The dissonance ceas'd, and all seem'd calm and bright ; When, insupportably advancing, Her arm made mockery of the warrior's camp; While timid looks of fury glancing, Domestic treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp, Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore; Then I reproach'd my fears that would not flee"And soon," I said, "shall Wisdom teach her lore In the low huts of them that toil and groan! And, conquering by her happiness alone, Shall France compel the nations to be free, Till Love and Joy look round, and call the earth their own." Forgive me, Freedom! O, forgive those dreams! Where Peace her jealous home had built; A patriot race to disinherit Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear; And with inexpiable spirit To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer- Are these thy boasts, champion of human kind, To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils The sensual and the dark rebel in vain, Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever (Nor prayer nor boastful name delays thee) Alike from priestcraft's harpy minions, And factious blasphemy's obscener slaves, Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves! And there I felt thee-on that sea-cliff's verge, Whose pines, scarce travell'd by the breeze above, O, Liberty! my spirit felt thee there. JULIA'S LETTER. THEY tell me 'tis decided, you depart; I used. I write in haste, and if a stain Be on this sheet, 'tis not what it appears, Byron. I loved, I love you-for this love have lost So dear is still the memory of that dream; Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence; man may range The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart, Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, And few there are whom these cannot estrange; Men have all these resources, we but one, To love again, and be again undone. You will proceed in pleasure, and in pride, For me on earth, except some years to hide My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core; These I could bear, but cannot cast aside The passion which still rages as before! And so farewell-forgive me, love me-No, That word is idle now-but let it go. My breast has been all weakness-is so yet; To all, except one image, madly blind. I have no more to say, but linger still, My misery can scarce be more complete. Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would meet, And I must even survive this last adieu, And bear with life—to love and pray for you. Don Juan. THE GONDOLA. Hervey. THE Gondola glides Like a spirit of night, Shews her golden eye, Her taper is out, And the silver beam Like a beautiful dream! And the beat of her heart Makes her tremble all o'er; And she lists, with a start, To the dash of the oar, But the moments are past, And her fears are at rest, And her lover at last Holds her clasp'd to his breast; And the planet above, And the quiet blue sea, Are pledged to his love Her cheek is reclined On the home of his breast, O'er his arm, that is placed He looks on the stars Which are gemming the blue, And devoutly he swears He will ever be true; Then bends him to hear The low sound of her sigh, And kiss the fond tear From her beautiful eye. And he watches its flashes, Her reply, as it steals |