I SAW THEE WEEP. GEORGE G. BYRON. I saw thee weep-the big bright tear I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze It could not match the living rays As clouds from yonder sun receive Which scarce the shade of coming eve Can banish from the sky, Those smiles unto the moodiest mind Their own pure joy impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind, That lightens o'er the heart. NAPOLEON AT REST. J. PIERPONT. IS falchion flashed along the Nile, His host he led through Alpine snows; O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the while, His eagle-flag unrolled-and froze! Here sleeps he now, alone!-not one, Ber ls o'er his dust; nor wife nor son Behind the sea-girt rock, the star That led him on from crown to crown Has sunk, and nations from afar Gazed as it faded and went down. High is his tomb: the ocean flood, Far, far below, by storms is curled- Alone he sleeps: the mountain cloud, That night hangs round him, and the breath Of morning scatters, is the shroud That wraps the conqueror's clay in death. Pause here! The far off world at last Breathes free; the hand that shook its thrones, And to the earth its miters cast, Lies powerless now beneath these stones. Hark! Comes there from the pyramids, And Europe's hills, a voice that bids The world be awed to mourn him?-No! The only, the perpetual dirge, That's heard here is the sea-bird's cry The mournful murmur of the surge, The clouds' deep voice, the wind's low sigh. AND THOU ART DEAD. GEORGE GORDON (LORD) BYRON. ND thou art dead, as young and fair, And form so soft, and charms so rare, Though Earth received them in her bed, There is an eye which could not brook I will not ask where thou liest low, There flowers or weeds at will may grow, So I behold them not: It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love, Like common earth can rot; To me there needs no stone to tell, Yet did I love thee to the last Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal, Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine: The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep; Nor need I to repine That all those charms have pass'd away, The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd And yet it were a greater grief I know not if I could have borne To see thy beauties fade; The night that follow'd such a morn Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd, Extinguish'd, not decay'd; |