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Intently thought-intensely felt :
To throb o'er those of life bereft; The deepest ice which ever froze
Withont the power to fill again Can only o'er the surface close
The desert gap which made his pain; The living stream lies quick below, Without the hope to meet them where And flows and cannot cease to flow. United souls shall gladness share, Still was his seal'd-up bosom haunted With all the consciousness that he By thoughts which N re hath implanted: Had only passd a just decree; Too deeply rooted thence to vanish, That they had wrought their doom Howe'er our stifled tears we banish;
of ill; When, struggling as they rise to start, Yet Azo's age was wretched still. We check those waters of the heart, The tainted branches of the tree, They are not dried-those tears unshed If lopp'd with care, a strength may give, But flow back to the fountain-head, By which the rest shall bloom and live And resting in their spring more pure, All greenly fresh and wildly free: For ever in its depth endure,
But if the lightning, in its wrath, Unseen, unwept, but uncongeald,
The waving boughs with fury scathe, And cherish'd most where least reveal'd. The massy trunk the ruin feels. With inward starts of feeling left,
And never more a leaf reveals.
THE PRISONER OF CHILL0N.
SONNET ON CHILLON.
That father perish'd at the stake ETERNAL spirit of the chainless mind!
For tenets he would not forsake; Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, And for the same his lineal race For there thy habitation is the heart
In darkness found a dwelling-place ; The heart which love of thee alone can We were seven-who now are one,
Six in youth, and one in age, And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd
Finish'd as they had begun, To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless Proud of Persecution's rage;
One in fire, and two in field, Their country conquers with their martyr
Their belief with blood have seal'd;
Dying as their father died,
For the God their foes denied ;
wind. Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place,
Of whom this wreck is left the last.
There are seven pillars of gothic mold,
Dim with a dull imprison'd ray,
A snobeain which hath lost its way,
Like a marsh's meteor-lamp:
And in each ring there is a chain;
That iron is a cankering thing, As men's have grown from sudden fears : For in these limbs its teeth remain, My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, With marks that will not wear away, But rusted with a vile repose,
Till I have done with this new day, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, Which now is painful to these eyes, And mine has been the fate of those Which have not seen the sun so risc To whom the goodly earth and air For years - I cannot count them o'er, Are bann'd, and barr’d-forbidden fare; I lost their long and heavy score, But this was for my father's faith, When my last brother droop'd and died, I suffer'd chaing and courted death; i And I lay living by his side.
They chain'd us each to a column-stone, Its massy waters meet and flow;
From Chillon's snow-white battlement, We could not see each other's face,
Which round about the wave enthralls: But with that pale and livid light A double dungeon wall and wave That made us strangers in our sight;
Have made-and like a living grave. And thus together- yet apart,
Below the surface of the lake Fetter'd in hand, but pined in heart; ! The dark vault lies wherein we lay, Twas still some solace in the dearth We heard it ripple night and day; Of the pure elements of earth,
Sounding o'er our heads it knock'd; To hearken to each other's speech, And I have felt the winter's spray And each turn comforter to each,
Wash through the bars when winds were high With some new hope, or legend old, And wanton in the happy sky; Or song heroically bold;
And then the very rock hath rock’d, But even these at length grew cold.
And I have felt it shake unshock’d, Our voices took a dreary tone
Because I could have smiled to see An echo of the dungeop-stone,
The death that would have set me free. A grating sound-not full and free As they of yore were wont to be: It might be fancy-but to me
I said my nearer brother pined,
I said his mighty heart declined,
It was not that 'twas coarse and rude, I was the eldest of the three,
For we were used to hunter's fare, And to uphold and cheer the rest
And for the like had little care: I ought to do—and did my best
The milk drawn from the mountain-goat And each did well in his degree.
