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A mighty Spirit is eclipsed-a Power The secret enemy whose sleepless eye
Hath pass'd from day to darkness - to whose Stands sentinel-accuser-judge—and spy,


The foe the fool_the jealous and the vain, Of light no likeness is bequeath’d, no name, The envious who but breathe in others' pain, Focus at once of all the rays of Fame! Behold the host! delighting to deprave, The flash of Wit—the bright Intelligence, Who track the steps of Glory to the grave, The beam of Song- the blaze of Eloquence, Watch every fault that daring Genius owes Set with their Sun-but still have left Half to the ardour which its birth bestovs,


Distort the truth, accumulate the lie, The enduring produce of immortal Mind; And pile the Pyramid of Calumny! Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon, These are his portion -- but if join'd to these A deathless part of him who died too soon. Gaunt Poverty should league with deep But small that portion of the wondrous

Disease, whole,

If the high Spirit must forget to soar, These sparkling segments of that circling And stoop to strive with Misery at the door,


To soothe Indignity, and face to face Which all embraced—and lighten’d over all, Meet sordid Rage-and wrestle with Dis To chcer- to pierce-to please-or to appal.

grace, From the charm'd council to the festive To find in Hope but the renew'd caress,


The serpent-fold of further Faithlessness,Of human feelings the unbounded Jord; If such inay be the ills which men assail, In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied, What marvel if at last the mightiest fail ! The praised - the proud-who made his Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling praise their pride.

given When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan Bear hearts electric-charged with fire fra Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man,

lieaven, His was the thunder-his the avenging rod, Black with the rude collision, inly torn, The wrath—the delegated voice of God! By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinde Which shook the nations through his lips

borne, and blazed Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that Till vanquish'd senates trembled as they

nurst praised. Thoughts which have turn'd to thunder

scorch- and burst.

But far from us and from our mimic srene And here, oh! here, where yet all young Such things should be—if such have ever and warm

been; The gay creations of his spirit charm, Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task, The matchless dialogue—the deathless wit, To give the tribute Glory need not ask, Which knew not what it was to intermit; To inourn the vanish'd beam - and add our The glowing portraits, fresh froin life that

mite bring

Of praise in payment of a long delight. Home to our hearts the truth from which

they spring; These wondrous beings of his Fancy, Ye Orators! whom yet our council yield,


Mourn for the veteran Hero of your field! To fulness by the fiat of his thought, The worthy rival of the wondrous Three! Here in their first abode you still may meet, Whose words were sparks of Immortality! Bright with the hues of his Promethean heat, Ye Bards! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear, A halo of the light of other days,

He was your Master -- emulate him here! Which still the splendour of its orb betrays. Ye men of wit and social eloquence!

He was your Brother-bear his ashes hence !

While Powers of Mind almost of boundless But should there be to whom the fatal

range, blight

Complete in kind-as various in their Of failing Wisdom yields a base delight,

change, Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone While Eloquence_Wit_Poesy_and Mirth, Jar in the music which was born their own, That humbler Harmonist of care on Earth, Still let them pause—Ah! little do they know Survive within our souls—while lives our That what to them seem'd Vice might be

sense but Woe. Of pride in Merit's proud pre-eminence, Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze Long shall we seek his likeness_long in vain, Is fix'd for ever to detract or praise ; And turn to all of him which may remain, Repose denies her requiem to his name, Sighing thatNature form'd but one snch man. And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. | And broke the die - in moulding Sheridan!



The eye the same, except in tears.

How welcome those untrodden spheres! SAB walks in beauty, like the night How sweet this very hour to die !

Of cloudless climes and starry skies; To soar from earth, and find all fears And all that's best of dark and bright

Lost in thy light-Eternity!
Meet in her aspect and her eyes :
Thus mellow'd to that tender light It must be so: 'tis not for self
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. That we so tremble on the brink;

And striving to o'erleap the gulph,
One shade the more, one ray the less, Yet cling to Being's severing link.
Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Oh! in that future let us think Which waves in every raven tress,

To hold each heart the heart that shares, Or softly lightens o'er her face; With them the immortal waters drink, Where thoughts serenely sweet express And soul in soul grow deathless theirs!

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, THB wild Gazelle on Judah's hills
But tell of days in goodness spent,

Exulting yet may bound,
A mind at peace with all below,

And drink from all the living rills
A heart whose love is innocent!

That gush on holy ground;
Its airy step and glorious eye

May glance in tameless transport by:-

A step as fleet, an eye more bright, The Harp the Monarch-Minstrel swept, Hath Judah witness'd there;

The King of men, the loved of Heaven, And o'er her scenes of lost delight Which Music hallowd while she wept

Inhabitants inore fair. O'er tones her heart of hearts had given, The cedars wave on Lebanon, Redoubled be her tears, its chords are But Judah's statelier maids are gone!

riven ! It soften'd men of iron mould,

More blest each palm that shades those It gave them virtues not their own;

plains No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

Than Israel's scatter'd race; That felt not, fired not to the tone, For, taking root, it there remains Till David's lyre grew mightier than his In solitary grace:


It cannot quit its place of birth,

It will not live in other earth.
It told the triumphs of our King,
It wasted glory to our God;

But we must wander witheringly,
It made our gladden'd valleys ring,

In other lands to die;
The cedars bow, the mountains nod; And where our fathers' ashes be,
Its sound aspired to Heaven and there Our own may never lie:


Oar temple hath not left a stone,
Since then, though heard on earth no more, And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.

Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar
To sounds that seem as from above,

In dreams that day's broad light can not

On! weep for those that wept by Babel's

stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a III.

dream :

Weep for the harp of Judah's broken Ir that high World, which lies beyond

shell ; Our own, surviving Love endears ; Mourn-where their God hath dwelt the If there the cherish'd heart be fond,

Godless dwell!


And where shall Israel lave her bleeding

VIIL feet ? And when shall Sion's songs again seem

On! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, sweet?

On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ; And Judah’s melody once more rejoice

But on thy turf shall roses rear The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly

Their leaves, the earliest of the years voice?

And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom: Tribes of the wandering foot and weary And oft by yon blue gushing stream


Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, How shall ye flee away and be at rest!

And feed deep thought with many a dream,
The wild dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country-Israel but the grave!

And lingering pause and lightly tread:
Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd

the dead!

Away; we know that tears are vain,

That death nor heeds nor hears distress: On Jordan's banks the Arabs' camels stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,

Will this unteach us to complain? The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep

Or make one mourner weep the less 3 Yet there—even there--Oh God! thy thun- And thou -- who tellst me to forget,

ders sleep:

Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. Thero— where thy finger scorch'd the tabletstone!

IX. There-where thy shadow to thy people


My Soul is dark.-Oh! quickly string Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire : Thyself - none living see and not expire! And let thy gentle fingers fling

The harp I yet can brook to hear; Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear! If in this heart a hope be dear,

Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppres

That sound shall charm it forth again; sors' spear :

If in these eyes there lark a tear, How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod!

'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain: How long thy temple worshipless, oh God!

But bid the strain he 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; JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. For it hath been by sorrow nurst,

And ached in sleepless silence long; Since our country, our God-Oh, my Sire! And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst, Demand that thy Daughter expire;

And break at once-or yield to song. Since thy triumph was bought by thy vowStrike the bosom that's bared for thee now!

X. 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, I saw thee weep- the big bright tear There cannot be pain in the blow !

Came o'er that eye of blue;

And then methought it did appear
And of this, oh, my Father! be sure- A violet dropping dew:
That the blood of thy child is as pure I saw thee smile- the sapphire's blaze
As the blessing I beg ere it flow,

Beside thee ceased to shine;
And the last thought that soothes me below. It could not match the living rays

That fill'd that glance of thine.
Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent! As clouds from yonder sun receive
I have won the great battle for thee, A deep and mellow die,
And my Father and Country are free! Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky,
When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd, Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd, Their own pure joy impart;
Let my memory still be thy pride, Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
And forget not I smiled as I died !

That lightens o'er the heart.


Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare:

From lips that moved not and unbreathing Tay Days are done, thy fame begun;

frame, Thy country's strains record

Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents The triumphs of her chosen Son,

came. The slaughters of his sword!

Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak, The deeds he did, the fields he won, At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke. The freedom ho restored !

“Why is my sleep disquieted ? Though thou art fall’n, while we are free Who is he that calls the dead? Thou shalt not taste of death!

Is it thou, oh King? Behold, The generous blood that flow'd from thee Bloodless are these limbs, and cold : Disdain'd to sink beneath :

Such are mine; and such shall be Within our veins its currents be,

Thine, to-morrow, when with me: Thy spirit on our breath!

Ere the coming day is done,

Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
Thy name, our charging hosts along,

Fare thee well, but for a day;
Shall be the battle-word !

Then we mix our mouldering clay. Thy fall, the theme of choral song

Thon, thy race, lie pale and low,
From virgin-voices pour'd!

Pierced by shafts of many a bow:
To weep would do thy glory wrong!

And the falchion by thy side
Thou shalt not be deplored.

To thy heart thy hand shall guide:
Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
Son and sire, the house of Saul!"

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PREACHER." WARRIORS and Chiefs! should the shaft or

the sword

FAMe, wisdom, love, and power were mine, Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,

And health and youth possessid me; Heed not the corse, though a king's, in

My goblets blush'd from every vine, your path :

And lovely forms caress'd me; Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!

I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes, Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, all earth can give, or mortal prize,

And felt my soul grow tender; Should the soldiers of Saul look

away from

Was mine of regal splendour.

the foe, Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!

I strive to number o'er what days Mine be the doom which they dared not

Remembrance can discover, to meet.

Which all that life or earth displays

Would lure me to live over. Farewell to others, but never we part,

There rose no day, there rolld no hour Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway; And not a trapping deck'd my power

Of pleasure unembitter'd; Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!

That gall’d not while it glitter'd.

The serpent of the field, by art

And spells, is won from harming;

But that which coils around the heart, SAUL

Oh! who hath power of charming ?

It will not list to wisdom's lore,
Thou, whose spell can raise the dead, But there it stings for evermore

Nor music's voice can lure it;
Bid the prophet's form appear.

The soul that must endure it.
“Samuel, raise thy buried head!

King, behold the phantom-seer!”
Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud:
Light changed its hue, retiring from his

Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye; When coldness wraps this suffering clay,
His hand was wither'd and his veins were dry; Ah, whither strays the immortal mind?
His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd therc, | It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darken'd dust behind. Chaldea's seers are good, Then, unembodied, doth it trace

But here they have no skill : By steps each planet's heavenly way 1 And the unknown letters stood Or áll at once the realms of space,

Untold and awful still. A thing of eyes, that all survey?

And Babel's men of age

Are wise and deep in lore; Eternal, boundless, undecay'd,

But now they were not sage,
A thought unseen, but seeing all,

They saw-but knew no inore.
All, all in earth, or skies display'd,
Shall it survey, shall it recal:

A captive in the land,
Each fainter trace that memory holds,

A stranger and a youth, So darkly of departed years,

He heard the king's command, In one broad glance the soul beholds,

He saw that writing's truth. And all, that was, at once appears. The lamps around were bright,

The prophecy in view ;
Before Creation peopled earth,

He read it on that night,-
Its eye shall roll through chaos back ; The morrow proved it true.
And where the furthest heaven had birth,
The spirit trace its rising track.

“Belshazzar's grave is made, And where the future mars or makes,

His kingdom pass'd away, Its ance dilate o'er all to be,

He in the balance igh'd, While sun is quench'd or system breaks, 1s light and worthless clay. Fix'd in its own eternity.

The shroud, his robe of state,

His canopy, the stone;
Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, The Mede is at his gate!
It lives all passionless and pure:

The Persian on his throne!"
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; Sun of the Sleepless! melancholy star! A nameless and eternal thing,

Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far, Forgetting what it was to die.

That show'st the darkness thou canst not

dispel, How like art thou to joy remember'd well! XVI. .

80 gleams the past, the light of other days,

Which shines, but warms not with its VISION OF BELSHAZZAR.

powerless rays; A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,

Distinct, but distant-clear-but, oh how The King was on his throne,

The Satraps throng'd the hall;
A thousand bright lamps shone

O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,

WERB my bosom as false as thou deemst it In Judah deem'd divine

to be, Jehovah's vessels hold

I need not have wander'd from far Galilee; The godless Heathen's wine!

It was but abjuring my creed to efface

The curse which, thou sayst, is the crime In that same hour and hall,

of my race. The fingers of a hand Came forth against the wall,

If the bad never triumph, then God is And wrote as if on sand :

with thee! The fingers of a man;

If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and A solitary hand

free! Along the letters ran,

If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high, And traced them like a wand.

Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die. The monarch saw, and shook,

I have lost for that faith more than thou And bade no more rejoice;

canst bestow, All bloodless wax'd his look

As the God who permits thee to prosper And tremulous his voice.

doth know; “Let the men of lore appear,

In his hand is my heart and my hope, and The wisest of the earth,

in thine And expound the words of fear, The land and the life which for him ! Which mar our royal mirth."


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