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While many a languid eye and thrilling hand
Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand,
Oh Love! young Love! bound in thy rosy band,
Let sage or cynic prattle as he will,
But, midst the throng in merry masquerade,
Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain,
Even through the closest searment half betray'di
To such the gentle murmurs of the main
Seem to reécho all they mourn in vain ;
To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd
Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain :
How do they loathe the laughter idly loud,
This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece,
If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast.
Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace,
The bondsman's peace, who sighs for all he lost,
Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost,
And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword:
Ah! Greece! they love thee least who owe thee
Their birth, iheir blood, and that sublime record
When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men,
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state;
Can man in shatter'd splendor renovate,
Proclaim thee Nature's varied favorite now;
Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns
Save o'er some warrior's half-forgotten grave,
While strangers only not regardless pass,
But spare its relics—let no busy hand
So may our country's name be undisgraced, Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare;
So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was rear' Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair.
By every honest joy of love and life endear'd!
Hath soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around,
Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng And all the Muse's tales seem truly told,
Of louder minstrels in these later days; Till the sense aches with gazing to behold
To such resign the strife for fading bays, The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon :
Ill may such contest now the spirit inove Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial pribe
Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone: Since cold each kinder heart that might approve Age shakes Athera's tower, but spares gray Mara- And none are left to please, when pone are ieft! thon
XCV. The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same;
Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one! Unchanged in all except its foreign lord
Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame
Who did for me what none beside have done, The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde
Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. First bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword,
What is my being? thou hast ceased to be! As on the morn to distant Glory dear,
Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home, When Marathon became a magic word ; :
Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall sed Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear
Would they had never been, or were to come! The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's ca- Would he had ne'er returned, to find fresh cause
Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved !
How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past,
And clings to thoughts now better far removed Such was the scene-what now remaineth here?
But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last. (has What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground,
All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death! the Recording freedom's smile, and Asia's tear?
The parent, friend, and now the more than friend The rifled urn, the violated mound,
Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast, The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to len
And grief with grief continuing still to blend,
Then must I plunge again into the crowd,
And follow all that Peace disdains to seek? Hail the bright clime of battle and of song;
Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud, Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue
False to the heart, distorts the hollow check, Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore;
To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak; Boast of the ed! lesson of the young!
Still o'er the features, which perforce they chee Which sages venerate, and bards adore,
To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique ; Aa Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore.
Smiles form the channel of a future tear,
Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer XCII.
XCVIII. The parted bosom clings to wonted home, If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth; What is the worst of woes that wait on age ? He that is lonely, hither let him roam,
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? And gaze complacent on congenial earth.
To view each loved one blotted from life's page, Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth. And be alone on earth, as I am now. But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, Before the Chastener hambly let me bow And scarce regret the region of his birth,
O'er hearts divided, and o'er hopes destroy'd ; When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, Roll on, vain days ! full reckless may ye flow, Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy'd, died.
law' o'tis the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy
A being more intense, that we endow
With form or fancy, gaining as we give
What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou,
Invisible but gazing, as I glow Artert, Sept.7, 1776.
Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth,
And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings
In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought,
A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame;
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame,
Yet am I changed; though still enough the same b
In soul and aspect as irr age: years steal
IX. lu my youth's summer I did sing of One,
His had been quaff'd too quickly, and he found The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind; The dregs were wormwood; but he fill’d again, Again I seize the thene then but begun,
And from a purer fount, on holier ground,
And deem'd its spring perpetual; but in vain!
Which gall’d, for ever fettering though unseen,
Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen,
And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind, Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling, That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind; 80 that it ween me from the weary dream
And he, as one, might midst the many stand Of selfish grief or gladness-o it fling
Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find
Fit speculation; such as in strange land
But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek
The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek,
The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb ?
With airy images, and shapes which dwell On with the giddy circle, chasing Time,
XVIII. But roon he knew himself the most unfit
And Harold stanie npon this place of skulls, Of men to herd with Man; with whom he held The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo; Little in common; untaught to submit (quell'd How in an hour the power which gave annuls His thoughts to others, though his soul was Its gifts, transferring t'ame as theeting too! In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompellid, In “pride of place") liere last the eagle flew, He would not yield dominion of his mind
Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, To spirits against whom his own retell’d;
Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through Proud though in desolation; which could find Ambition's life and labors all were vain ; A life within itself, to breath without mankind. He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broke
XIX. Where rose the mountains, there to him were Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit friends;
And foam in fetters ;-but is Earth more free? Where rollid the ocean, thereon was his home; Did nations combat to make One subiuit; Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty? He had the passion and the power to roam; What! shall reviving Thraldom again be The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam,
The patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days? Were unto him companionship; they spake Shall we, who struck the Lion downı, shall we A mutual language, clearer than the toine
Pay the Wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake And servile knees to thrones ? No: prove before Fur Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake.
If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more! Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars,
In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears Till he had peopled them with beings bright
For Europe's flowers long rooted up before As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born
The trampler of her vineyards; in vain, years And human frailties, were forgotten quite: (jars,
Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, Could he have kept his spirit to that flight
Have all been borne, and broken by the accord He had been happy; but this clay will sink
Of roused-up millions : all that most endears Its spark immortal, envying it the light
Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword To which it mounts, as if to break the link
Such as Harmodius? drew on A hens' tyrant lord. I hat keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink.
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with clipt wing,
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright To whom the boundless air alone were home:
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave me Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome,
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, His breast and beak against his wiry dome
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;3 Df his impeded soul would through his bosom eat.
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a risi
knell ! XVI.
XXII. Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again,
Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind, With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom ;
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; The very knowledge that he lived in vain.,
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined; That all was over on this side the tomb,
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure me Had made Despair a smilingness assume, (wreck
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feetWhich, though 'twere wild, -as on the plunder'd
But, hark !-that heavy sound breaks in once mo When mariners would madly meet their doom
As if the clouds its echo would repeat; With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck,
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check.
Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening to
XXIII. Stop!- For thy tread is on an Empire's dust. Within a window'd niche of that high hall An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust?
That sound the first amidst the festiral, Nor column trophied for triumphal show?
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic en None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, And when they siniled because he deem'd it ne As the ground was before, thus let it be :
His heart more truly knew that peal too well How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,
And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, And roused the vengeance blood alone could qui l'hou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory? He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting 1
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, With all her reckless birds upon the wing,
I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each
And one as all a ghastly gap did make
Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake;
The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake
Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;
May for a moment sooth, it cannot slake [Fame While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,
The fever of vain longing, and the name
The tree will wither long before it fall; [moun:
The day drags through tho' storms keep out the
A thousand images of one that was,
The same, and still the more, the more it breaks.
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow acher or living valor, rolling on the foe,
Yet withers on till all without is old,
There is a very life in our despair,
Vitality of poison,-a quick root
Which feeds these deadly branches; for it wort
As nothing did we die ; but Life will suit
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit,
Like to the apples on the ® Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste: Did man compute wh ch her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial Such hours 'gainst years of life,-say, would he name
Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er
Bren where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, “Here, where the sword united nations drew, Taey reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, Our countrymen were warring on that day!" gallant Howard
And this is much, and all which will not pass away