carth.
And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,

Thy still imperial bride;
llow bcars lier breast the torturing hour?

Suill clings she to thy side ?
Must she 100 bend, must she 100 share
Thy late repentance, long despair,

Thou throneless homicide ?
If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,
'T is worth thy vanishi'd diadem!
Then hastc thee to thy sullen isle,

And gize upon the sea ;
That element may meet thy smile,

It ne'er was ruled by thee!
Or trace with thine all idle hand,
In loitering mood, upon the sand,

That carth is now as free!
That Corinta's pedagogue bath now
Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow,
Thou Timnour' in his captive's cage'

What thoughes will there be thine,
While brooding in thy prison'd rage?

But onc- The world was mine.»


Wuen the last sun-shine of expiring day
In summer's twilight weeps
Who hath not felt the softness of the hour
Sink on the heart, as dew along the tlower?
With a pure feeling whiclı absorbs and awes,
While Nature makes liat melancholy pause
Her breathing inomeut on the bridge where Time
Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime,
Who hath not shared that calm so still and deep.
The voiceless thought which would not speak but wees,
1 holy concord and a bright regret,

glorious sympathy wil!ı suns that set?
'Tis not harsh sorrow-but a tenderer woe,
Nameless, but dear to gentle liearts below,
Felt without bitterness, but full and clear,
A swect dejection-a transparent tear,
l'umixil with worldly grief or sellislı stain,
Shed without shame, and secret without pain.
Even as the tenderness that hour instils
Wien summer's day declines along the hills,
So feels the fulness of our heart aud eyes
When all of genius which can perish dies.
I mighty spirit is eclipsed-a power
Hath passed from day to darkness-to whose hour
Of light no likeness is bequeath'd-no name,
Focus at once of all the rays of fame!
The flaslı of wit-the bright intelligence,
The beam of song-the blaze of eloquence,
Srt with their sun--but still have left behind
The enduring produce of immortal Mind;
Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon,

A deathless part of him who died too soon, i But small that portion of the wondrous whole, These sparkling segments of that circliog soal. Which all einbraced-and lighten'd over all, To cheer-10 pierce-to please-or to appal. I'rom the charm'd council to the festive board, of human feelings the unbounded lord ; lu whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied, The praised--the proud-wlio made his praise their pride

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I Prometheus.

2 The fiend's arch mock-
Tolip a wanton, and suppose her chaste..


" The rate of Najazrt, to order of Tamerlane.


When the loud cry of trampled Ilindostan'

Ye orators! whoin yet our councils yield, Arose to Heaven in her appeal from mao,

Mourn for the veteran hero of your field! His was the thunder-his the avenging rod,

The worthy rival of the wondrous Three!
The wrath-the delegated voice of God!

Whose words were sparks of immortality!
Which shook the nations through his lips—and blazed Ye bards! to wbom the Drama's Muse is dear,
Till vanquislid senates trembled as they praised. He was your master-emulate him here!
And here, oh! here, where, yet all young and warm,

Ye men of wit and social eloquence!
The gay creations of his spirit charm,

lle was your brother-bear his ashes hence! The matchless dialogue-the deathless wit,

While powers of mind almost of boundless range, Which knew not what it was to intermit;

Complete in kind- as various in their change, The glowing portraits, fresh from life that bring

While eloquence-wil-poesy-and mirib, llome to our hearts the truth from which they spring;

That humbler harmonist of care on earth, These wondrous beings of his fancy, wrought

Survive within our souls-while lives our sense To fulness by the fiat of his thought,

Of pride in merit's proud pre-eminence, Here in their first abode you still may meet,

Long shall we seek his likeness-long in vain, Bright with the hues of his Promeihean leat;

And turn to all of him which may remain, A halo of the liglu of other days,

Sighing ihai Naturc formd but one such map,
Which still the splendour of its orb betrays.

And broke the die-in moulding Sheridan!
But should there be to whom the fatal blight
Of failing wisdom yields a base delight,

Men who exult when minds of beavenly tone
Jar in the music which was born their own,

Eng the Daughter of Brudswick is cold in her grave, Still let them pause-Ah! little do they know

And her ashes still float to their home o'er the tide, That what to them seem’d vice might be but woe.

