Line after line, insufferably bright;
The black artillery, in their cloudy might, Impious defiance lanch'd against the skies. With tamer sounds did that wild Heathen* vaunt Amid his thund'rous heavens high Jove to daunt. Day after day I saw their pomp depart; Then said the haughty frenzy of my heart, When o'er this world thy victor wheels are driven, Wilt thou go vanquish the bright stars of Heaven?
And lo, the rival nations hurrying
To crowd beneath my passing eagle's wing; Lo, 'mong my captains many a sceptred king.
Now, now the northern skies are all on fire As with some mighty Empire's funeral pyre! Why bring they not proud Catherine's trophies home? I hear the sound of wheels-They come, they come.'
A solitary sound-no pomp of war
One dastard pale accomplice of his flight,
He comes, whom earth, and all earth's sons obey, The peerless and the paragon of might; The pinnace of the Persian runaway Was glory to his lone and hurrying car.
I ask'd for those in fight, in triumph tried, The partners of his peril and his pride. He, in a tyrant's mockery of my woe, Bade me go seek them in the Scythian snow.
Then felt I what a pitiful tame slave
Was I, who vaunted me mankind's sole queen, The satellite of one man's wayward spleenThe remnant of my fair, my young, my brave, Were rent once more to forge the adamant chain Burst by the nations, who with one accord
Shook the bright vengeance of the freeman's sword-
Another year-and the broad Rhine again Shrouded the sceptred fugitive's pale train,
ALEXANDER TUMULUM ACHILLIS INVI- SENS, POEMA.
CANCELLARII PREMIO DONATUM, ET IN THEATRO SHELDONIANO RECITATUM DIE JUN. XXXmo. A.D. 1813. JAM puer Emathius Thebarum nigra favillâ Monia, Cadmeamque arcem, jam Palladis urbem Immemorem famæ, pronamque in jussa tyranni Fregerat; at victas gentes partosque triumphos Spernit atrox animi, et pacem fastidit inertem. Europes angusta pati confinia nescit
Mentito soboles Jove non indigna, novumque Poscit in arma orbem; jam transilit Hellespontum, Purpureique Asia proceres atque agmina regum, Sceptrigeri quotquot stipant Babylonia Medi Atria, Grajugenûm horrescunt nota arma virorum, Myrmidonumque graves, fatalia tela, sarissas, Confertos clypeos, inconcussamque phalangen.- At simul ac Phrygiæ campos, Priameia regna,
Then turn'd a rebel, roll'd her free waves to the main. Conspicit, et Graiæ latè loca conscia famæ
And now the banners of the embattled world Their folds of vengeance on my vales unfurl'd. Oh, bloody was the evening of thine ire, Thou gorgeous comet of disastrous fire!
I wont to see, as from some quiet star, Deluging slaughter this fair earth o'erwhelm, On the rich bosom of my sunny realm Gave quarry to the ravening dogs of war. But mercy shone upon the merciless! Strong but to save and valiant but to bless, No ruthless Cæsars clad in blood and flame,
Royal in virtue the Avengers came.
Those whom I spoil'd, no spoilers came to me,
Gramineosque ducum tumulos, subit undique Achivum Gloria et adversis bellantia numina in armis, Et Lacedæmoniâ sævæ pro conjuge clades. Omne igitur lustrare juvat, quod mente dolores Iliacos renovet, Danaumque resuscitet iras. Spumeus hic Xanthus nemorosâ pronus ab Idâ, Non galeas, non scuta virûm, sed proruta saxa Arboreosque rapit violento flumine truncos. Hic, ubi luxuriat flaventi campus aristâ, Laomedonteum fuit Ilion, undique nullæ Reliquiæ apparent muri, fractæve columnæ, Oblita non musco viridanti saxa, Pelasgi Usque adeo miseras Troja invidere ruinas. Rhæteasque procul rupes, tumulumque capacem, Ajacis, vastâ elatum super æquora mole
I said, 'Be slave, O earth!' but they-O France, be Cernere erat-sed nulla quies-sed fervidus Heros free.'
For yon dark chief of woe, and guilt, and strife, O sceptred judges! punish him with life. Fear not he seek with the old Roman pride, That weakness to the noble soul allied, To die as Cato, and as Brutus died.
