THE PASSIONS

'You have passions in your heart-scorpions; they sleep now-beware how you awaken them! they will sting you even to death!'-Mysteries of Udolpho, vol. iii.

BEWARE, beware, ere thou takest
The draught of misery!
Beware, beware, e'er thou wakest
The scorpions that sleep in thee!

The woes which thou canst not number, As yet are wrapt in sleep;

Yet oh! yet they slumber,

But their slumbers are not deep.

Yet oh! yet while the rancour

Of hate has no place in thee,
While thy buoyant soul has an anchor
In youth's bright tranquil sea:

Yet oh! yet while the blossom

Of hope is blooming fair,

While the beam of bliss lights thy bosom O! rouse not the serpent there!

For bitter thy tears will trickle

'Neath misery's heavy load,
When the world has put in its sickle
To the crop which fancy sow'd.

When the world has rent the cable
That bound thee to the shore,
And launched thee weak and unable
To bear the billow's roar;

Then the slightest touch will waken
Those pangs that will always grieve thee,
And thy soul will be fiercely shaken
With storms that will never leave thee!

So beware, beware, ere thou takest
The draught of misery!
Beware, beware, ere thou wakest
The scorpions that sleep in thee!

THE HIGH-PRIEST TO ALEXANDER

'Derrame en todo el orbe de la tierra
Las armas, el furor, y nueva guerra.'
La Araucana, cant. xvi.

Go forth, thou man of force!
The world is all thine own;

Before thy dreadful course
Shall totter every throne.
Let India's jewels glow
Upon thy diadem:

Go, forth to conquest go,
But spare Jerusalem.

For the God of gods, which liveth
Through all eternity,

"T is he alone which giveth
And taketh victory:

Whence is your course? and do ye bear
The sighs of other worlds along,
When through the dark immense of air
Ye rush in tempests loud and strong?

Methinks, upon your moaning course
I hear the army of the dead;
Each on his own invisible horse,
Triumphing in his trackless tread.

For when the moon conceals her ray,
And midnight spreads her darkest veil,
Borne on the air, and far away,

Upon the eddying blasts they sail.

Then, then their thin and feeble bands
Along the echoing winds are roll'd;
The bodyless tribes of other lands!
The formless, misty sons of old!

And then at times their wailings rise,
The shrilly wailings of the grave!
And mingle with the madden'd skies,
The rush of wind, and roar of wave.

And tho' thy plains
Red slaughter stains,

'T is Freedom's blessed gore.

Thy woody dells,
And shadowy fells,

Exceed a monarch's halls;

Thy pine-clad hills,
And gushing rills,

And foaming water-falls.

The Gallic foe

Has work'd thee woe,

But trumpet never scar'd thee;

How could he think

That thou would'st shrink,

With all thy rocks to guard thee?

E'en now the Gaul,

That wrought thy fall,

At his own triumph wonders;

So long the strife

For death and life,

So loud our rival thunders!

O! when shall Time
Avenge the crime,

And to our rights restore us? And bid the Seine

Be chok'd with slain,

And Paris quake before us?

BABYLON

'Come down, and sit in the dust, O virgin daughter of Babylon; sit on the ground: there is no throne.'-ISAIAH xlvii. 1.

Bow, daughter of Babylon, bow thee to dust! Thine heart shall be quell'd, and thy pride shall be crush'd:

Weep, Babylon, weep! for thy splendour is past;

And they come like the storm in the day of the blast.

Howl, desolate Babylon, lost one and lone! And bind thee in sack-cloth-for where is thy throne?

Like a wine-press in wrath will I trample thee down,

And rend from thy temples the pride of thy

crown.

Though thy streets be a hundred, thy gates be all brass,

Yet thy proud ones of war shall be wither'd like grass;

Thy gates shall be broken, thy strength be laid low,

And thy streets shall resound to the shouts of the foe!

1 Arise, ye princes, and anoint the shield.' — ISAIAH xxi. 5.

2 I will make drunk her princes.' - JEREMIAH li. 57. sThe mountains melted from before the Lord.' JUDG. v. 5. 'Oh! that the mountains might flow down

LOVE

I

ALMIGHTY Love! whose nameless power
This glowing heart defines too well,
Whose presence cheers each fleeting hour,
Whose silken bonds our souls compel,
Diffusing such a sainted spell,

As gilds our being with the light
Of transport and of rapturous bliss,
And almost seeming to unite

The joys of other worlds to this,
The heavenly smile, the rosy kiss; -

Before whose blaze my spirits shrink,
My senses all are wrapt in thee,
Thy force I own too much, to think
(So full, so great thine ecstacy)
That thou art less than deity!

Thy golden chains embrace the land, The starry sky, the dark blue main; And at the voice of thy command,

(So vast, so boundless is thy reign) All nature springs to life again!

II

The glittering fly, the wondrous things
That microscopic art descries;
The lion of the waste, which springs,

Bounding upon his enemies;
The mighty sea-snake of the storm,
The vorticella's viewless form,1

The vast leviathan, which takes

His pastime in the sounding floods;
The crafty elephant, which makes

His haunts in Ceylon's spicy woods-
Alike confess thy magic sway,
Thy soul-enchanting voice obey!

