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 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, 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 rent the cable Then the slightest touch will waken So beware, beware, ere thou takest THE HIGH-PRIEST TO ALEXANDER 'Derrame en todo el orbe de la tierra Go forth, thou man of force! Before thy dreadful course Go, forth to conquest go, For the God of gods, which liveth "T is he alone which giveth Whence is your course? and do ye bear Methinks, upon your moaning course For when the moon conceals her ray, Upon the eddying blasts they sail. Then, then their thin and feeble bands And then at times their wailings rise, And tho' thy plains 'T is Freedom's blessed gore. Thy woody dells, Exceed a monarch's halls; Thy pine-clad hills, 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 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 As gilds our being with the light The joys of other worlds to this, Before whose blaze my spirits shrink, 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 Bounding upon his enemies; The vast leviathan, which takes His pastime in the sounding floods; His haunts in Ceylon's spicy woods- O! whether thou, as bards have said, From out thy well-stor❜d golden quiver, 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 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, And as within that spring I trace 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, He turn'd him round where he heard the sound, And he only heard the nightly bird He turn'd him round where he heard the sound, He looked forth into the night, But broad and bright the flashing light From ivory sheath his trusty brand And he rais'd the lamp in his better hand, 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, The king he stood in dreamy mood, Eight and forty columns wide, 1And he was aware of a Grey-friar.' Of mighty magnes-stone.' SPENSER. 'You vile abominable tents, Thus proudly PIGHT upon our Phrygian plains!' 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 With crimson ting'd, and with ermine fring'd, 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, 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. |