Stare loco nescit, flagratque cupidine pugnæ. Devenit at tandem, Sigeo ubi littore collis Eminet apricus, quem suavè olentia circum Serpylla, et viridi cingunt dumeta coronâ. Hunc et Abydenus sea mollem navita Leshon, Pampineamve Chion, Samiæve altaria Divæ Invisit, radiante orientis lumine solis Prospicit ardentem, remoque acclinis, Homeri
Suave aliquod carmen secum meditatur, et hæret Ingentem tumulum, et Manes veneratus Achillis.
Qualis Mæonii divino in carmine vatis
Stat torvus vultu, et cœlestibus horret in armis, Fulmineosque agitat currus sublimis, et unum Hectora, per trepidas unum petit Hectora turmas: Haud aliter cæca acides tellure videtur, Ceu lituo fremituque armorum excitus amato, Tollere se, juvenique ingens gratarier umbra. Hunc videt, et viso gaudet, quin totus inani Figitur in specie, quamque ipse effinxerat umbram Esse putat veram, mutoque immobilis ore Stat Macedo; ast Asiæ fines atque ultimus orbis Sentit Alexandri requiem, tardataque fata.
Tum lecti comites instaurant sacra, et odori Rite coronatis fumant altaribus ignes. Fervet opus, latices pars vivo e fonte, Lyæo Immistos roseo, sinceraque flumina lactis Auratis libant pateris, pars florea, circum Serta, et odoriferos dispergunt veris honores. Quin et gramineam niveus mactatur ad aram Taurus, et humectat sacratam sanguine arenam.
At procul Idæo spectat de vertice pompam Turba Phrygum, mistaque irâ et formidine mussat, Hos novus angit honos et adhuc invisus Achilles. Atque aliqua in trepida mater stat mæsta catervâ Andromachen animo reputans, Ithacique cruentâ Astyanacta manu dejectum manibus altis, Dilectumque premit pavefacta ad pectora natum. Stat virgo, mæstosque fovet sub corde timores, Ne nova materno direpta Polyxena collo Placet Achilleos infando sanguine Manes.
At Rex Emathius nodosæ innititur hastæ Majestate minax, tacitâ, ceu numine plenus Fatidico vates, e pectore protinus amens Excutit ille Deum, pulcher furor occupat ora, Terror inest oculis, procerior emicat ingens Forma viri, fluitant agitatæ in casside cristæ.
"Me quoque, me," clamat, "belli post mille labores, Post fractas urbes, post regna hâc proruta dextrâ Ultima cantabit tellus, gens nulla silebit Nomen Alexandri, sobolemque fatebitur Hammon. Te, magne acida, decimus te viderit annus Iliacas arces et debita Pergama fatis Oppugnantem armis, me Sol mirabitur ire Victorem, cursuque suos prævertere currus. Jam Susa, et præclara auro niveoque elephanto Ecbatana, et frustra patriorum ope freta Deorum Persepolis (tristes inhiant ceu nubibus atris Agricolæ dubii quos fulmine proterat agros Jupiter) expectant ruiturum in mania Martem; Servitium quibus una salus, quibus ultima et una est Gloria Alexandri dextrâ meruisse ruinam. Adsum ego, jam Babylon æratus pandere portas Festinat, patiturque superbo flumine pontem Euphrates, Graiumque minax strepit ungula equorum, Et Larissens super ardua monia currus; Quo ferus Hystaspes, quo tramite Cyrus adegit
Quadrijugos, Lydoque equitavit fulgidus auro, Et non fœmineis animosa Semiramis armis. Deinde coloratos, qualis Jovis ales, ad Indos, Et matutinæ rosea incunabula lucis Deferor, auriferos Macedo bibit impiger amnes. Atque ubi Pellæis tellus jam deficit armis, Nec superest nostro gens non indigna triumpho, Unus Alexander victo dominabitur orbi.
"Jamque procul Martis strepitus, jam pervenit aures Ferrea vox belli, jam dira ad prælia Medus Aureus accingit galeam gladiumque coruscat Impatiens fati, et Graiæ vim provocat ultro Cuspidis, ardentique superbit barbarus ostro- Non æquas, Darie, malo petis omine pugnas! Ibat ovans ferrum Argolicis flammasque carinis Insanâ virtute ferens Priameius Hector. Illum ergo Illiacæ rediturum vespere sero Speravere nurus, Pelide cæde madentem
Atque Agamemnonios agitantem ad Pergama currus. Speravere diu-crines procul ille venustos Formosumque caput fœdabat pulvere in atro Sordidus, Argivisque dabat ludibria nautis.