Was changed for water from the moat, The youngest, whom my father loved,
Our bread was such as captive's tears Because our mother's brow was given Have moisten'd many a thousand years, To him- with eyes as blue as heaven,
Since man firet pent his fellow-men For him my soul was sorely moved ; Like brutes within an iron den : And truly might it be distrest
But what were these to us or him? To see such bird in such a nest;
These wasted not his heart or limb; For he was beautiful as day
My brother's soul was of that mold (When day was beautiful to me
Which in a palace had grown cold, As to young eagles, being free)
Had his free breathing been denied A polar day, which will not see
The range of the steep mountain's side; A sunset till its summer's gone,
But why delay the truth?—he died. Its sleepless summer of long light,
I saw, and could not hold his head, The snow-clad offspring of the sun : Nor reach his dying hand-nor dead, And thus he was as pure and bright, Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, And in his natural spirit gay,
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. With tears for nought but others' ills,
He died and they unlock'd his chain, And then they flow'd like mountain-rills, And scoop'd for him a shallow grave Unless he could assuage the woe
Even from the cold earth of our cave. Which he abhorr'd to view below.
I begg'd them, as a boon, to lay
His corse in dust whereon the day The other was as pure of mind, , Might shine-it was a foolish thought, But form’d to combat with his kind; But then within my brain it wrought, Strong in his frame, and of a mood
That even in death his freeborn breast Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, In such a dungeon could not rest. And perish'd in the foremost rank
I might have spared my idle prayer-With joy :- but not in chains to pine: They coldly laugh'd - and laid him there: His spirit wither'd with their clank,
The flat and turfless earth above I saw it silently decline
The being we so much did love;
Such murder's fitting monument!
But he, the favourite and the flower, Had follow'd there the deer and wolf ;
Most cherish'd since his natal hour, To him this dungeon was a gulf,
His mother's image in fair face, And fetter'd feet the worst of ills.
The infant love of all his race,
His martyr'd father's dearest thought, Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: My latest care, for whom I sought A thousand' feet in depth below
To hoard my life, that his might be
Less wretched now, and one day free; And then of darkness too:
Among the stones I stood a stone,
As shrubless crags within the mist; Oh God! it is a fearful thing
For all was blank, and bleak, and gray, To see the human soul take wing
It was not night-it was not day, In any shape, in any mood :
It was not even the dungeon-light, I've seen it rushing forth in blood, So hateful to my heavy sight, I've seen it on the breaking ocean
But vacancy absorbing space, Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, And fixedness—without a place; I've seen the sick and ghastly bed
There were no stars--no earth-no timeOf Sin delirious with its dread:
No check-no change-no good-no crimeBut these were horrors- this was woe But silence, and a stirless breath Unmix'd with such- but sure and slow : Which neither was of life nor death; He faded, and so calm and meek,
A sea of stagnant idleness, So softly worn, so sweetly weak,
Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless! So tearless, yet so tender-kind, And grieved for those he left behind; With all the while a cheek whose bloom A light broke in upon my brain,Was as a mockery of the tomb,
It was the carol of a bird ; Whose tints as gently sunk away
It ceased, and then it came again, As a departing rainbow's ray
The sweetest song ear ever heard, An eye of most transparent light,
And mine was thankful till my eyes That almost made the dungeon bright, Ran over with the glad surprise, And not a word of murmur-not
And they that moment could not see A groo'er his untimely lot,
I was the mate of misery ; A little talk of better days,
But then by dull degrees came back A little hope my own to raise,
My senses to their wonted track, For I was sunk in silence-lost
I saw the dungeon-walls and floor
Close slowly round me as before,
Creeping as it before had done,
That bird was perch'd, as fond and tamc,
And song that said a thousand things,
It seem'd like me to want a mate,
But was not half so desolate, The accursed breath of dungeon-dew; And it was come to love me when The last-the sole--the dearest link None lived to love me so again, Between me and the eternal brink, And cheering from my dungeon's brink, Which bound me to my failing race, Had brought'me back to feel and think. Was broken in this fatal place.
I know not if it late were free, One on the earth, and one beneath
Or broke its cage to perch on mine,
Or if it were, in winged guise,
For-Heaven forgive that thought! the A frantic feeling, when we know
while That wh:at we love shall ne'er be so. Which made me both to weep and smile; I know not why
I sometimes deem'd that it might be
My brother's soul come down to me;
And then 'twas mortal-well I knew,
And left me twice so doubly lone, -
Lone-as a solitary cloud,
While all the rest of heaven is clear,
A kind of change came in any fate,
The only one in view;
I made a footing in the wall,
It might be months, or years, or days, It was not therefrom to escape,
I kept no count-I took no note, For I had buried one and all,
had no hope my eyes to raise, Who loved me in a human shape;
And clear them of their dreary mote; And the whole earth would henceforth be
At last men came to set me free, A wider prison unto me:
I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where, No child—no sire-no kin had I,
It was at length the same to me,
Fetter'd or fetterless to be,
I learn'd to love despair.
