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The cup of woe was quaffd-the spirit fled; | Not such as erst, by her divine command, The soul of him that scorn'd to fear or fly- Her form appear'd from Phidias' plastic Who lived and died as none can live or die!

hand; Gone were the terrors of her awful brow,

Her idle Ægis bore no Gorgon now; But, lo! from high Hymettus to the plain, Her helm was deep indented, and her lance The queen of night asserts her silent reign; Seem'd weak and shaftless, e'en to mortal No murky vapour, herald of the storm,

glance; Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing The olive-branch, which still she deign'd form:

to clasp, With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams Shrunk from her touch and wither'd in her play,

grasp: There the white column greets her grateful And,ah! though still the brightest of the sky,

ray,

Celestial tears bedimm'd her large blue eye; And bright around, with quivering beams Round the rent casque her owlet circled beset,

slow, Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret: And mourn'd his mistress with a shriek The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide

of woe. Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide, "Mortal! ('twas thus she spake) that blush The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,

of shame The gleaming turret of the gay

Kiosk, Proclaims thee Briton-once a noble nameAnd, dun and sombre mid the holy calm, First of the mighty, foremost of the free, Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm, Now honour'd less by all—and least by me: All tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye. Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found:And dull were his that pass'd them heed - Seekst thou the cause? O mortal, look

around! Lo! here, despite of war and wasting fire,

I saw successive tyrannies expire; Again the Ægean, heard no more afar, 'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war;

Goth,
Again his waves in milder tints unfold Thy country sends a spoiler worse than both!
Their long array of sapphire and of gold, Survey this vacant violated fane;
Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle, Recount the relics torn that yet remain;
That frown- where gentler ocean seems to These Cecrops placed - this Pericles adornd –

smile.
That Hadrian rear’d when drooping science

mourn'd:

What more I owe let gratitude attestAs thus within the walls of Pallas' fane Know, Alaric and Elgin did the rest. I mark'd the beauties of the land and main, That all may learn from whence the plunAlone and friendless, on the magic shore

derer came, Whose arts and arms but live in poet's lore, Th'insulted wall sustains his hated name. Oft as the matchless dome I turn’d to scan, For Elgin's fame thus grateful Pallas pleads: Sacred to gods, but not secure from man, Below, his name-above, behold his deeds! The past return'd, the present seem'd to Be ever hail'd with equal honour here

The Gothic monarch and the Pictish peer. AndGlory knew no clime beyond her Greece. Arms gave the first his right-the last had Hours rollid along, and Dian's orb on high

none, Had gaind the centre of her softest sky, But basely stole what less barbarians won! And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod So when the lion quits his fell repast, O'er the vain shrine of many a vanish'd god; Next prowls the wolf- the filthy jackal last : But chiefly, Pallas! thine, when Hecate's Flesh, limbs, and blood, the former make glare,

their own; Check’d by thy columns, fell more sadly fair The last base brute securely gnaws the bone. O'er the chili marble, where the startling Yet still the gods are just, and crimes are tread

crostThrills the lone heart like echoes from See here what Elgin won, and what he lost!

the dead.

Another name with his pollutes my shrine, Long had I mused, and measured every tracc Behold where Dian's beams disdain to shine! The wreck of Greece recorded of her race, Some retribution still might Pallas claim, When, lo! a giant-form before me strode, When Venus half avenged Minerva's shame.” And Pallas hail'd me in her own abode. Yes, 'twas Minerva's self, but, ah! how

changed

She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply, Since o'er the Dardan field in arms shc To soothe the vengeance kindling in her ranged!

eye:

cease,

"Daughter of Jove! in Britain's injured name, | Europe's worst dauber and poorBritain's best, A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim! With palsied hand shall turn each model o'er, Frown not on England - England owns him And own himself an infant of fourscore:

not

Be all the bruisers call'd from all St. Giles, Atheno, no ! the plunderer was a Scot! That art and nature may compare their Ask'st thou the difference? From fair Phyle's

styles; towers

While brawny brates in stupid wonder stare, Survey Bæotia - Caledonia 's ours; And marvel at his lordship’s stone-shop there And well I know within that bastard-land Round the throng'd gate shall sauntering Hath wisdom's goddess never held command:

coxcombs creep, A barren soil, where nature's germs,confined, To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep: To stern sterility can stint the mind; While many a languid maid, with longing Whose thistle well betrays the niggard

sigh, earth,

On giant-statues casts the curious eye ; Emblem of all to whom the land gives birth. The room with transient glance appear Each genial influence nurtured to resist,

