When Egypt's tombs shall all be rent, And earth's proud temples swept away, Your deeds, a deathless monument!Shall guard your glory from decay. Courier. A FAREWELL. BY LORD BYRON. My boat is on the shore, Here's a double health to thee. Here's a sigh for those I love, Here's a heart for any fate. Though the ocean roar around me, Were it the last drop in the well, "Tis to thee that I would drink. In that water, as this wine, The libation I would pour Should be-Peace to thee and thine, Morning Chronicle. STANZAS ADDRESSED TO A LADY, ON READING ROMEO AND JULIET. FROM THE GERMAN. Of love and sorrow, 'tis a peerless tale!— To mortals there is given a fleeting life : A life!-Ah! no; a wild, vain, hurrying dream!A tempest of pride-passion-sin-and strife! A deep, dark, restless, ever-foaming stream! When fortune lifts us high, or sinks us low, We feel the motion-know not where we go; Love only, like the oil upon the sea, Gives to man's tossing soul repose and liberty. "Tis true, that they who love, are seldom born To a smooth destiny.-Love buds in peace, But foulest wizards in the air have sworn To blast its beauty ere the leaves increase. But let the faint heart yield him as he may, The lovers shrink not in the evil day ;- [wing. To die together, or victorious live— That first and holiest vow, 'tis theirs to give ; [be! They care not though the grave their bridal bed should It may be, that if love's expanding flower Is forced to close before the storm's keen breath, The lowly flame burns longest.-Humble sadness Is kindlier to love's growth than free unvaried gladness. But oh! how glorious shone their ruling star, Which carried them with budding loves to heaven; Whom angels welcomed in bright realms afar, With a full cup, which scarce to taste was given, While any remnant of terrestrial sin Had power to stain the holy draught within! They died:-Young love stood by them calmly sighing, And fanned, with his soft wing, the terrors of their dying. Read not of Juliet, and her Romeo, With tragic trembling, and uplifted hair; As in their death were that most innocent pair. A. W. S. TO THE SPIRIT OF POESY. O, Holy Spirit! oft when eve Hath slowly o'er the western sky Of gold and crimson's richest dye, Sweet visions then, that sleep by day, What though the idle wreath would fade Not less the task would soothe my mind. Inspired by thee, I cease to pine, Nor thought on aught that crossed my bliss, And borne to other worlds of thine, Forgot the pangs of this. But this was all in earlier days, When boyhood's hopes were wild and high, And eaglet-like, I fixed my gaze Where glory's sun blazed through the sky; But fate and circumstance forbade The noble, though presumptuous flight; My soul is daring now, as then, The stirring voice that cries' aspire!' And, aye, some demon in my sight Displays what wreaths for others bloom, The fame that gilds their life with light, The halo that surrounds their tomb; 'And gaze, presumptuous fool!' he cries, 'Unhonoured-blest thou ne'er shalt be'But pine for ever, there to rise 'Where springs no flower for thee.' Oh, Poesy! thou too hast now Whenever, now, I seek the bowers, My gloomy bosom's joyless cell, No ray of thine illumines more, Which once could guide my spirit well O'er every ill to soar. By all the intense love of thee Which fires my soul, and thrills my frame! |