Lo! George the triumphant speeds over the wave, Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze

To the long-cherislı'd Isle wlich he loved like hisIs fix'd for ever to detract or praise;

bride. Repose denies her requiem to his nume,

True, the great of her bright and brief era are gone, And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. The secret enemy whose sleepless eye

The rainbow-like epocb where Freedom could pause Stands sentinel-accuser-judge-and spy,

For the few little years, out of centuries won, The foe-the fool-thc jealous--and the vain,

Which betray d not, or crush'd not, or wept not her The envious who but breathe in others' pain, Behold the host! delighting to deprave,

True, the chains of the Catholic clank o'er his rags, Who track the steps of glory to the grave,

The castle still stands, and the senate 's no more, Watch every fault that daring genius owes

And the famine, which dwelt on her freedomless crags lalf to the ardour which its birth bestows,

Is extending its steps to her desolate shore.
Distort the truth, accumulate the lie,
And pile the pyramid of calumuy!

To her desolate shore--wbere the emigrant stands These are his portion—but if join'd to these

For a moment to gaze ere be dies from his hearth; Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease, Tears fall on his chain, though it drops from his hands, If the high spirit must forget to soar,

For the dungeon he quits is the place of his birth. And stoop to strive with misery at the door, To soothe indignity-and face to face

But he comes! the Messiah of royalty coines! Meet sordid rage-and wrestle with disgrace,

Like a goodly Leviathan rollal from the waves! To find in hope but the renew'd caress,

Then receive him as best such an advent becomes, The serpeut-fold of further faithlessness,

With a legion of cooks, and an army of slaves! If such may be the ills which men assail,

He comes in the promise and bloom of three-score, What marvel if at last the mightiest fail?

To perform in the pageant the sovereign's partBreasts to whom all the strength of feeling given

But long live the Shamrock which shadows him o'er! Bear hearts electric-charged with fire from heaven,

Could the Green in his hat be transferr'd to his heart! Black with the rude collision, inly torn, By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne, Could that long-wither'd spot but be verdant again, Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst

And a new spring of noble affections ariseThoughts which have turn'd to thunder-scorch-and | Then might Freedom forgive thee this dance in thy chain, burst.

And this shout of thy slavery which saddens the skies. But far from us and from our mimic scene Such things should be-if such have ever been;

Is it madness or meanness which clings to thee now?

Were be God-as he is but the commonest clay, Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task,

With scarce fewer wrinkles than sins on his brow-To give the tribute Glory need not ask,

Such servile devotion might shame him away.
To mourn the vanish'd beam- and add our mite
Of praise in payment of a long delight.

Ay, roar in his train! let thine orators lash * See Fox, Barke, and Pitt's eulogy on Mr Sheridan's speech on the

Their fanciful spirits to pamper his pride-charges o bibiud against Mr Hastings in the llouse of Commons. Not thus did thy GRATTAN indignantly tlash Mr Pilt entreated the llouse to adjourn, to give time for a calmer

llis soul o'er the freedom implored and denied. consideration of the question than could theu occur after tbe immediate effort of that oration.

'Fox, Pitt, Burke.

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their prey?

Ever-glorious GRATTAN! the best of the good!


when the Isle which should blush for his birth, So simple in heart, so sublime in the rest!

Deep, deep, as the core which lie shed on her soil, With all which Demosthenes wanted, endued,

Seems proud of the reptile whiclı craw'l from her earth, And his rival or victor in all he possess d.

And for murder repays him with shouts and a smile! Ere Tully arose in the zenith of Rome,

Without one single ray of her genius, without Though unequall'd, preceded, the task was begun- The fancy, the manhood, the fire of her raceBut Grattan sprung up like a good from the tomb The miscreant who well might plunge Erin in doubt, Of agcs, the first, last, the saviour, the One!

If she ever gave birth to a being so base. With the skill of an Orpheus to soften the brule; If she did-let lier long-boasted proverb be hushid,

With the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankind; Which proclaims that from Erix no reprie can Even Tyranny listening sate melied or mute,

springAnd Corruption shrunk scorch'd from the glance of See the cold-blooded serpent, with venom full finslid, his mind.