to skim, A land of meanness, sophistry, and mist: Yet marks the mighty back and length e Each breeze from foggy mount and marshy

limb ; plain

Mourns o'er the difference of now and thca; Dilutes with drivel every drizzling brain, Exclaims, "these Greeks indeed were pro Till burst at length each watery head o'er

per men;" flows,

Draws slight comparisons of these with Foul as their soil, and frigid as their snows:

those, Ten thousand schemes of petulance and pride And envies Laïs all her Attic beaux: Despatch her scheming children far and wide; When shall a modern maid hare swaias Some east, some west, some - every where

like these? but north, Alas! Sir Harry is no Hercules! In quest of lawless gain they issue forth; And last of all, amidst the gaping crew, And thus, accursed be the day and year,

Some calm spectator, as he takes his view, She sent a Pict to play the felon here. In silent indignation, mix'd with grief, Yet, Caledonia claims some native worth, Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief. As dull Bæotia gave a Pindar birth- Loathed throughout life---scarce pardon'd So may her few, the letter'd and the brave,

in the dust, Bound to no clime, and victors o'er the grave, May hate pursue his sacrilegious lust! Shake off the sordid dust of such a land, Link'd with the fool who fired th’Ephesian And shine like children of a happier strand :

dome, As once of yore, in some obnoxious place, Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb; Ten names (if found) had saved a wretched Erostratus and Elgin e'er shall shine

race!”

In many a branding page and burning line!
Alike condemn’d for aye to stand accursed

Perchance the second viler than the first : “Mortal,” the blue-eyed maid resumed, So let him stand through ages yet unborn,

"once more,

Fix'd statue on the pedestal of scorn! Bcar back my mandate to thy native shore; Though not for him alone revenge shall Though fallen, alas! this vengeance still

wait, is mine,

But fits thy country for her coming fate: To turn my counsels far from lands like Hers were the deeds that taught her lavthine.

less son Hear then in silence Pallas' stern behest; To do what oft Britannia's self had done. Hear and believe, for time shall tell the rest. Look to the Baltic blazing from afar First on the head of him who did the deed Your old ally yet mourns perfidious var: My curse shall light,- on him and all his Not to such deeds did Pallas lend her aid,

seed :

Or break the compact which herself had Without one spark of intellectual fire,

made; Be all the sons as senseless as the sire: Far from such councils, from the faithless If one with wit the parent brood disgrace,

field Believe him bastard of a brighter race; She fled - but left behind her Gorgon-shield; Still with his hireling artists let him prate, A fatal gift, that turn’d your friends to stone, And folly's praise repay for wisdom's hate! And left lost Albion hated and alone. Long of their patron's gusto let them tell, Look to the east, where Ganges'swarthy race Whose noblest native gusto—is to sell : Shall shake your usurpation to its base; To sell, and make (may shame record the Lo! there rebellion rears her ghastly head,

day!)

And glares the Nemesis of native dead, The state receiver of his pilfer'd prey!

Till Indus rolls a deep purpureal flood, Meantime, the flattering feeble dotard, West, I And claims his long arrcar of northern blood.

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So may ye perish! Pallas, when she gave | Then in the senate of your sinking state, Your frce-born rights, forbade ye to enslave. Show me the man whose counsels may have Look on your Spain, she clasps the hand

weight. she hates,

Vain is each voice whose tones could once But coldly clasps, and thrusts you from

command ; her gates.

E'en factions cease to charm a factions lands Bear witness bright Barrossa, thou canst tell While jarring sects convulse a sister-isle, Whose were the sons that bravely fought And light with maddening hands the muand sell.

tual pile. While Lusitania, kind and dear ally, Can spare a few to fight and sometimes fly. Oh glorious field ! by famine fiercely won; “ 'Tis done, 'tis past, since Pallas warns The Gaul retires for once, and all is done!

in vain, Bat when did Pallas teach that one retreat The Furies seize her abdicated reign; Retrieved three long olympiads of defeat ? Wide o'er the realm they wave their kindLook last at home-ye love not to look there,

ling brands, On the grim smile of comfortless despair And wring her vitals with their fiery hands. Your city saddens, loud though revel howls, But one convulsive struggle still remains, Here famine faints, and yonder rapine And Gaul shall weep ere Albion wear her prowls :

chains. See all alike of more or less bereft- The banner'd pomp of war, the glittering No misers tremble when there's nothing left.

