No More Learning

The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country--Israel but the grave!



ON JORDAN'S BANKS.

I.

On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,
The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep--
Yet there--even there--Oh God! thy thunders sleep:

II.

There--where thy finger scorched the tablet stone!
There--where thy shadow to thy people shone!
Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire:
Thyself--none living see and not expire!

III.

Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear;
Sweep from his shivered hand the oppressor's spear!
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod?
How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God?



JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. [291]

I.

Since our Country, our God--Oh, my Sire!
Demand that thy Daughter expire;
Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow--
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!

II.

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow!

III.

And of this, oh, my Father! be sure--
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere it flow,
And the last thought that soothes me below.

IV.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent!
I have won the great battle for thee,
And my Father and Country are free!

V.

When this blood of thy giving hath gushed,
When the voice that thou lovest is hushed,
Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died!



OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM. [292]

I.

Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:[li]

II.

And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,[lj]
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!

III.

Away! we know that tears are vain,
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou--who tell'st me to forget,[lk]
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. [ll][293]

[Published in the _Examiner_, April 23, 1815. ]



MY SOUL IS DARK.

I.

My soul is dark--Oh! quickly string[294]
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again:
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

II.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence long;
And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once--or yield to song. [295]



I SAW THEE WEEP.

I.

I saw thee weep--the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;[296]
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:
I saw thee smile--the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays
That filled that glance of thine.

II.

As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.



THY DAYS ARE DONE.

I.

Thy days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,
The slaughters of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom he restored!

II.

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shall not taste of death!
The generous blood that flowed from thee
Disdained to sink beneath:
Within our veins its currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath!

III.

Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word!
Thy fall, the theme of choral song
From virgin voices poured!
To weep would do thy glory wrong:
Thou shalt not be deplored.



SAUL.

I.

Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the Prophet's form appear.
"Samuel, raise thy buried head!
King, behold the phantom Seer! "
Earth yawned; he stood the centre of a cloud:
Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud. [lm]
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye;
His hand was withered, and his veins were dry;
His foot, in bony whiteness, glittered there,
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;
From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,
Like caverned winds, the hollow accents came.
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke. [ln]

II.

"Why is my sleep disquieted?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is it thou, O King? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:[lo]
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine to-morrow, when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be--such thy Son.
Fare thee well, but for a day,
Then we mix our mouldering clay.
Thou--thy race, lie pale and low,
Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
And the falchion by thy side
To thy heart thy hand shall guide:
Crownless--breathless--headless fall,
Son and Sire--the house of Saul! "[297]

Seaham, _Feb. _, 1815.



SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.

I.

Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
Heed not the corse, though a King's, in your path:[lp]
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!

II.

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,[lq]
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.

III.

Farewell to others, but never we part,
Heir to my Royalty--Son of my heart! [lr]
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!

Seaham, 1815.



"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER"

I.

Fame, Wisdom, Love, and Power were mine,
And Health and Youth possessed me;
My goblets blushed from every vine,
And lovely forms caressed me;
I sunned my heart in Beauty's eyes,
And felt my soul grow tender;
All Earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendour.

II.

I strive to number o'er what days[ls]
Remembrance can discover,
Which all that Life or Earth displays
Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there rolled no hour
Of pleasure unembittered;[298]
And not a trapping decked my Power
That galled not while it glittered.

III. [lt]

The serpent of the field, by art
And spells, is won from harming;
But that which coils around the heart,
Oh! who hath power of charming?
It will not list to Wisdom's lore,
Nor Music's voice can lure it;
But there it stings for evermore
The soul that must endure it.

Seaham, 1815.



WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY.

I.

When coldness wraps this suffering clay,[lu]
Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?
It cannot die, it cannot stay,
But leaves its darkened dust behind.
Then, unembodied, doth it trace
By steps each planet's heavenly way? [lv]
Or fill at once the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey?

II.

Eternal--boundless,--undecayed,
A thought unseen, but seeing all,
All, all in earth, or skies displayed,[lw]
Shall it survey, shall it recall:
Each fainter trace that Memory holds
So darkly of departed years,
In one broad glance the Soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.

III.

Before Creation peopled earth,
Its eye shall roll through chaos back;
And where the farthest heaven had birth,
The Spirit trace its rising track.
And where the future mars or makes,
Its glance dilate o'er all to be,
While Sun is quenched--or System breaks,
Fixed in its own Eternity.

IV.

Above or Love--Hope--Hate--or Fear,
It lives all passionless and pure:
An age shall fleet like earthly year;
Its years as moments shall endure.
Away--away--without a wing,
O'er all--through all--its thought shall fly,
A nameless and eternal thing,
Forgetting what it was to die.

Seaham, 1815.



VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. [299]

I.

The King was on his throne,
The Satraps thronged the hall:[lx]
A thousand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,
In Judah deemed divine--[ly]
Jehovah's vessels hold
The godless Heathen's wine!

II.

In that same hour and hall,
The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand:
The fingers of a man;--
A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,
And traced them like a wand.

III.

The monarch saw, and shook,
And bade no more rejoice;
All bloodless waxed his look,
And tremulous his voice.
"Let the men of lore appear,
The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear,
Which mar our royal mirth. "

IV.

Chaldea's seers are good,
But here they have no skill;
And the unknown letters stood
Untold and awful still.
And Babel's men of age
Are wise and deep in lore;
But now they were not sage,
They saw--but knew no more.

V.

A captive in the land,
A stranger and a youth,[300]
He heard the King's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,
The prophecy in view;
He read it on that night,--
The morrow proved it true.

VI.

"Belshazzar's grave is made,[lz]
His kingdom passed away.
He, in the balance weighed,
Is light and worthless clay;
The shroud, his robe of state,
His canopy the stone;
The Mede is at his gate!
The Persian on his throne! "



SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
How like art thou to Joy remembered well!
So gleams the past, the light of other days,
Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays:
A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,
Distinct, but distant--clear--but, oh how cold!



WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST IT TO BE.

I.

Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
I need not have wandered from far Galilee;
It was but abjuring my creed to efface
The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.

II.

If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
If the slave only sin--thou art spotless and free!
If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high,
Live on in thy faith--but in mine I will die.

III.

I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know;
In his hand is my heart and my hope--and in thine
The land and the life which for him I resign.

Seaham, 1815.



HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE. [301]

I.

Oh, Mariamne! now for thee
The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding;
Revenge is lost in Agony[ma]
And wild Remorse to rage succeeding. [mb]
Oh, Mariamne! where art thou?
Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading:[mc]
Ah! could'st thou--thou would'st pardon now,
Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.

II.

And is she dead? --and did they dare
Obey my Frenzy's jealous raving? [md]
My Wrath but doomed my own despair:
The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving. --
But thou art cold, my murdered Love!
And this dark heart is vainly craving[me]
For he who soars alone above,
And leaves my soul unworthy saving.

III.

She's gone, who shared my diadem;
She sunk, with her my joys entombing;
I swept that flower from Judah's stem,
Whose leaves for me alone were blooming;
And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,
This bosom's desolation dooming;
And I have earned those tortures well,[mf]
Which unconsumed are still consuming!

_Jan. _ 15, 1815.



ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS.

I.

From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,[mg]
I beheld thee, oh Sion! when rendered to Rome:[mh]
'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall
Flashed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.

II.

I looked for thy temple--I looked for my home,
And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;[mi]
I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,
And the fast-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain.

III.

On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;
While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline
Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.

IV.

And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
But I marked not the twilight beam melting away;
Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead,
And the thunderbolt burst on the Conqueror's head! [mj]

V.

But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane
The shrine where Jehovah disdained not to reign;
And scattered and scorned as thy people may be,
Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee.

1815.



BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN AND WEPT. [302]

I.

We sate down and wept by the waters[303]
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;
And Ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.

II.

While sadly we gazed on the river
Which rolled on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the Stranger shall know! [mk]
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!

III.

On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! its sound should be free;[ml]
And the hour when thy glories were ended
But left me that token of thee:
And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the Spoiler by me!

_Jan. _ 15, 1813.



"BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON. "

I.

In the valley of waters we wept on the day
When the host of the Stranger made Salem his prey;
And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
And our hearts were so full of the land far away!

II.
The song they demanded in vain--it lay still
In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill--
They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill
Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.

III.

All stringlessly hung in the willow's sad tree,
As dead as her dead-leaf, those mute harps must be:
Our hands may be fettered--our tears still are free
For our God--and our Glory--and Sion, Oh _Thee! _

1815.



THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

I.

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

II.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,[304]
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

III.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved--and for ever grew still!

IV.

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,[mm]
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. [mn]

V.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:[mo]
And the tents were all silent--the banners alone--
The lances unlifted--the trumpet unblown.

VI.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,[mp]
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,[mq]
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

Seaham, Feb. 17, 1815.



A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE ME.

FROM JOB.

I.

A spirit passed before me: I beheld
The face of Immortality unveiled--
Deep Sleep came down on every eye save mine--
And there it stood,--all formless--but divine:
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:

II.

"Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure?
Creatures of clay--vain dwellers in the dust!
The moth survives you, and are ye more just?
Things of a day! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light! "





POEMS 1814-1816.




POEMS 1814-1816.



FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.