And thus when they appear'd at last, But I was curious to ascend
And all my bonds aside were cast, To my barr’d windows, and to bend
These heavy walls to me had grown Once more, *upon the mountains high,
A hermitage--and all my own!
And half I felt as they were come
With spiders I had friendship made,
To make us what we are :-even I Which in my very face did smile, Regain’d my freedom with a sigh.
M A Z E P P A.
56 Celui qui remplissait alors cette place, “Le roi fuyant et poursuivi eut son cheval était un gentilhomme Polonais, nommé tué sous lui; le Colonel Gieta, blessé, et Mazeppa, né dans le palatinat de Podolie; perdant tout son sang, lui donna le sien. il avoit été élevé page de Jean Casimir, et Ainsi on remit deux fois à cheval, dans la avait pris à sa coar quelque teinture des fuite, ce conquérant qui n'avait pu y monbelles-lettres. Une intrigue qu'il ent dans ter pendant la bataille.". sa jeanesse avec la femme d'un gentilhomme “ Le roi alla par un autre chemin avec Polonais ayant été découverte, le mari le quelques cavaliers. Le carosse où il était fit lier tout nu sur un cheval farouche, et le rompit dans la marche; on le remit à cheval. laissa aller en cet état. Le cheval, qui était Pour comble de disgrace, il s'égara pendu pays de l'Ukraine, y retourna, et y porta dant la nuit dans un bois; là, son conrage Mazeppa, demi-mort de fatigue et de faim. ne pouvant plus suppléer à ses forces épuiQuelques paysans le secoururent: il resta sées, les douleurs de sa blessure devenues long-temps parmi eux, et se signala dans plus insupportables par la fatigue, son plusieurs courses contre les Tartares. La su- cheval étant tombé de lassitude, il se coupériorité de ses luwières lui donna une grande cha quelques henres, au pied d'un arbre, considération parmi les Cosaques : sa répu- en danger d'être surpris à tout moment par tation s'augmentant de jour en jour obligea les vainqueurs qui le cherchaient de tous le Czar à le faire Prince de l'Ukraine." côtés."--VOLTAIRE, Histoire de Charles XII.
Twas after dread Pultova's day,
In out-worn nature's agony; When fortune left the royal Swede, His wounds were stiff his limbs were Around a slanghter'd army lay,
stark No more to combat and to bleed.
The heavy hour was chill and dark; The power and glory of the war,
The fever in his blood forbade Faithless as their vain votaries, men,
A transient slumber's fitful aid : Had pass'd to the triumphant Czar, And thus it was; but yet through all, And Moscow's walls were safe again, King-like the monarch bore his fall, Until a day more dark and drear,
And made, in this extreme of ill,
His pangs the vassals of his will;
A band of chiefs !-- alas! how few,
Since but the fleeting of a day Sach was the hazard of the die; Had thinn'd it; but this wreck was true The wounded Charles was taught to fly And chivalrous; upon the clay By day and night through field and flood, Each sate him down, all sad and mute, Staind with his own and subjects' blood; Beside his monarch and his steed, For thousands fell that flight to aid : For danger levels man and brute, And not a yoice was heard to upbraid And all are fellows in their need. Ambition in his humbled hour,
Among the rest, Mazeppa made When truth had nought to dread from power. His pillow in an old oak’s shadellis horse was slain, and Gieta gave Himself as rough, and scarce less old, His own--and died the Russians' slave. The Ukraine's hetman, calm and bold; This too sinks after many a league But first, outspent with his long course, Of well sustain'd, but vain fatigue; The Cossack prince rubb'd down his horse, And in the depth of forests, darkling And made for him a leafy bed, The watch-fires in the distance sparkling And smooth’d his fetlocks and his mane, The beacons of surrounding foes - And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein, A king must lay his limbs at length. And joy'd to see how well he fed ; Are these the laurels and repose
For until now he had the dread For which the nations strain their strength? His wearied courser might refuse They laid him by a savage tree,
To browze beneath the midnight dews: