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The sons of France shake off the tyrant yoke ;

BARRERE (mounts the Tribune). I have, as much as lies in mine own arm,

For ever hallow'd be this glorious day, Hurl'd down the usurper.—Come death when it will, When Freedom, bursting her oppressive chain, I have lived long enough.

Tramples on the oppressor. When the tyrant, [Shouts without. Hurl'd from his blood-cemented throne by the arm BARRERE.

of the almighty people, meets the death Jlark! how the noise increases! through the gloom He plann'd for thousands. Oh! my sickening heart of the still evening-harbinger of death,

Has sunk within me, when the various woes Rings the tocsin! the dreadful generale

Of my brave country crowded o'er my brain Thunders through Paris

In ghastly numbers—when assembled hordes, [Cry withoutDown with the Tyrant : Dragg’d from their hovels by despotic power, Enter LECOINTRE.

Rush'd o'er her frontiers, plunder'd her fair hamlets

And sack'd her populous towns, and drench'd with LECOINTRE.

blood So may eternal justice blast the foes

The reeking fields of Flanders.—When within, of France! so perish all the tyrant brood, Upon her vitals prey'd the rankling tooth As Robespierre has perish'd! Citizens,

of treason; and oppression, giant form, Cæsar is taken.

Trampling on freedom, left the alternative [Loud and repeated applauses. of slavery, or of death. Even from that day, I marvel not, that with such fearless front,

When, on the guilty Capet, I pronounced
He braved our vengeance, and with angry eye The door of injured France, has Faction rear'd
Scowl'd round the hall defiance. He relied

Her hated head amongst us. Roland preach'd
On Henriot's aid—the Commune's villain friendship, of mercy—ihe uxorious dotard Roland.
And Henriot's boughten succors. Ye have heard

The woman-govern’d Roland durst aspire
llow Henriot rescued him-how with open arms To govern France; and Petion talkd of virtue,
The Commune welcomed in the rebel tyrant- And Vergniaud's eloquence, like the honey'd tongue
How Fleuriot aided, and seditious Vivier

Of some soft Syren, wooed us to destruction. Stirr'd up the Jacobins. All had been lost We triumph'd over these. On the same scaffold The representatives of France bad perishd- Where the last Louis pour'd his guilty blood, Freedom had sunk beneath the tyrant arm

Fell Brissot's head, the womb of darksome treasons, Of this foul parricide, but that her spirit

And Orleans, villain kinsman of the Capet, Inspired the men of Paris. Henriot callid

And Heberi's atheist crew, whose maddening hand * To arms" in vain, whilst Bourdon's patriot voice Huri'd down the altars of the living God, Breathed eloquence, and o'er the Jacobins

With all the infidel's intolerance. Legendre frown'd dismay. The tyrants fled- The last worst traitor triumph'd-triumph'd long, They reach'd the Hotel. We gather'd round—we Secured by matchless villany. By turns callid

Defending and deserting each accomplice, For vengeance! Long time, obstinate in despair, As interest prompted. In the goodly soil With knives they hack'd around them. Till foreboding of Freedom, the foul tree of treason struck The sentence of the law, the clamorous cry Its deep-fix'd roots, and dropt the dews of death Of joyful thousands hailing their destruction,

On all who slumber'd in its specious shade. Each sought by suicide to escape the dread

He wove the web of treachery. Ile caught of death. Lebas succeeded. From the window The listening crowd by his wild eloquence, Leapt the younger Robespierre, but his fractured limb His cool ferocity, that persuaded murder, Forbade to escape. The self-will’d dictator

Even whilst it spake of mercy !- Never, never Plunged often the keen knife in his dark breast,

Shall this regenerated country wear Yet impotent to die. He ļives all mangled

The despot yoke. Though myriads round assail, By his own tremulous hand! All gash'd and gored, and with worse fury urge this new crusade He lives to taste the bitterness of Death.

Than savages have known; though the leagued Even now they meet their doom. The bloody Couthon,

despots The fierce St-Just, even now attend their tyrant Depopulate all Europe, so to pour To fall beneath the ax. I saw the torches

The accumulated mass upon our coasts, Flash on their visages a dreadful light

Sublime amid the storm shall France arise, I saw them whilst the black blood rollid adown

And like the rock amid surrounding waves Each stern face, even then with dauntless eye

Repel the rushing ocean.-She shall wield Scowl round contemptuous, dying as they lived,

The thunderbolt of vengeance-she shall blast Fearless of fate!

The despot's pride, and liberate the world! [Loud and repeated applauses.




Miscellaneous Poems.


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Or rather say at once, within what space
of time this wild disastrous change took place?

She wept with pity and delight,
She blush'd with love, and virgin shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,

I heard her breathe my name.


Her bosom heaved—she stept aside,
As conscious of my look she stepp'd
Then suddenly, with timorous eye

She fled to me and wept.

Call it a moment's work (and such it seems),
This tale's a fragment from the life of dreams;
But say, that years matured the silent strife,
And 't is a record from the dream of Life.


She half inclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace ;

And bending back her head, look'd up,
And gazed upon my face.


ALL Nature seems at work. Stags leave their lair Twas partly Love, and partly Fear,

The bees are stirring—Birds are on the wingAnd partly it was a bashful art,

And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
That I might rather feel, than see,

Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
The swelling of her heart.

And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,

Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
I calm'd her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow, And so I won my Genevieve,

Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow. My brighi and beauteous Bride.

Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,

For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrighten'd, wreathless brow, I stroll:

And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?

Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve,

And hope without an object cannot live.
UNCHANGED within to see all changed without,
Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt.

Yet why at others' warnings shouldst thou fret?
Then only mightst thou feel a just regret,

VERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light

Where Hope clung feeding, like a beeIn selfish forethought of neglect and slight.

Both were mine! Life went a-maying O wiselier then, from feeble yearnings freed,

With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, While, and on whom, thou mayest--shine on! nor heed

When I was young! Whether the object by reflected light

When I was young ?-Ah, woful when! Retum thy radiance or absorb it quite;

Ah for the change 'twixt now and then! And though thou notest from thy safe recess

This breathing house not built with hands, Old Friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air,

This body that does me grievous wrong, Love them for what they are : nor love them less,

O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands,
Because to thee they are not what they were.

How lightly then it flash'd along :-
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,

That fear no spite of wind or tide!

Nought cared this bedy for wind or weather,

When Youth and I lived in't together

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like ,
A LOVELY form there sate beside my bed,

Friendship is a sheltering tree; And such a feeding calm its presence shed,

O the joys, that came down shower-like, A tender love so pure from earthly leaven

Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, That I unnethe the fancy might control,

Ere I was old ! Twas my own spirit newly come from heaven

Ere I was old ? Ah woful Ere, Wooing its gentle way into my soul !

Which tells me, Youth's no longer here! Bat ah! the change-It had not stirr'd, and yet- O Youth! for years so many and sweet, Alas! that change how fain would I forget!

"Tis known, that thou and I were one, That shrinking back, like one that had mistook! I'll think it but a fond conceitThat weary, wandering, disavowing Look !

It cannot be, that thou art gone! Twas all another, feature, look, and frame,

Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolld :-
And still, methought, I knew it was the same!

And thou wert aye a masker bold !
What strange disguise hast now put on.

To make believe that thou art gone?
This riddling tale, to what does it belong?

I see these locks in silvery slips, ls 't history? vision ? or an idle song?

This drooping gait, this alter'd size:



But springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That youth and I are house-mates still.

What outward form and feature are

He guesseth but in part;
But what within is good and fair

He seeth with the heart.




My eyes make pictures, when they are shut
I see a fountain, large and fair,

OB. ANNO DOM. 1088.
A willow and a rụin'd hut,

No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope, And thee, and me, and Mary there. Soon shall I now before my God appear, O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow!

By him to be acquitted, as I hope ;
Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow! By him to be condemned, as I fear,
A wild-rose roofs the ruin'd shed,

And that and summer well agree :

Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy bed,
And lo! where Mary leans her head,

Be of good cheer, meek soul! I would have said. Two dear names carved upon the tree! I see a hope spring from that humble fear, And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow: All are not strong alike through storms to steer Our sister and our friend will both be here i-morrow. Right onward. What though dread of threaten'd

death 'T was day! But now few, large, and bright, And dungeon torture made thy hand and breath

The stars are round the crescent moon! Inconstant to the truth within thy heart? And now it is a dark warm night,

That truth, from which, through fear, thou twice The balmiest of the month of June !

didst start, A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting Fear haply told thee, was a learned strife, Shines, and its shadow shines, fit slars for our sweet Or not so vital as to claim thy life: fountain.

And myriads had reach'd Heaven, who never knew

Where lay the difference 'twixt the false and true! O ever-ever be thou blest! For dearly, Asra! love I thee!

Ye who, secure 'mid trophies not your own, This brooding warmth across my breast, Judge him who won them when he stood alone,

This depth of tranquil bliss—ah me! And proudly talk of recreant BERENGAREFount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither, O first the age, and then the man compare ! But in one quiet room we three are still together. That age how dark! congenial minds how rare!

No host of friends with kindred zeal did burn! The shadows dance upon the wall,

No throbbing hearts awaited his return!
By the still dancing fire-fames made; Prostrate alike when prince and peasant fell,
And now they slumber, moveless all! He only disenchanted from the spell,

And now they melt to one deep shade! Like the weak worm that gems the starless night,
But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee: Moved in the scanty circlet of his light:
I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel And was it strange if he withdrew the ray

That did but guide the night-birds to their prey? Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play- The ascending Day-star with a bolder eye "Tis Mary's hand upon my brow!

Hath lit each dew-drop on our trimmer lawn! But let me check this tender lay,

Yet not for this, if wise, will we decry Which none may hear but she and thou! The spots and struggles of the timid Dawn! Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming, Lest so we tempt th' approaching Noon to scorn Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women! The mists and painted vapors of our MORN.




A-walking the Devil is gone,

To visit his little snug farm of the earth,
Nay, dearest Anna! why so grave ?

