That Corinth's pedagogue hath now
Transferred his by-word to thy brow.
Thou Timour! in his captive's caget

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,t
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
And share with him, the unforgiven,
His vulture and his rock!

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

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

There was a day-there was an hour,
While earth was Gaul's-Gaul thine-
When that immeasurable power
Unsated to resign

Had been an act of purer fame,
Than gathers round Marengo's name,
And gilded thy decline,

Through the long twilight of all time,
Despite some passing clouds of crime.
But thou forsooth must be a king,
And don the purple vest,-
As if that foolish robe could wring
Remembrance from thy breast.
Where is that faded garment? where
The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear,
The star-the string-the crest?
Vain froward child of empire! say,
Are all thy playthings snatch'd away ?
Where may the wearied eye repose,

When gazing on the Great;

Where neither guilty glory glows,

Nor despicable state?

Yes-one-the first-the last-the best

The Cincinnatus of the West,

Whom envy dared not hate,

Bequeath'd the name of Washington,

To make man blush there was but One!

Dionysius the Younger, of Syracuse.

†The cage of Bajazet, by order of Tamerlane.-B. Prometheus.-B.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

ON REVISITING HARROW.*

HERE once engaged the stranger's view
Young Friendship's record simply traced;
Few were her words,-but yet, though few,
Resentment's hand the line defaced.

Deeply she cut-but not erased,

The characters were still so plain,

That Friendship once return'd, and gazed,—
Till Memory hail'd the words again.

Repentance placed them as before;
Forgiveness join'd her gentle name;
So fair the inscription seem'd once more
That Friendship thought it still the same.

Thus might the record now have been ;
But, ah, in spite of Hope's endeavour,
Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between,
And blotted out the line for ever!

September, 1807.

EPITAPH ON JOHN ADAMS, OF SOUTHWELL,

A CARRIER, WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS.

JOHN ADAMS lies here, of the parish of Southwell,
A Carrier who carried his can to his mouth well;
He carried so much, and he carried so fast,
He could carry no more--so was carried at last;
For, the liquor he drank, being too much for one,
He could not carry off,-so he's now carri-on.

September, 1807.

* Some years ago, when at Harrow, a friend of the author engraved on a particu. lar spot the names of both, with a few additional words, as a memorial. Afterward. on receiving some real or imagined injury, the author distroyed the frail Record before he left Harrow. On revisiting the place in 1807, he wrote under it these stanzas.-B.

FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.

FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky.
"Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell!
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel:
I only know we loved in vain-

I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell!

1808.

BRIGHT BE THE PLACE OF THY SOUL

BRIGHT be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine,

On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;
And our sorrow may cease to repine,
When we know that thy God is with thee.

Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be:
There should not be the shadow of gloom
In aught that reminds us of thee.

Young Flowers and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest:

But nor cypress nor yew let us see;

For why should we mourn for the blest?

1808.

WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

WHEN we two parted

In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I here thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well :-
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met

In silence I grieve,

That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?—

With silence and tears.

1808.

TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. FEW years have past since thou and I Were firmest friends, at least in name, And childhood's gay sincerity

Preserved our feelings long the same.

But now, like me, too well thou know'st
What trifles of the heart recall;
And those who once have loved thee most
Too soon forget they loved at all.

And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship's reign,
A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,
Will view thy mind estranged again.

If so, it never shall be mine

To mourn the loss of such a heart;
The fault was Nature's fault, not thine,
Which made thee fickle as thou art.

As rolls the ocean's changing tide,
So human feelings ebb and flow;
And who would in a breast confide,
Where stormy passions ever glow?

It boots not that, together bred,
Our childish days were days of joy:
My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.
And when we bid adieu to youth,
Slaves to the specious world's control,
We sigh a long farewell to truth;
That world corrupts the noblest soul.
Ah, joyous season! when the mind
Dares all things boldly but to lie ;
When thought ere spoke is unconfined,
And sparkles in the placid eye.

Not so in Man's maturer years,

When Man himself is but a tool; When interest sways our hopes and fears, And all must love and hate by rule. With fools in kindred vice the same,

We learn at length our faults to blend; And those, and those alone, may claim The prostituted name of friend.

Such is the common lot of man:

Can we then 'scape from folly free?

Can we reverse the general plan,

Nor be what all in turn must be?

No; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been;
Man and the world so much I hate,
I care not when I quit the scene.

But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Wilt shine awhile, and pass away;
As glow-worms sparkle through the night,
But dare not stand the test of day.
Alas! whenever folly calls

Where parasites and princes meet,
(For cherish'd first in royal halls,
The welcome vices kindly greet,)
Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add
One insect to the fluttering crowd;
And still thy trifling heart is glad

To join the vain, and court the proud.
There dost thou glide from fair to fair,
Still simpering on with eager haste,
As flies along the gay parterre,

That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.

But say, what nymph will prize the flame Which seems, as marshy vapours move,

To flit along from dame to dame,

An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?