O! whether thou, as bards have said,
Of bliss or pain the partial giver,
Wingest thy shaft of pleasing dread

From out thy well-stor❜d golden quiver,
O'er earth thy cherub wings extending,
Thy sea-born mother's side attending; -

Or else, as Indian fables say,

Upon thine emerald lory riding, Through gardens, mid the restless play

Of fountains, in the moon-beam gliding, Mid sylph-like shapes of maidens dancing, Thy scarlet standard high advancing;

Thy fragrant bow of cane thou bendest,2
Twanging the string of honey'd bees,
And thence the flower-tipp'd arrow sendest,
Which gives or robs the heart of ease;
Camdeo, or Cupid, O be near,

To listen, and to grant my prayer!

1 See BAKER on Animalculæ.

* See Sir WILLIAM JONES'S WORKS, vol. vi. p. 313.

SONG

To sit beside a chrystal spring,
Cool'd by the passing zephyr's wing,
And bend my every thought to thee,
Is life, is bliss, is ecstacy!

And as within that spring I trace
Each line, each feature of my face;
The faithful mirror tells me true-
It tells me that I think of you!

EXHORTATION TO THE GREEKS

En illa, illa quam sæpe optastis, libertas!'

SALLUST

AROUSE thee, O Greece! and remember the day,

When the millions of Xerxes were quell'd on their way!

Arouse thee, O Greece! let the pride of thy

name

Awake in thy bosom the light of thy fame! Why hast thou shone in the temple of glory?

Why hast thou blaz'd in those annals of fame? For know, that the former bright page of thy story

Proclaims but thy bondage and tells but thy shame:

Proclaims from how high thou art fallen - how low

Thou art plung'd in the dark gulf of thraldom and woe!

Arouse thee, O Greece! from the weight of thy slumbers!

The chains are upon thee!- arise from thy sleep!

Remember the time, when nor nations nor numbers

Could break thy thick phalanx embodied and deep.

Old Athens and Sparta remember the morning, When the swords of the Grecians were red to

the hilt:

And, the bright gem of conquest her chaplet adorning,

Platea rejoic'd at the blood that ye spilt! Remember the night, when, in shrieks of affright,

The fleets of the East in your ocean were sunk:

Remember each day, when, in battle array, From the fountain of glory how largely ye drunk!

For there is not ought that a freeman can fear, As the fetters of insult, the name of a slave; And there is not a voice to a nation so dear, As the war-song of freedom that calls on the brave.

'He bends the luscious cane, and twists the string, With bees how sweet, but ah! how keen the sting! He with five flowrets tips thy ruthless darts, Which thro' five senses pierce enraptur'd hearts.'

KING CHARLES'S VISION

[A Vision somewhat resembling the following, and prophetic of the Northern Alexander, is said to have been witnessed by Charles XI. of Sweden, the antagonist of Sigismund. The reader will exclaim, 'Credet Judæus Apella ! ']

KING CHARLES was sitting all alone,

In his lonely palace-tower,

When there came on his ears a heavy groan,
At the silent midnight hour.

He turn'd him round where he heard the sound,
But nothing might he see;

And he only heard the nightly bird
That shriek'd right fearfully.

He turn'd him round where he heard the sound,
To his casement's arched frame;
And he was aware of a light that was there,'
But he wist not whence it came.

He looked forth into the night,
'Twas calm as night might be;

But broad and bright the flashing light
Stream'd red and radiantly.

From ivory sheath his trusty brand
Of stalwart steel he drew;

And he rais'd the lamp in his better hand,
But its flame was dim and blue.

And he open'd the door of that palace-tower, But harsh turn'd the jarring key:

'By the Virgin's might,' cried the king that night,

4 All is not as it should be!'

Slow turn'd the door of the crazy tower,
And slowly again did it close;
And within and without, and all about,
A sound of voices rose.

The king he stood in dreamy mood,
For the voices his name did call;
Then on he past, till he came at last
To the pillar'd audience-hall.

Eight and forty columns wide,
Many and carv'd and tall,

1And he was aware of a Grey-friar.'
The Grey Brother.
And he was aware of a knight that was there.'
The Baron of Smalhome.
A hideous rock is PIGHT

Of mighty magnes-stone.'

SPENSER.

'You vile abominable tents,

Thus proudly PIGHT upon our Phrygian plains!'
SHAKESPEARE.

8 This is, perhaps, an unpardonable falsehood, since it is well known that Charles was so great an enemy to finery as even to object to the appearance of the Duke of Marlborough on that account. Let those readers, therefore, whose critical nicety this passage offends,

bright,

And locks like the raven's wing,

And in regal state at that board there sate
The likeness of a king.

With crimson ting'd, and with ermine fring'd,
And with jewels spangled o'er,

And rich as the beam of the sun on the stream, A sparkling robe he wore.3

Yet though fair shone the gem on his proud diadem,

Though his robe was jewell'd o'er, Though brilliant the vest on his mailed breast, Yet they all were stain'd with gore!

And his eye darted ire, and his glance shot fire, And his look was high command;

substitute the following stanza, which is the whole truth, and nothing but the truth':

With buttons of brass that glitter'd like glass,
And brows that were crown'd with bays,
With large blue coat, and with black jack-boot,
The theme of his constant praise.

Nothing indeed could exceed Charles's affection for his boots: he eat, drank, and slept in them; nay, he never went on a bootless errand. When the dethroned monarch Augustus waited upon him with proposals of peace, Charles entertained him with a long dissertation on his unparalleled aforesaid jack-boots: he even went so far as to threaten (according to Voltaire), in an authoritative epistle to the senate at Stockholm, that unless they proved less refractory, he would send them one of his boots as regent! Now this, we must allow, was a step beyond Caligula's consul.