"Tartareas fauces reserabit et horrida claustra Rex Erebi, utque meam videat coram invidus hastam Myrmidonumque feros referentia bella parentes, Ad superas ingentem auras emittit Achillem. Ille mihi pugnas inter fremitumque, furoremque Addit se comitem, et curru famulatur ovanti. Vidi egomet, nisi vana oculos illusit imago, Spicula crispantem, atque minaci cassida fronte, Nutantem, quæ luce vagos tremefecit ahenâ Priamidas, nigrumque auratis Memnona bigis. Vidi egomet, neque vana fides, atroque sub Orco Immortalem animam tangit laus sera nepotum, Famaque Tartareis sonat haud ingrata sub umbris. Felix Eacida! tacitas inglorius îsses
Ad sedes Erebi, cæcâque oblivia nocte Invida pressissent nomen, quod barbarus Istri Potor, et Herculeis gens si qua admota columnis Novit, et Æthiopes non æquo Sole calentes. At tibi Mæonides, seu quis Deus, aurea Olympi Regna procul linquens, cæci senis induit ora, Et plus quàm mortale melos, bellumque, tumultum que
Infremuit, divina tuæ præconia laudis, Æternumque dedit viridem frondescere famam.
'Et nobis quandoque dabunt hæc ultima dona Dii, quibus Emathium decus et mea gloria curæ. Exoriare aliquis, nostrum qui nomen, Homerus, Pellæosque feras ad sæcula sera triumphos, Exoriare, novus plectro non deerit Achilles.”—
Hæc fatus, clypeo fremuit, dirosque dedere Æra sonos, quassisque armis exercitus omnis Intonuere, simul nemorosa remugiit Ida. Quos sonitus, Granice, tuum ad fatale fluentum. Persarumque acies et pictis Medus in armis Agnovere procul, solio Darius eburno Exsiluit, fatique pavens præsagia iniqui Non audituro fudit vota irrita cœlo.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF GUIDI.
A LADY, like to Juno in her state,
Upon the air her golden tresses streaming, And with celestial eyes of azure beaming, Enter'd whilere my gate, Like a Barbaric Queen
On the Euphrates shore,
In purple and fine linen was she pall'd,
Nor flower nor laurel green,
Her tresses for their garland wore
The splendour of the Indian emerald.
But through the rigid pride and pomp unbending Of beauty and of haughtiness, Sparkled a flattery sweet and condescending: And from her inmost bosom sent, Came accents of most wonderous gentleness, Officious and intent
To thrall my soul in soft imprisonment.
And "Place," she said, "thy hand within my hair, And all around thou'lt see
Delightful chances fair
On golden feet come dancing unto thee. Me Jove's daughter shalt thou own, That with my sister Fate
Sits by his side on state
On the eternal throne.
Great Neptune to my will the ocean gives :
In vain, in well-appointed strength secure, The Indian and the Briton strives
The assaulting billows to endure;
Unless their flying sails I guide Where over the smooth tide
On my sweet spirit's wings I ride. I banish to their bound
The storms of dismal sound,
And o'er them take my stand with foot serene; The Eolian caverns under
The wings of the rude winds I chain, And with my hand I burst asunder The fiery chariot wheels of the hurricane : And in its fount the horrid restless fire
I quench ere it aspire
To Heaven, to colour the red Comet's train.
This is the hand that forged on Ganges' shore
The Indians' empire; by Orontes set
The royal tiar the Assyrian wore; Hung jewels on the brow of Babylon,
By Tigris wreath'd the Persian's coronet,
And at the Macedonian's foot bow'd every throne. It was my lavish gift,
The triumph and the song Around the youth of Pella loud uplift, When he through Asia swept along, A torrent swift and strong; With me, with me the Conqueror ran To where the Sun his golden course began; And the high Monarch left on earth
A faith unquestion'd of his heavenly birth;
By valour mingled with the Gods above,
And made a glory of himself to his great father Jove.
My royal spirits oft
Their solemn mystic round
On Rome's great birth-day wound: And I the haughty Eagles sprung aloft Unto the Star of Mars upborne,
Till, poising on their plumy sails, They 'gan their native vales And Sabine palms to scorn: And I on the seven hills to sway
That Senate House of Kings convened, On me their guide and stay
Ever the Roman counsels lean'd
In danger's lofty way.
