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STAR of the brave!-whose beam hath shed
Such glory o'er the quick and dead-
Thou, radiant and adored deceit!

Which millions rushed in arms to greet,

Wild meteor of immortal birth!

Why rise in Heaven to set on Earth?

2.

Souls of slain heroes formed thy rays;
Eternity flashed through thy blaze;
The music of thy martial sphere
Was fame on high and honour here;
And thy light broke on human eyes,.
Like a volcano of the skies.

3.

Like lava rolled thy stream of blood,
And swept down empires with its flood;
Earth rocked beneath thee to her base,
As thou didst lighten through all space;
And the shorn Sun grew dim in air,
And set while thou wert dwelling there.

Before thee rose,

4.

and with thee grew,

A rainbow of the loveliest hue

Of three bright colours, each divine,
And fit for that celestial sign;

For Freedom's hand had blended them,
Like tints in an immortal gem.

5.

One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes ;
One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes;
One, the pur'e Spirit's veil of white
Had robed in radiance of its light;
The three so mingled did beseem
The texture of a heavenly dream.

6.

Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,
And darkness must again prevail!
But, oh! thou Rainbow of the free!
Our tears and blood must flow for thee.
When thy bright promise fades away,
Our life is but a load of clay.

7.

And Freedom hallows with her tread
The silent cities of the dead;
For beautiful in death are they
Who proudly fall in her array;
And soon, oh goddess! may we be
For evermore with them or thee!

LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP

FORMED FROM A SKULL.

START not-nor deem my spirit fled :

In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.

I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee;
I died; let earth my bones resign:
Fill up thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

Better to hold the sparkling grape,

Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood; And circle in the goblet's shape

The drink of gods, than reptile's food.

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me shine;

And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine!

Quaff while thou canst another race,
When thou and thine like me are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.

Why not? since through life's little day

Our heads such sad effects produce; Redeemed from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs, to be of use.

Newstead Abbey, 1808....

WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE.

1.

DEAR object of defeated care!

Though now of love and thee bereft,

To reconcile me with despair

.

Thine image and my tears are left.

2.

'Tis said with sorrow Time can cope,
But this I feel can ne'er be true:
For by the death-blow of my hope
My memory immortal grew.

THE

CURSE OF MINERVA,

A POEM.

Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pallas

Immolat, et pœnam scelerato ex sanguine sumit.

SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea's hills the setting sun :

Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light!

O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws,
Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows:
On old Ægina's rock, and Idra's isle,

The god of gladness sheds his parting smile;
O'er his own regions ling ring loves to shine,
Though there his altars are no more divine.
Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss
Thy glorious gulph, unconquer'd Salamis !
Their azure arches through the long expanse
More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance,
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
Mark his gay course and own the hues of heaven;
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,
Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.

On such an eve, his palest beam he cast,
When Athens! here thy wisest look'd his last.
How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray,
That closed their murder'd (1) sage's latest day!

(1) Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset (the hour of execution), notwithstanding the entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went down.

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