1.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal availed on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
'Twere vain to speak--to weep--to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from Guilt's expiring eye,[305]
Are in that word--Farewell! --Farewell!

2.

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though Grief and Passion there rebel:
I only know we loved in vain--
I only feel--Farewell! --Farewell!

[First published, _Corsair_, Second Edition, 1814. ]



WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

1.

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold[mr]
Sorrow to this.

2.

The dew of the morning[ms]
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,[mt]
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

3. [mu]

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:--
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

4.

In secret we met--
In silence I grieve.
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee[mv]
After long years,
How should I greet thee? --
With silence and tears.

[First published, _Poems_, 1816. ]



[LOVE AND GOLD. [306]]

1.

I cannot talk of Love to thee,
Though thou art young and free and fair!
There is a spell thou dost not see,
That bids a genuine love despair.

2.

And yet that spell invites each youth,
For thee to sigh, or seem to sigh;
Makes falsehood wear the garb of truth,
And Truth itself appear a lie.

3.

If ever Doubt a place possest
In woman's heart, 'twere wise in thine:
Admit not Love into thy breast,
Doubt others' love, nor trust in mine.

4.

Perchance 'tis feigned, perchance sincere,
But false or true thou canst not tell;
So much hast thou from all to fear,
In that unconquerable spell.

5.

Of all the herd that throng around,
Thy simpering or thy sighing train,
Come tell me who to thee is bound
By Love's or Plutus' heavier chain.

6.

In some 'tis Nature, some 'tis Art
That bids them worship at thy shrine;
But thou deserv'st a better heart,
Than they or I can give for thine.

7.

For thee, and such as thee, behold,
Is Fortune painted truly--blind!
Who doomed thee to be bought or sold,
Has proved too bounteous to be kind.

8.

Each day some tempter's crafty suit
Would woo thee to a loveless bed:
I see thee to the altar's foot
A decorated victim led.

9.

Adieu, dear maid! I must not speak
Whate'er my secret thoughts may be;
Though thou art all that man can reck
I dare not talk of Love to _thee_.



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. [307]

1.

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,[mw]
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame:
But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.

2. [mx]

Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours--can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain,--
We will part, we will fly to--unite it again!

3.

Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt! [my]
Forgive me, adored one! --forsake, if thou wilt;--
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased[mz]
And _man_ shall not break it--whatever _thou_ mayst. [na]

4.

And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be:[nb]
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.

5. [nc]

One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,[nd]
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign--
Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to _mine_.

_May_ 4, 1814.
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, i. 554. ]



ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT
THE CALEDONIAN MEETING. [308]

Who hath not glowed above the page where Fame
Hath fixed high Caledon's unconquered name;
The mountain-land which spurned the Roman chain,
And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane,
Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand
No foe could tame--no tyrant could command?
That race is gone--but still their children breathe,
And Glory crowns them with redoubled wreath:
O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,
And, England! add their stubborn strength to thine.
The blood which flowed with Wallace flows as free,
But now 'tis only shed for Fame and thee!
Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim,
But give support--the world hath given him fame!

The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled
While cheerly following where the Mighty led--[309]
Who sleep beneath the undistinguished sod
Where happier comrades in their triumph trod,
To us bequeath--'tis all their fate allows--
The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:
She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise
The tearful eye in melancholy gaze,
Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose
The Highland Seer's anticipated woes,
The bleeding phantom of each martial form
Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;[310]
While sad, she chaunts the solitary song,
The soft lament for him who tarries long--
For him, whose distant relics vainly crave
The Coronach's wild requiem to the brave!

'Tis Heaven--not man--must charm away the woe,
Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow;
Yet Tenderness and Time may rob the tear
Of half its bitterness for one so dear;
A Nation's gratitude perchance may spread
A thornless pillow for the widowed head;
May lighten well her heart's maternal care,
And wean from Penury the soldier's heir;
Or deem to living war-worn Valour just[311]
Each wounded remnant--Albion's cherished trust--
Warm his decline with those endearing rays,
Whose bounteous sunshine yet may gild his days--
So shall that Country--while he sinks to rest--
His hand hath fought for--by his heart be blest!

_May_, 1814.
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, i. 559. ]



ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF
SIR PETER PARKER, BART. [312]

1.

There is a tear for all that die,[313]
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
But nations swell the funeral cry,
And Triumph weeps above the brave.

2.

For them is Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:
In vain their bones unburied lie,
All earth becomes their monument!

3.

A tomb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue:
The present hours, the future age,
For them bewail, to them belong.

4.

For them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hushed, _their name_ the only sound;
While deep Remembrance pours to Worth
The goblet's tributary round.

5.

A theme to crowds that knew them not,
Lamented by admiring foes,
Who would not share their glorious lot?
Who would not die the death they chose?

6.