Still warming its folds in the breast of a king! But back to our theme! back to despots and slaves! Niout, drink, feast, and Batter! Oh! Eriv, low los

Feasts furnish'd by Famine! rejoicings by Pain! Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyranny, till True Freedom but welcomes, while slavery still raves, Thy welcome of tyrants hath plunged the below When a week's Saturnalia hath loosen'd ber chain.

The depth of thy deep in a deeper gulpha still. Let the poor squalid splendour day wreck can afforit

Vy veice, though but humble, was raised for thy righi, (As the bankrupt's profusion his ruin would bide)

My vote, as a freeman's, still voted thee free, Gild over the palace, Lo! Erin, thy lord!

This band, though but frcble, would arm, in the fight, Kiss his foot with thy blessings denied!

And this heart, though ouiworn, had a throb still

for thee! Or if freedom past hope be extorted at last, If the Idol of Brass lind his feet are of clay,

Yes, I loved thee and thine, though thou art not my Must what terror or policy wring forth be class'd

land; With what monarchis oc'er give, but as wolves picki I have knowo noble bearts and great souls in thy 500.,

And I wept with the world o'er the patriot band Each brute bath its nature, a king's is to reign,

Who are gone, but I weep them no longer as once. To reign! in that word see, ye ages, coinpriscil For happy are they now reposing afar,The cause of the curses all annals contain,

Thy GramTAN, thy CURRAN, thy SHERIDAN, all From Cesan the dreaded, to George the despised! Who, for years, were the chiefs in the eloquent war,

And redeemd, if they have not retarded, thy fall.
Wear, Fingal, thy trapping! O'CONNELL, proclaim
His accomplishments! llis.!!! and thy country con- Yes, bappy are they in their cold English graves!

Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of to-day, Half an age's contempt was an error of Fımc,

Nor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing slaves And that« Ilal is the rascaliest sweetest young Prince!» Be stamp'd in the turf o'er their fetterless clay. Will thy yard of blue riband, poor Fingal, recal

Till now I had envied thy sons and their shore, The fetters from millions of Catholic limbs?

Thous:lı teir virtues wereliunted, their liberties tlou, Or, has it not bound thee the fastest of all

There was something so warm and sublime in the core The slaves, who now hail their betrayer with hymns?

Of au Irishman's heart, that lenvy-thy dead. ly! « Build him a dwelling!» let each give his mite!

Or, if auglit in my bosom can quenchi for an hour Till, like Babel, the new royal Ilome hat arisen!

My contempt for a nation so servile, though sore, Let thy beggars and Belots their pittance unite

Which though irod like the worm will not turn upou And a palace bestow for a poor-bouse and prison !


*T is the glory of Grattan, and genius of Moore! Spread-spread, for Vuellius, the royal repast,

Sept. 16th, 1821. Till the gluttonous despot be stuft to the gorge! And the roar of his drunkards proclaim him at list

THE DREAM. The Fourth of the fools and oppressors call d«GEORGE!»

1. Let the tables be loaded with feasts till they groan!

Our life is twofold; slepp bath its own world,
Till they groan like thy people, through ages of woe! I boundary between the things miswamed
Let the wine tlow around the old Bacchanal's thrope, Deilla and chistence: sleep bath its own world,
Like their blood which has flowd, and which yerlis Sud a wide realm of wild reality,
to flow.

Andreams in their developement have breathi,

And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; But let not his name be thine idol alone

They leave a weight upon our waking thoughes, On his right band behold a SETANU's appears! Tory take a weisslit from off our waking toils, Thine own CASTLEREAGI! let linn still be clipe own! They do divide our being; they become

I wreich, never name but with curses and jerry! ! portion of ourselses as of ow' lime,

my dream.

He rose,

And look like heralds of eternity:

NII. They pass like spirits of the past,- they speak A change came o'er the spirit of Like sybils of the future; they have power

There was an ancient mansion, and before
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;

Its walls there was a stced caparison'd:
They make us what we were not what they will, Within an antique oratory stood
And shake us with the vision that's gone by,

The boy of whom I spake ;-he was alone,
The dread of vanish'd shadows, Are they so?