I guerdon'd the wise delay
Of Fabius with the laurel crown, And hot Marcellus' fiercer battle tone; And I on the Tarpeian did deliver
Afric a captive, and through me Nile flow'd Under the laws of the great Latin river; And of his bow and quiver
The Parthian rear'd a trophy high and broad: The Dacian's fierce inroad
Against the gates of iron broke,
Taurus and Caucasus endured my yoke:
Then my vassal and my slave
Did every native land of every wind become, And when I had o'ercome
All earth beneath my feet, I gave
The vanquish'd world in one great gift to Rome.
"I know that in thine high imagination,
Other daughters of Great Jove Have taken their Imperial station,
And queen-like thy submissive passions move; From them thou hopest a high and godlike fate, From them thy haughty verse presages An everlasting sway o'er distant ages, And with their glorious rages
Thy mind intoxicate,
Deems 't is in triumphal motion, On courser fleet, or winged bark, Over earth and over ocean;
While in shepherd hamlet dark
Thou livest, with want within, and raiment coarse
And none upon thy state hath thrown
Gentle regard; I, I alone
To new and lofty venture call thee out;
Then follow, thus besought, Waste not thy soul in thought; Brooks nor sloth nor lingering The great moment on the wing."
"A blissful lady and immortal, born From the eternal mind of Deity
(I answer'd bold and free), My soul hath in her queenly care;
She mine imagination doth upbear,
And steeps it in the light of her rich morn, That overshades and sicklies all thy shining; And though my lowly hair
Presume not to bright crowns of thy entwining, Yet in my mind I bear
Gifts nobler and more rare
Than the kingdoms thou canst lavish,
Gifts thou canst nor give nor ravish:
And though my spirit may not comprehend Thy chances bright and fair,
Yet neither doth her sight offend
The aspect pale of miserable care: Horror to her is not
Of this coarse raiment, and this humble cot; She with the golden Muses doth abide, And oh the darling children of thy pride Shall then be truly glorified, When they may merit to be wrapt around With my Poesy's eternal sound."
She kindled at my words and flamed, as when A cruel star hath wide dispread Its locks of bloody red, She burst in wrathful menace then: "Me fears the Dacian, the band
Of wandering Scythians fears,
Me the rough mothers of Barbaric kings; In woe and dread amid the rings
Of their encircling spears The purple tyrants stand; And a shepherd here forlorn
Treats my proffer'd boons with scorn. And fears he not my wrath?
And knows he not my works of scathe; Nor how with angry foot I went, Of every province in the Orient,
Branding the bosom with deep tracks of death? From three Empresses I rent
The tresses and imperial wreath,
And bared them to the pitiless element. Well I remember when his armed grasp
From Asia stretch'd, rash Xerxes took his stand Upon the formidable bridge to clasp
And manacle sad Europe's trembling hand:
In the great day of battle there was I,
Busy with myriads of the Persian slaughter, The Salaminian sea's fair face to dye,
That yet admires its dark and bloody water; Full vengeance wreak'd I for the affront Done Neptune at the fetter'd Hellespont.
"To the Nile then did I go,
The fatal collar wound
The fair neck of the Egyptian Queen around; And I the merciless poison made to flow Into her breast of snow.
Ere that within the mined cave,
I forced dark Afric's valour stoop
Confounded, and its dauntless spirit droop.
When to the Carthaginian brave,
With mine own hand, the hemlock draught I gave.
"And Rome through me the ravenous flame
In the heart of her great rival, Carthage, cast, That went through Libya wandering, a scorn'd shade, Till, sunk to equal shame,
Her mighty enemy at last
A shape of mockery was made: Then miserably pleased,
Her fierce and ancient vengeance she appeased; And even drew a sigh
Over the ruins vast
Of the deep-hated Latin majesty.
I will not call to mind the horrid sword Upon the Memphian shore,
Steep'd treasonously in great Pompey's gore, Nor that for rigid Cato's death abhorr'd;
Nor that which in the hand of Brutus wore The first deep colouring of a Cæsar's blood. Nor will I honour thee with thy high mood Of wrath, that kingdoms doth exterminate; Incapable art thou of my great hate,
As my great glories. Therefore shall be thine Of my revenge a slighter sign; Yet will I make its fearful sound Hoarse and slow rebound,
Till seem the gentle pipings low
To equal the fierce trumpet's brazen glow."
