As round her fell her long fair hair; And she look'd to heaven with that frenzied air, Which seem'd to ask if a God were there! And, stretch'd by the wall of a ruin'd hut, A child of famine dying: And the carnage begun, when resistance is done And the fall of the vainly flying! * * * * But the Devil has reach'd our cliffs so white, If his eyes were good, he but saw by night But he made a tour, and kept a journal Of all the wondrous sights nocturnal, And he sold it in shares to the Men of the Row, Who bid pretty well-but they cheated him, though' The Devil first saw, as he thought, the Mail, Its coachman and his coat; So instead of a pistol he cock'd his tail, And seized him by the throat: "Aha!" quoth he, "what have we here? 'Tis a new barouche, and an ancient peer! So he sat him on his box again, And bade him have no fear, But be true to his club, and stanch to his rein, "Next to seeing a lord at the council board, I would rather see him here." * * * * The Devil gat next to Westminster, And he turn'd to "the room of the Commons; But he heard, as he purposed to enter in there, That "the Lords" had received a summons ; And he thought, as a " quondam aristocrat,” He might peep at the peers, though to hear them were flat; And he walk'd up the house so like one of our own, That they say that he stood pretty near the throne. He saw the Lord Liverpool seemingly wise, The Lord Westmoreland certainly silly, In spite of his prayers and his prophecies; And he heard which set Satan himself a staringA certain Chief Justice say something like swearing. And the Devil was shock'd—and quoth he, “I must For I find we have much better manners below: [go, If thus he harangues when he passes my border, I shall hint to friend Moloch to call him to order." WINDSOR POETICS. Lines composed on the occasion of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent being seen standing between the coffins of Henry VIII. and Charles I., in the royal vault at Windsor. FAMED for contemptuous breach of sacred ties, Between them stands another sceptred thing— Charles to his people, Henry to his wife, In him the double tyrant starts to life: Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain, Each royal vampire wakes to life again. Ah, what can tombs avail !—since these disgorge The blood and dust of both to mould a George. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. ["I SPEAK NOT, I TRACE NOT," &c.] (1) I SPEAK not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name, There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame: But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart. Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace Were those hours-can their joy or their bitterness cease? [chain,We repent-we abjure-we will break from our We will part, we will fly to-unite it again! (1) [" Thou hast asked me for a song, and I enclose you an experiment, which has cost me something more than trouble, and is, therefore, less likely to be worth your taking any in your proposed setting. Now, if it be so, throw it into the fire without phrase."— Lord B. to Mr. Moore. May 10. 1814.] Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt! Forgive me, adored one!-forsake, if thou wilt; But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased, And man shall not break it-whatever thou mayst. And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee, And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet, With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet. One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love, May, 1814. ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT WHO hath not glow'd above the page where fame The blood which flow'd with Wallace flows as free, The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled 'Tis Heaven-not man-must charm away the woe the soldier's heir. May, 1814. |