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Tis done-- tis past-since Pallas warns in vain
Nay, frown not Albion, for the torch was thine,
LET Edinburgh critics o’erwhelm with their praises
Their Madame de STAEL, and their fam'd L'EPI
Like a meteor at best, proud Philosophy blazes,
And the fame of a Wit is as brittle as glass : But cheering's the beam, and unfading the splendour
Of thy torch, Wedded Love! and it never has yet Shone with lustre more holy, more pure, or more
tender, Than it sheds on the name of the fair LAVALETTE.
Then fill high the wine cup, e'en Virtue shall bless it,
And hallow the goblet which foams to her name ; The warm lip of Beauty shall piously press it,
And Hymen shall honour the pledge to her fame:
To the health of the Woman, who freedom and life too
Has risk'd for her Husband, we'll pay the just debt; And hail with applauses the Heroine and Wife too,
The constant, the noble, the fair LAVALETTE.
Her foes have awarded, in impotent malice,
To their captive a doom, which all Europe abhors, And turns from the stairs of the Priest-haunted palace, While those who replaced them there, blush for
their cause : But, in ages to come, when the blood-tarnish'd glory
Of dukes, and of marshals, in darkness hath set, Hearts shall throb, eyes shall glisten, at reading the
story Of the fond self-devotion of fair LAVALETTE.
Oh, shame to thee, Land of the Gaul !
Oh, shame to thy children and thee! Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall,
How wretched thy portion shall be !
A mockery that never shall die ;
Shall burthen the winds of thy sky;
And, proud o'er thy ruin, for ever be hurld
Oh, where is thy spirit of yore,
The spirit that breathed in thy dead, When gallantry's star was the beacon before,
And honour the passion that led ? Thy storms have awaken'd their sleep,
They groan from the place of their rest, And wrathfully murmur, and sullenly weep,
To see the foul stain on thy breast; For where is the glory they left thee in trust ? 'Tis scatter'd in darkness, 'tis trampled in dust!
Go, look through the kingdoms of earth,
From Indus, all round to the Pole, And something of goodness, of honour, and worth,
Shall brighten the sins of the soul : But thou art alone in thy shame,
The world cannot liken thee there; Abhorrence and vice have disfigur'd thy name
Beyond the low reach of compare ; Stupendous in guilt thou shalt lend us through time A proverb, a by-word, for treach'ry and crime!
While conquest illumin’d his sword,
While yet in his prowess he stood,
Though tyranny sat on his crown,
And wither'd the nations afar,
Till fortune deserted his car ;
Forgot were the feats he had done,
The toils he had borne in thy cause; Thou turned'st to worship a new rising sun,
And waft other songs of applause;
Adversity clouded his beam:
And loyalty's self but a dream :-
What tumult thus burthens the air,
What throng thus encircles his throne ? 'Tis the shout of delight, 'tis the millions that swear
His sceptre shall rule them alone. Reverses shall brighten their zeal,
Misfortune shall hallow his name, And the world that pursues him shall mournfully feel
How quenchless the spirit and flame