And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined
Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
And early valour, glowing, find
A model in thy memory.

7.

But there are breasts that bleed with thee
In woe, that glory cannot quell;
And shuddering hear of victory,
Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.

8.

Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?
When cease to hear thy cherished name?
Time cannot teach forgetfulness,
While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.

9.

Alas! for them, though not for thee,
They cannot choose but weep the more;
Deep for the dead the grief must be,
Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.

_October_ 7, 1814.
[First published, _Morning Chronicle_, October 7, 1814. ]



JULIAN [A FRAGMENT]. [314]

1.

The Night came on the Waters--all was rest
On Earth--but Rage on Ocean's troubled Heart.
The Waves arose and rolled beneath the blast;
The Sailors gazed upon their shivered Mast.
In that dark Hour a long loud gathered cry
From out the billows pierced the sable sky,
And borne o'er breakers reached the craggy shore--
The Sea roars on--that Cry is heard no more.

2.

There is no vestige, in the Dawning light,
Of those that shrieked thro' shadows of the Night.
The Bark--the Crew--the very Wreck is gone,
Marred--mutilated--traceless--all save one.
In him there still is Life, the Wave that dashed
On shore the plank to which his form was lashed,
Returned unheeding of its helpless Prey--
The lone survivor of that Yesterday--
The one of Many whom the withering Gale
Hath left unpunished to record their Tale.
But who shall hear it? on that barren Sand
None comes to stretch the hospitable hand.
That shore reveals no print of human foot,
Nor e'en the pawing of the wilder Brute;
And niggard vegetation will not smile,
All sunless on that solitary Isle.

3.

The naked Stranger rose, and wrung his hair,
And that first moment passed in silent prayer.
Alas! the sound--he sunk into Despair--
He was on Earth--but what was Earth to him,
Houseless and homeless--bare both breast and limb?
Cut off from all but Memory he curst
His fate--his folly--but himself the worst.
What was his hope? he looked upon the Wave--
Despite--of all--it still may be his Grave!

4.

He rose and with a feeble effort shaped
His course unto the billows--late escaped:
But weakness conquered--swam his dizzy glance,
And down to Earth he sunk in silent trance.
How long his senses bore its chilling chain,
He knew not--but, recalled to Life again,
A stranger stood beside his shivering form--
And what was he? had he too scaped the storm?

5.

He raised young Julian. "Is thy Cup so full
Of bitterness--thy Hope--thy heart so dull
That thou shouldst from Thee dash the Draught of Life,
So late escaped the elemental strife!
Rise--tho' these shores few aids to Life supply,
Look upon me, and know thou shalt not die.
Thou gazest in mute wonder--more may be
Thy marvel when thou knowest mine and me.
But come--The bark that bears us hence shall find
Her Haven, soon, despite the warning Wind. "

6.

He raised young Julian from the sand, and such
Strange power of healing dwelt within the touch,
That his weak limbs grew light with freshened Power,
As he had slept not fainted in that hour,
And woke from Slumber--as the Birds awake,
Recalled at morning from the branched brake,
When the day's promise heralds early Spring,
And Heaven unfolded woos their soaring wing:
So Julian felt, and gazed upon his Guide,
With honest Wonder what might next betide.

Dec. 12, 1814.



TO BELSHAZZAR.

1. [ne]

Belshazzar! from the banquet turn,
Nor in thy sensual fulness fall;
Behold! while yet before thee burn
The graven words, the glowing wall,[nf]
Many a despot men miscall
Crowned and anointed from on high;
But thou, the weakest, worst of all--
Is it not written, thou must die? [ng]

2.

Go! dash the roses from thy brow--
Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them;
Youth's garlands misbecome thee now,
More than thy very diadem,[nh]
Where thou hast tarnished every gem:--
Then throw the worthless bauble by,
Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn;
And learn like better men to die!

3.

Oh! early in the balance weighed,
And ever light of word and worth,
Whose soul expired ere youth decayed,
And left thee but a mass of earth.
To see thee moves the scorner's mirth:
But tears in Hope's averted eye
Lament that even thou hadst birth--
Unfit to govern, live, or die.

_February_ 12, 1815.
[First published, 1831. ]



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. [315]

"O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. "
Gray's _Poemata_.
[Motto to "The Tear," _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 49. ]

1.

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,
When the glow of early thought declines in Feeling's dull decay;
'Tis not on Youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades
so fast,[ni]
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere Youth itself be past.

2.

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness
Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:
The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain
The shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again.

3.

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like Death itself comes down;
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;
That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,
And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.

4.

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,
Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;
'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath[nj][316]
All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.

5.

Oh, could I feel as I have felt,--or be what I have been,
Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene;
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,
So, midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me.

_March, 1815.