files, “Blest paper credit” who shall dare to sing? O'er whose gay trappings stern Bellona It clogs like lead corruption's weary wing:

smiles ; Yet Pallas pluck'd each Premier by the car, The brazen trump, the spirit-stirring drum, Who gods and men alike disdain’d to hear; That bid the foe defiance ere they come; But one, repentant o'er a bankrupt state, The hero, bounding at his country's call, On Pallas calls, but calls, alas! too late; The glorious death that decorates his fall, Then raves for ***; to that Mentor bends, Swell the young heart with visionary Though he and Pallas never yet were

charms, friends:

And bid it antedate the joys of arms. Him senates hear whom never yet they But know, a lesson you may yet be taught

heard,

With death alone are laurelscheaply boughts Contemptuous once, and now no less absurd: Not in the conflict havoc seeks delight, So once of yore each reasonable frog His day of mercy is the day of fight; Swore faith and fealty to his sovereign log; But when the field is fought, the battle won, Thus hail'd your rulers their patrician clod, Though drench'd with gore, his woes are As Egypt chose an onion for a god.

bnt begun. His deeper deeds ye yet know but by name,

The slaughter'd peasant and the ravish'd “Now fare ye well, enjoy your little hour;

dame, Go, grasp the shadow of your vanish'd The rifled mansion and the foe-reap'd field,

power;

Il suit with souls at home untaught to Gloss o'er the failure of each fondest scheme,

yield. Your strength a name, your bloated wealth Say with what eye, along the distant down,

a dream.

Would flying burghers mark the blazing Gone is that gold, the marvel of mankind,

town? And pirates barter all that's left behind, How view the column of ascending flames No more the hirelings, purchased near Shake his red shadow o'er the startled and far,

Thames ? Crowd to the ranks of mercenary war; Nay, frown not, Albion! for the torch was The idle merchant on the useless quay

thine Droops o'er the bales no bark may bear That lit such pyres from Tagus to the Rhine:

away,

Now should they burst on thy devoted coast, Or, back retnrning, sees rejected stores Go, ask thy bosom, who deserves them Rot piecemeal on his own encumber'd shores;

most? The starved mechanic breaks his rusting The law of heaven and earth is life for life;

loom,

And she who raised in vain regrets the And desperate mans him 'gainst the common

strife. doom.

London, 1812.

THE AGE OF BRONZE;

OR,

CARMEN SECULARE ET ANNUS, HAUD MIRABILIS.

"Impar Congressus Achi14."

his car;

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TAB "good old times”—all times, when He "wept for worlds to conquer !" he old, are good

who ne'er Are gone; the present might be, if they conceived the globe he panted not to spare!

would ;

With even the busy Northern Isle unknown, Great things have been, and are, and great- Which holds his urn, and never knew his er still

throne. Want little of mere mortals but their will: A wider space, a greener field is given To those who play their “tricks before high But where is he, the modern, mightier far,

Heaven."

Who, born no king, made monarchs draw
I know not if the angels weep, but men
Have wept enough—for what ?—to weep The new Sesostris, whose unharness'd kings,

again.
Free'd from the bit, believe themselves

with wings,

And spurn the dust o'er which they cravlid All is cxploded-be it good or bad.

of late, Reader! remember when thou wert a lad, Chain'd to the chariot of the chieftain's Then Pitt was all; or, if not all, so much,

state? His

very rival almost deem'd him such. Yes! where is he, the Champion and the We, we have seen the intellectual race

Child Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face-Of all that's great or little, wise or wild? Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea Whose game was empires and whose stakes Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free,

were thrones ? As the deep billows of the Ægean roar Whose table, earth_whose dice were human Betwixt the Hellenic and thePhrygian shore.

bones? But where are they-the rivals ? - a few feet Behold the grand result in yon lone isle, Of sullen earth divide each winding-sheet. And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile. How peaceful and how powerful is the grave Sigh to behold the eagle's lofty rage Which hushes all! a calm, unstormy wave Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage; Which oversweeps the world. The theme Smile to survey the Queller of the Nations

is old

Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations; Of “dust to dust;” but half its tale untold. Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines, Time tempers not its terrors - still the worm O'er curtail'd dishes and o'er stinted wines; Winds its cold folds, the tomb preserves O'er petty quarrels upon petty things

its form

Is this the man who scourged or feasted Varied above, but still alike below;

kings ? The urn may shine, the ashes will not glow. Behold the scales in which his fortune Though Cleopatra's mummy cross the sea,

hangs, O'er which from empire she lured Anthony; A surgeon's statement and an earl's haThough Alexander's urn a show be grown

rangues ! On shores he wept to conquer, though A bust delay'd, a book refused, can shake

