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Fair freedom! we may hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear
In humblest guise have shown.
Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind!

Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,
Nor written thus in vain-
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,
Or deepen every stain-

If thou hadst died as honour dies,
Some new Napoleon might arise,
To shame the world again-
But who would soar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night?

Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust
Is vile as vulgar clay;
Thy scales, mortality! are just

To all that pass away;
But yet methought the living great

Some higher sparks should animate,

To dazzle and dismay;

Nor deem'd contempt could thus make mirth Of these, the conquerors of the earth.

And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,

Thy still imperial bride;

How bears her breast the torturing hour?

Still clings she to thy side?

Must she too bend, must she too share
Thy late repentance, long despair,
Thou throneless homicide?

If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,
'T is worth thy vanish'd diadem!

Then haste thee to thy sullen isle,
And gaze upon the sea;
That element may meet thy smile,
It ne'er was ruled by thee!
Or trace with thine all idle hand
In loitering mood upon the sand
That earth is now as free!

That Corinth's pedagogue hath now
Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow.

Thou Timour! in his captive's cage

I

What thoughts will there be thine,
While brooding in thy prison'd rage?

But one-« The world was mine! »
Unless, like he of Babylon,
All sense is with thy sceptre gone,
Life will not long confine
That spirit pour'd so widely forth-
So long obey'd—so little worth!

Or like the thief of fire from heaven,"
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
And share with him, the unforgiven,
His vulture and his rock!

The

cage of Bajazet, by order of Tamerlane. 'Prometheus.

Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst,
And that last act, though not thy worst,
The very fiend's arch mock;'

He in his fall preserved his pride,
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died!

ODE.

(FROM THE FRENCH.)

We do not curse thee, Waterloo!
Though freedom's blood thy plain bedew;
There 't was shed, but is not sunk-

Rising from each gory trunk,
Like the water-spout from ocean,
With a strong and growing motion—
It soars, and mingles in the air,
With that of lost LABEDOYÈRE-
With that of him whose honour'd grave
Contains the « bravest of the brave. »
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose;
When 't is full 't will burst asunder-

Never yet was heard such thunder

As then shall shake the world with wonderNever yet was seen such lightning,

As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!

«The fiend's arch mock

To lip a wanton, and suppose her chaste.—»

SHAKSPEARE.

Like the wormwood star foretold
By the sainted seer of old,
Show'ring down a fiery flood,
Turning rivers into blood.'

The chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo!

When the soldier citizen

Sway'd not o'er his fellow men-
Save in deeds that led them on
Where glory smiled on freedom's son-
Who, of all the despots banded,

With that youthful chief competed?
Who could boast o'er France defeated,

Till lone tyranny commanded?
Till, goaded by ambition's sting,
The hero sunk into the king?
Then he fell;-So perish all,
Who would men by man enthral!

And thou too of the snow-white plume!

Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb;"

See Rev. chap. vii. verse 7, etc. «The first angel sounded, and

there followed hail and fire mingled with blood,» etc.

Verse 8. And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea; and the third part of the sea became blood,» etc.

Verse 10. "

And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp; and it fell upon the third of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters."

Verse 11.

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And the name of the star is called Wormwood: and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter.»>

'Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burnt.

Better hadst thou still been leading
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame,
For a meanly royal name;
Such as he of Naples wears,

Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing
On thy war-horse through the ranks,
Like a stream which burst its banks,
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,
Shone and shiver'd fast around thee—
Of the fate at last which found thee;
Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave's dishonest blow?

Once as the moon sways o'er the tide,
It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,
The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendancy,--
And, as it onward rolling rose,

So moved his heart upon our foes.

There, where death's brief pang was quickest,
And the battle's wreck lay thickest,
Strew'd beneath the advancing banner
Of the eagle's burning crest-
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,
Who could then her wing arrest—
Victory beaming from her breast?)
While the broken line enlarging

Fell, or fled along the plain,

VOL. VII.

22

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