And pale, and pacing to and fro; anon Is not the past all shadow? What are they?

He sate hiin down, and seized a pen, and traced Creations of the mind ? - The mind can make

Words which I could not guess of: then he lean'd Substance, and people planets of its own

Ilis bow'd head on his hands, and shook as 't were With beings brighter than have been, and give With a convulsion-then arose again, A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.

And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear I would recal a vision which I dream'd

What he had written, but he shed no tears. Perchance in sleep--for in itself a thought,

And he did calm himself, and fix his brow A slumbering thought, is capable of years,

Into a kind of quict : as he paused, And curdles a long life into one hour.

The lady of liis love re-enter'd there;

Slie was serene and smiling then, and yet

She knew she was by him beloved,- she knew, I saw two beings in the hues of youth

For quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill,

Was darken'd with her shadow, and she saw Green and of mild declivity, the last

That he was wretched, but she saw not all. As 't were the cape of a long ridge of such,

avd with a cold and gentle grasp Save that there was no sea to lave its base,

He took hier hand; a moment o'er his face
But a most living landscape, and the wave

A tablet of unutterable thoughts
Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men Was traced, and then it faded as it came;
Scatter'd at intervals, and wreathing smoke

Ile dropp'd the land he held, and with slow steps Arising from such rustic roofs;- the hill

Retired, but not as bidding her adieu, Was crown'd with a peculiar diadem

For they did part with mutual smiles: he passid Of trees, in circular array, so fix'd,

From out the massy gate of that old hall, Not by the sport of nature, but of man:

And mounting on his steed he went his way, These two, a maiden and a youth, were there

And ne'er repass'd that hoary threshold more. Gazing--the one on all that was beneath Fair as bcrself—but the boy guzed on her;

IV. And both were young, and one was beautiful :

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. And both were young, vet not alike in youth.

The boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,

Of fiery climes he made himself a home, The maid was on the eve of womanhood:

And his soul drank their sunbeams; he was girt The boy had fewer summers, but his heart

With strange and dusky aspects; he was not fiad far outgrown his years, and to his eye

Himself like what he had been; on the sca There was but one beloved face on earth,

And on the shore he was a wanderer; And that was shining on bim; he had look d

There was a mass of many images l'pon it till it could not pass away;

Crowded like waves upon me, but he was He had no breath, no being, but in hers;

A part of all; and in the last he lay She was his voice; he did not speak to her,

Reposing from the noon-tide sultriness, But trembled on her words; she was his sight, Couchi'd among fallen columas, in the shade For his eye follow'd hers, and saw with hers,

Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names Which colour'd all his objects;- lip bad ceased Of those who reard them; by his sleeping side To live within himself; she was his life,

Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds The ocean to the river of his thoughes,

Were fasten'd near a fountain; and a man Which terminated all: upon a tone,

Clad in a tlowing garb did watch the while, I touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, While many of his tribe slumber'd around: And his cheek change tempestuously, his heart And they were canopied by the blue sky, Unknowing of its cause of agony.

So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful, But she in these fond feelings had no share:

That God alone was to be seen in heaven. ller sighs were not for him; to her he was Even as a brother--but no more; I was much,

V. For brotherless she was, save in the name

change came o'er the spirit of my dream. ller infant friendship had bestow'd on bim;

The lady of his love was wed with one Herself the solitary scion left

"lo did not love her better: in her home, Of a lime-honourd race. It was a name

A thousand leagues from his, - her native home, Which pleased him, and yet pleased him vot-and why? She dwelt, begirt with growing infancy, Time taught him a deep answer—when she loved Daughters and sons of beauty,—but behold! Another; even now she loved another,

l'pon her face there was the tint of grief, And on the summit of that hill she stood

The settled shadow of an inward strife, Looking afar if yet her lover's steed

ind an unquiet drooping of the eye, lirpt pace with her expectancy, and flew.

As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.

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