The triumphs of her chosen son, The slaughters of his sword! The deeds he did, the fields he won, The freedom he restored! Though thou art fall'n, while we are free The generous blood that flow'd from thee Thy spirit on our breath! Thy name, our charging hosts along, Shall be the battle-word! Thy fall, the theme of choral song From virgin voices pour'd! To weep would do thy glory wrong! Thou shalt not be deplored. SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, Farewell to others, but never we part, SAUL. THOU whose spell can raise the dead, Bid the prophet's form appear. <«< 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 shroud: Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye; His hand was wither'd and his veins were dry; His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there, Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare: From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame, Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents came. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak, At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke. Oh! who in such a night will dare To tempt the wilderness? And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear Our signal of distress? And who that heard our shouts would rise To try the dubious road? Nor rather deem from nightly cries That outlaws were abroad. Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour! More fiercely pours the storm! Yet here one thought has still the power To keep my bosom warm. While wandering through each broken path, O'er brake and craggy brow: While elements exhaust their wrath, Sweet Florence, where art thou? Not on the sea, not on the sea, Thy bark hath long been gone: Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc, When last I press'd thy lip; Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now And since I now remember thee Which mirth and music sped; Do thou amidst the fair white walls, At times from out her latticed halls. Then think upon Calypso's isles, And when the admiring circle mark The paleness of thy face, A half form'd tear, a transient spark Again thou 'It smile, and blushing shun Some coxcomb's raillery; Nor own for once thou thought'st of one, When sever'd hearts repine, TO *** On Lady! when I left the shore, I hardly thought to grieve once more, Yet here, amidst this barren isle, I view my parting hour with dread. I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee: All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire, And, oh! forgive the word-to love. Forgive the word, in one who ne'er With such a word can more offend; And since thy heart I cannot share, Believe me, what I am, thy friend. And who so cold as look on thee, Thou lovely wanderer, and be less? Nor be, what man should ever be, The friend of Beauty in distress? Ah! who would think that form had past Through Danger's most destructive path, Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast, And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath? Lady! when I shall view the walls Where free Byzantium once arose; The Turkish tyrants now enclose; As spot of thy nativity: And though I bid thee now farewell, WRITTEN AT ATHENS, THE spell is broke, the charm is flown! Each lucid interval of thought Recals the woes of Nature's charter, And he that acts as wise men ought, But lives, as saints have died, a martyr. WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. 'Tis said with sorrow time can cope; That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel, On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head! IT TO BE. WERE my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be, The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race. If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee! I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow, HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE. Оn, Mariamne! now for thee The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding; Revenge is lost in agony, And wild remorse to rage succeeding. Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading: And is she dead?—and did they dare Obey my phrenzy's jealous raving? My wrath but doom'd my own despair: The sword that smote her's o'er me waving.But thou art cold, my murder'd love! And this dark heart is vainly craving For her who soars alone above, And leaves my soul unworthy saving. diadem! ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF FROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome "I was thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home, And forgot for a moment my bondage to come; I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane, But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN : We sat dawn and wept by the waters While sadly we gazed on the river Which roll'd on in freedom below, That triumph the stranger shall know! Oh Salem! its sound should be free; THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIE. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain. Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord! |