Then sprang she on her flight,
Furious, and at her call,
Upon my cottage did the storms alight, Did hurricanes and thunders fall.
But I, with brow serene,
Beheld the angry hail
And lightning flashing pale, Devour the promise green Of my poor native vale.
I WOULD not from the wise require The lumber of their learned lore; Nor would I from the rich desire A single counter of their store.
For I have ease, and I have health, And I have spirits, light as air;
And more than wisdom, more than wealth,- A merry heart, that laughs at care.
At once, 't is true, two 'witching eyes Surprised me in a luckless season, Turn'd all my mirth to lonely sighs, And quite subdued my better reason. Yet 't was but love could make me grieve. And love you know 's a reason fair,
And much improved, as I believe, The merry heart, that laugh'd at care.
So now from idle wishes clear
I make the good I may not find; Adown the stream I gently steer, And shift my sail with every wind. And half by nature, half by reason, Can still with pliant heart prepare The mind, attuned to every season, The merry heart, that laughs at care.
Yet, wrap me in your sweetest dream, Ye social feelings of the mind,
Give, sometimes give, your sunny gleam, And let the rest good-humour find. Yes, let me hail and welcome give To every joy my lot may share, And pleased and pleasing let me live With merry heart, that laughs at care.
CHORUS FROM THE TROADES OF EURIPIDES.
A SAD, unwonted song, O'er Ilion, Muse! prolong, Mingled with tears of woe, The funeral descant slow.
I too, with shriek and frantic cry, Take up the dismal melody;
How, lost through that strange four-wheel'd car, Stern Argo's captive chains we wear, What time the Greek, or ere he fled Left at our gate the armed steed, Menacing the heavens with giant height, And all with golden housings bright.
Shouted all the people loud,
On the rock-built height that stood,- "Come," they sang, and on they prest,- "Come, from all our toils released, Lead the blest image to the shrine
Of her, the Jove-born Trojan maid divine!"
Linger'd then what timorous maid? Her age his tardy steps delay'd;- With gladsome shout, and jocund song, They drew their treacherous fate along! And all the Phrygian rout Through every gate rush'd out. On the dangerous gift they lead, The beauty of th' unyoked, immortal steed, With its ambush'd warrior freight, Argos' pride and Ilion's fate. Round the stately horse, and round Cord and cable soon they wound; And drag it on, like pinnace dark Of some tall and stately bark, To the temple's marble floor, Soon to swim with Trojan gore. O'er the toil, the triumph, spread Silent night her curtain'd shade; But Libyan pipes still sweetly rang, And many a Phrygian air they sang; And maidens danced with airy feet, To the jocund measures sweet. And every house was blazing bright, As the glowing festival light
Its rich and purple splendour stream'd, Where the mantling wine-cup gleam'd.
But I, the while, the palace-courts around, Hymning the mountain queen, Jove's virgin daughter,
Went with blithe dance, and music's sprightly sound,
When, all at once, the frantic cry of slaughter All through the wide and startled city ran! The shudd'ring infants on their mothers' breasts Clung with their hands, and cower'd within their vests. Forth stalk'd the mighty Mars, and the fell work began,
The work of Pallas in her ire!
Then round each waning altar-fire,
Wild Slaughter, drunk with Phrygian blood, And murtherous Desolation strew'd; Where, on her couch of slumber laid, Was wont to rest the tender maid,
To warrior Greece the crown of triumph gave, The last full anguish to the Phrygian slave!
[Founded on the following fact :-"The case of the Rodeur, mentioned by Lord Lansdowne. A dreadful ophthalmia prevailed among the slaves on board this ship, which was communicated to the crew, so that there was but a single man who could see to guide the vessel into port."--Quart. Rev. vol. 26, p. 71.]
OLD, sightless man, unwont art thou, As blind men use, at noon
To sit and sun thy tranquil brow, And hear the birds' sweet tune.
There's something heavy at thy heart, Thou dost not join the pray'r; Even at God's word thou 'It writhe and start, "Oh! man of God, beware!"
"If thou didst hear what I could say,
"Twould make thee doubt of grace, And drive me from God's house away,
Lest I infect the place."
"Say on; there's nought of human sin, Christ's blood may not atone:" "Thou canst not read what load's within This desperate heart."-"Say on."
"The skies were bright, the seas were calm, We ran before the wind,
That, bending Afric's groves of palm,
Came fragrant from behind.
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