And see how his stock went on.
I said, you had no soul, 't is true!
For what you are you cannot have:

Over the hill and over the dale,
'Tis 1, that have one since I first had you! And he went over the plain,

And backwards and forwards he swish'd his long tail

As a gentleman swishes his cane.
I HAVE heard of reasons manifold

And how then was the Devil drest ?
Why Love must needs be blind,

Oh! he was in his Sunday's best :
But this the best of all I hold-

His jacket was red and his breeches were blue, His eyes are in his mind

And there was a hole where the tail came through


He saw a LAWYER killing a Viper
On a dung-heap beside his stable,

And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind

SINCE all, that beat about in Nature's range, Of Cain and his brother, Abel.

Or veer or vanish, why shouldst thou remain

The only constant in a world of changeA POTHECARY'on a white horse

O yearning Thought, that livest but in the brain ? Rode by on his vocations,

Call to the hours, that in the distance play, And the Devil thought of his old Friend

The fairy people of the future day-
DEATH in the Revelations.

Fond Thought! not one of all that shining swarm
Will breathe on thee with life-enkindling breath,

Till when, like strangers shelt'ring from a storm, He saw a cottage with a double coach-house,

Hope and Despair meet in the porch of Death! A cottage of gentility!

Yet still thou haunt'st me; and though well I see, And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin

She is not thou, and only thou art she, Is pride that apes humility.

Still, still as though some dear embodied good,

Some living love hefore my eyes there stood, He went into a rich bookseller's shop,

With answering look a ready ear to lend, Quoth he! we are both of one college;

I mourn to thee and say—"Ah! loveliest friend! For I myself sate like a cormorant once

That this the meed of all my toils might be, Fast by the tree of knowledge.*

To have a home, an English home and thee!

Vain repetition! Home and thou art one. Down the river there plied with wind and tide,

The peacefull'st cot the moon shall shine upon,
A pig, with vast celerity;

Lulld by the shrush and waken’d by the lark,
And the Devil look’d wise as he saw how the while, Without thee were but a becalmed Bark,
lt cut its own throat. There ! quoth he, with a smile, Whose helmsman on an ocean waste and wide
Goes “ England's commercial prosperity."

Sits mute and pale his mouldering helm beside.

And art thou nothing? Such thou art, as when As he went through Cold-Bath Fields, he saw

The woodman winding westward up the glen A solitary cell,

At wintry dawn, where o'er the sheep-track's maze And the Devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint

The viewless snow-mist weaves a glist'ning haze, For improving his prisons in Hell.

Sees full before him, gliding without tread,
An imaget with a glory round its head ;
The enamour'd rustic worships its fair hues,

Nor knows, he makes the shadow he pursues !
General 's burning face

He saw with consternation,
And back to Hell his way did he take,
For the Devil thought, by a slight mistake,

It was general conflagration.

ERE the birth of my life, if I wish'd it or no
No question was ask'd me--it could not be so!

If the life was the question, a thing sent to try, • And all amid them stood the Tree of Life High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit

And to live on be YES; what can No be? to die.
Of vegetable gold (query paper money?); and next to Life
Our Death, the Tree of Knowledge, grew fast by:-

Is't return'd as 't was sent? Is 't no worse for the wear?
Think first, what you are! Call to mind what you

So clomb this first grand thief-

I gave you innocence, I gave you hope, Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life

Gave health, and genius, and an ample scope. Sat like a cormorant.--Par. Lost, IV.

Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair ? The allegory here is so apt, that in a catalogue of various Make out the Invent'ry ; inspect, compare ! readings obtained from collating the might expect to Then die-if die you dare ! find it noted, that for Life" Cod. quid habent, Trate." 'Though indeed the trade, i. e. the bibliopolic, so called, kår' ikóxnv, may be regarded as Life sansu eminentiori: a suggestion, which I owe to a young retailer in the hosiery line, he might have been mistaken, and most certainly he did not who on hearing a description of the net profits, dinner parties, hear any names mentioned. In simple verity, the Author never country houses, etc. of the trade, exclaimed, “Ay! that's meant any one, or indeed any thing but to put a concluding what I call Life now!"--This “Life, our Denth," is thus stanza to bis doggerel. happily contrasted with the fruits of Authorship.--Sic nos non

† This phenomenon, which the Author has himself expenobis mellificamus Apes.

rienced, and of which the reader may find a description in one Of this poem, with which the Fire. Famine and Slaughter of the earlier volumes of the Manchester Philosophical Transfirst appeared in the Morning Post, the three first stanzas, which actions, is applied figuratively in the following passage of the are worth all the rest, and the ninth, were dictated by Mr. Aids to Reflection: Soothey. Between the ninth and the concluding stanza, two or “Pindar's fine remark respecting the different effects of music three are omitted as grounded on subjects that have lost their on different characters, holds equally true of Genius: as mans interest—and for better reasons.

as are not delighted by it are disturbed, perplexed, irritated. If any one should ask, who General — meant, the Author The beholder either recognizes it as a projected form of his own begr leave to inform him, that he did once see a red-faced per-Being, that moves before him with a Glory round its head, or son in a dream whom by the dress he took for a General; but recoils from it as a spectre."-Aids to Reflection, p. 220

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