Such feeling pressed upon my soul, A feeling sanctified
By one soft trickling tear that stole From the Maiden at my side; Less tribute could she pay than this, Borne gaily o'er the sea,
Fresh from the beauty and the bliss Of English liberty?
AFTER VISITING THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.
A WINGED Goddess, clothed in vesture wrought
one whose port was bold, Whose overburdened hand could scarcely hold The glittering crowns and garlands which it brought,
Hovered in air above the far-famed spot. She vanished; leaving prospect blank and cold Of wind-swept corn that wide around us rolled In dreary billows, wood, and meagre cot, And monuments that soon must disappear: Yet a dread local recompense we found; While glory seemed betrayed, while patriot zeal Sank in our hearts, we felt as men should feel With such vast hoards of hidden carnage near, And horror breathing from the silent ground!
BETWEEN NAMUR AND LIEGE.
WHAT lovelier home could gentle Fancy choose? Is this the stream whose cities, heights, and plains, War's favorite playground, are with crimson stains Familiar, as the Morn with pearly dews?
The Morn, that now, along the silver MEUSE, Spreading her peaceful ensigns, calls the swains To tend their silent boats and ringing wains, Or strip the bough whose mellow fruit bestrews The ripening corn beneath it. As mine eyes Turn from the fortified and threatening hill, How sweet the prospect of yon watery glade, With its gray rocks clustering in pensive shade, That, shaped like old monastic turrets, rise From the smooth meadow-ground, serene and still!
WAS it to disenchant, and to undo,
That we approached the Seat of Charlemaine? Το sweep from many an old romantic strain That faith which no devotion may renew! Why does this puny Church present to view Her feeble columns? and that scanty chair! This sword that one of our weak times might wear!
Objects of false pretence, or meanly true! If from a traveller's fortune I might claim A palpable memorial of that day,
Then would I seek the Pyrenean Breach That ROLAND clove with huge two-handed sway, And to the enormous labor left his name, Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach.
IN THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE.
O FOR the help of Angels to complete This Temple, Angels governed by a plan Thus far pursued (how gloriously!) by Man, Studious that He might not disdain the seat Who dwells in heaven! But that aspiring heat Hath failed; and now, ye Powers! whose gor- geous wings
And splendid aspect yon emblazonings But faintly picture, 't were an office meet For you, on these unfinished shafts to try The midnight virtues of your harmony: - This vast design might tempt you to repeat Strains that call forth upon empyreal ground Immortal Fabrics, rising to the sound Of penetrating harps and voices sweet!
IN A CARRIAGE, UPON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE.
AMID this dance of objects sadness steals
O'er the defrauded heart, while sweeping by, As in a fit of Thespian jollity,
Beneath her vine-leaf crown the green Earth reels: Backward, in rapid evanescence, wheels
The venerable pageantry of Time,
Each beetling rampart, and each tower sublime, And what the Dell unwillingly reveals
Of lurking cloistral arch, through trees espied Near the bright River's edge. Yet why repine? To muse, to creep, to halt at will, to gaze, Such sweet wayfaring, of life's spring the pride, Her summer's faithful joy,—that still is mine, And in fit measure cheers autumnal days.
FOR THE BOATMEN, AS THEY APPROACH THE RAPIDS UNDER THE CASTLE OF HEIDELBERG.
JESU! bless our slender Boat,
By the current swept along;
Loud its threatenigs,-let them not Drown the music of a song Breathed thy mercy to implore, Where these troubled waters roar !
Saviour, for our warning, seen Bleeding on that precious Rood! If, while through the meadows green Gently wound the peaceful flood,
We forgot Thee, do not Thou Disregard thy Suppliants now!
Hither, like yon ancient Tower Watching o'er the River's bed, Fling the shadow of thy power,
Else we sleep among the dead; Thou who trod'st the billowy sea, Shield us in our jeopardy!
Guide our Bark among the waves;
Through the rocks our passage smooth; Where the whirlpool frets and raves,
Let thy love its anger soothe:
All our hope is placed in Thee; Miserere Domine ! *
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