Its piteous pageant's bring not back,
Nor waken flesh upon the rack,
Of pain anew to writhe;
Stretch'd in diseases shapes abhorr'd
Or mown in battle by the sword,
Like grass beneath the scythe.
"Even I am weary in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sunless agonies
Behold not me expire.
My lips that speak thy dirge of death
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To see thou shalt not boast.
The eclipse of nature spreads my pall-
The majesty of darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost!
"This spirit shall return to Him
That gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim,
When thou thyself art dark!-
No! it shall live again and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By him recall'd to breath,
Who captive led captivity,
Who robb'd the grave of victory,
And took the sting from death.
"Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up,
On Nature's awful waste,
To drink this last and bitter cup
Of grief that man shall taste ;-
Go, tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race
On Earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy
To quench his immortality,
Or shake his trust in God.
The stars look'd down on the battle-plain,
Where night-winds were deeply sighing,
And with shattered lance, by his war steed, slain,
Lay a youthful Chieftain dying.
He had folded round his gallant breast
The banner, once o'er him streaming,
For a noble shroud, as he sunk to rest
On the couch that knows no dreaming
Proudly he lay on his broken shield,
By the rushing Guadalquiver,
While, dark with the blood of his last red field,
Swept on the majestic river.
There were hands which came to bind his wound,
There were eyes o'er the warrior weeping;
But he raised his head from the dewy ground,
Where the land's high hearts were sleeping!
And "Away!" he cried, " your aid is vain,
My soul may not brook recalling,
I have seen the stately flower of Spain
As the Autumn vine-leaves falling!
"I have seen the Moorish banners wave
O'er the halls where my youth was cherish'd;
I have drawn a sword that could not save,
I have stood where my King hath perish'd!
"Leave me to die with the free and brave,
On the banks of my own bright river!
Ye can give me nought but a warrior's grave
By the chainless Guadalquiver.
One place, one only place, there is on earth,
Where no man e'er was fool, however mad.
"Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die!"
Ah! 'tis a truth most true ;-
-Oh, it has a most convincing tongue,
A potent oratory, that secures
Most mute attention! and it speaks the truth
So boldly, plainly, perfectly distinct,
That none the meaning can mistake or doubt;
And has withal a disenchanting power,
A most omnipotent and wondrous power,
Which in a moment breaks, for ever breaks,
And utterly dissolves the charms and spells,
And cunning sorceries of earth and hell.
And thus it speaks to him who ghastly lies,
And struggles for another breath :- Earth's cup
Is poison'd, her renown, most infamous;
Her gold, seem as it may, is really dust;
Her titles, slanderous names; her praise, reproach;
Her strength, an idiot's boast; her wisdom, blind;
Her gain, eternal loss; her hope, a dream;
Her love, her friendship, enmity with God;
Her promises a lie; her smile, a harlot's;
Her beauty paint, and rotten within, her pleasures,
Deadly assassins masked; her laughter, grief;
Her breasts, the sting of death; her total sum,
Her all, most utter vanity; and all
Her lovers mad, insane most grievously,
And most insane because they know it not.'
Thus does the mighty reasoner, Death, declare, And volumes more; and in one word confirms The BIBLE whole, ETERNITY is all.
-The wisest, best of men,
Believe not to the letter full; but turn,
And on the world look forth, as if they thought
The well-trimm'd hypocrite had something still
Of inward worth. The dying man alone
Gives faithful audience, and the words of Death,
To the last jot, believes, believes and feels;
But oft, alas! believes and feels too late.
Oh thou dull Tomb! what mortal eye can gaze
Undimm'd with tears on thee;
Thou Grave! while standing thus upon thy brink,
Oh who unmoved can be?
Upon thy narrow bed;
There shall the hoary head of age repose,
And there the youthful head.
The pallid cheek of beauty shall recline,
Upon thy pillow cold,
And silently the icy worm shall steal
Through locks of wavy gold.
The cherub-smile of infancy shall lie
Shrouded amid thy gloom;
And the majestic, vigorous form of youth,
Shall moulder in the tomb.
The head that erst the glittering crown adorn'd
Shall there unheeded rest;
And heavily the damp, cold earth shall lie
Upon the monarch's breast.
But shall the sleep of death for ever last?
Oh! Shall we never wake?
And on the long, long slumber of the grave,
Say, shall no morning break?
Yes, and full bright shall be that morning's dawn,
Then Death shall yield his
And the deep shadows of the tomb shall flee
All silent, save the rain.-How still is Night!
Emblem of quiet,-undisturbed and full
As that which dwells in th' uncorrupted breast!
How dull is Night!-type of the heart in which
Foul thoughts and black imaginations live,
As in secluded haunt, unknown to men,
To every eye impervious,-save One!
The rain has ceased; the clouds more broken, flit
In rude, fantastic forms across the sky,
Leaving at intervals small openings, whence
The stars look forth with mute serenity!
How wonderful is Night! e'en when so calm,
That not a sound disturbs the solitude;
When the light winds are laid, and brightly fair
The crescent moon sails on uncloudedly.-
Yet how much more so, when, in sullen state,
The congregating vapours lowering hang;
When the wild wind, unloosed, in boisterous rage
Sweeps on its pathless way with echoing cry;
And, from the arsenal of higher Heaven,
The strife among the elements appals
The ear of trembling nature with its din,
Tumultuously discordant!
How universal are thy comfortings!
Beneath thy darkling brow the wounded heart
Finds courage to think o'er its heavy woes;
And by the prayer which thou inspirest, gains
Strength yet awhile to bear up and endure them.—
Thou callest home the labourer from the field,
And lay'st him down to rest;-the weary head,
Troubled with many cares, thou gently soothest ;-
Far spreading o'er the unresisting world
The Lethean garb of sweet forgetfulness.
Thou shadowy phantom of Almighty power;-
Most wondrous works of wondrous master hand,—
Primeval circler of this beauteous orb,
And Elder Brother of more lovely Day!
How doth thy noiseless birth, thy gentle death,
Thy never failing memory of the time
Appointed for thy reappearing, speak
Of that exalted One, by whom thou art,
By whom we are, and by whose word all things
Move in their several and appointed spheres ;
Each but a part of that surpassing whole,
Made by His word, and by His will preserved,
As indications of unbounded might!
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