unknown

The sleep of him who kept the world awake. How vain, how worse than vain at length Is this indeed the Tamer of the Great,

appear

Now glave of all could teaze or irritateThe madman's wish, the Macedonian's tear! The paltry jailor and the prying spy, He wept for worlds to conquer-half the The staring stranger with his note-book carth

nigh? Knows not his name, or but his death and Plunged in a dungeon, he had still been birth

great ; And desolation ; while his native Greece How low, how little was this middle state, Hath all of desolation, save its peace. Between a prison and a palace, where

cause,

How few could feel for what he had to bear! He wants not this; but France shall feel Vain his complaint, my Lord presents his

the want bill,

Of this last consolation, though 80 scant ; His food and wine were doled out duly still: Her honour, fame, and faith, demand his Vain was his sickness,-never was a clime

bones, So free from homicide- to doubt's a crime; To rear above a pyramid of thrones ; And the stiff Surgeon, who maintain'd his Or, carried onward, in the battle's van

To form, like Guesclin's dust, her talisman. Hath lost his place, and gain'd the world's But be it as it is, the time may come

applause.

His name shall beat the alarm like Ziska's But smile—though all the pangs of brain

drum. and heart Disdain, defy, the tardy aid of art; Though, save the few fond friends, and Oh, Heaven! of which he was in power imaged face

a feature; Of that fair boy his sire shall ne'er embrace, Oh, Earth! of which he was a noble creature; None stand by his low bed—though even Thou Isle! to be remember'd long and well,

the mind

That sawst the unfledged eaglet chip his Be wavering, which long awed and awes

shell! mankind;- Ye Alps, which view'd him in his dawning Smile-for the fetter'd Eagle breaks his

flights chain,

Hover, the victor of an hundred fights! And higher worlds than this are his again. Thou Rome, who sawst thy Cæsar's deeds

outdone!

Alas! why pass'd he too the Rubicon ? How, if that soaring Spirit still retain The Rubicon of man's awaken’d rights, A conscious twilight of his blazing reign, To herd with vulgar kings and parasites ? Now must he smile, on looking down, to see Egypt! from whose all dateless tombs arose The little that he was and sought to be! Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose, What though his name a wider empire found And shook within their pyramids to hear Than his ambition, though with scarce a A new Cambyses thundering in their ear ;

bound;

While the dark shades of forty ages stood Though first in glory, deepest in reverse, Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood; He tasted empire's blessings and its curse; Or from the pyramid's tall pinnacle Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape Beheld the desert peopled, as from hell, From chains, would gladly be their tyrant's With clashing hosts, who strew'd the ape;

barren sand How must he smile, and turn to yon lone To re-manure the uncultivated land!

grave,

Spain! which, a moment mindless of the Cid, The proudest sea-mark that o'ertops the Beheld his banner flouting thy Madrid !

wave!

Austria! which saw thy twice-ta'en capital What though his jailor, duteous to the last, Twice spared, to be the traitress of his fall! Scarce deem'd the coffin's lead could keep Ye race of Frederic!- Frederics but in name

him fast,

And falsehood - heirs to all except his fame; Refusing one poor line along the lid Who, crush'd at Jena, crouch'd at Berlin, fell To date the birth and death of all it hid, First, and but rose to follow ; ye who dwell That name shall hallow the ignoble shore, Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet A talisman to all save him who bore : The unpaid amount of Catherine's bloody The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast

debt! Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the Poland! o'er which the avenging angel mast:

passid, When Victory's Gallic column shall but rise, But left thee as he found thee, still a waste; Like Pompey's pillar, in a desert's skies, Forgetting all thy still enduring claim, The rocky isle that holds or held his dust Thy lotted people and extinguish'd name; Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust, Thy sigh for freedom, thy long-flowing tear, And mighty Nature o'er his obscquies That sound that crashes in the tyrant's ear; Do more than niggard Envy still denies. Kosciusko! on - on--on -- the thirst of war Bat what are these to him? Can glory's lust Gasps for the gore of serfs and of their Czar; Touch the free'd spirit or the fetter'd dust? The half-barbaric Moscow's minarets Small care hath he of what his tomb consists, Gleam in the sun, but 'tis a sun that sets ! Nought if he sleeps—nor more if he exists: Moscow! thou limit of his long career, Alike the better-seeing Shade will smile For which rude Charles had wept his froOn the rude cavern of the rocky isle,

zen tear As if his ashes found their latest home To see in vain-he saw thee-how? with In Rome's Pantheon, or Gaul's mimic dome.

epire

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