Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine:

Yet one I would select from that proud throng,

Partly because they blend me with his line,

And partly that I did his sire some wrong, And partly that bright names will hallow song;

And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd

The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along,

Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd.

They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young gallant Howard!

There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee,

And mine were nothing had I such to give;

But when I stood beneath the fresh

Came forth her work of gladness to contrive,

With all her reckless birds upon the wing.

I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring.

I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each

And one as all a ghastly gap did make In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach

Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake; The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake

Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of Fame

May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake

The fever of vain longing, and the name So honor'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim.

They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, mourn:

The tree will wither long before it fall; The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn ;

The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall

In massy hoariness; the ruin'd wall Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone;

The bars survive the captive they enthral;

The day drags through, though storms keep out the sun :

And thus the heart will break, yet bro kenly live on:

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass
In every fragment multiplies; and makes
A thousand images of one that was,
The same, and still the more, the more

it breaks;

And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,

Living in shatter'd guise; and still, and

cold,

And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,

Yet withers on till all without is old, Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.

There is a very life in our despair,
Vitality of poison,-a quick root
Which feeds these deadly branches; for
it were

Oh, more or less than man-in high or low,

Battling with nations, flying from the field;

Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now

More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield;

An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,

But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war,

Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star.

Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide

With that untaught innate philosophy, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride,

Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. When the whole host of hatred stood hard by,

To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled

With a sedate and all-enduring eye;— When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favorite child,

He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled.

Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show That just habitual scorn, which could

And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,

Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.

Away with these! true Wisdom's world will be

Within its own creation, or in thine, Maternal Nature! for who teems like thee,

Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine?
There Harold gazes on a work divine,
A blending of all beauties; streams and
dells,

Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine,

And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells

From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.

And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind,

Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, All tenantless, save to the crannying

wind,

Or holding dark communion with the cloud.

There was a day when they were young and proud;

Banners on high, and battles pass'd below;

But they who fought are in a bloody shroud,

And those which waved are shredless dust ere now,

And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.

Beneath those battlements, within those walls,

Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state

Each robber chief upheld his armed halls,
Doing his evil will, nor less elate
Than mightier heroes of a longer date.
What want these outlaws conquerors
should have

But history's purchased page to call them great?

A wider space, an ornamented grave? Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave.

In their baronial feuds and single fields. What deeds of prowess unrecorded died! And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields,

Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine,

And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine,

And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine,

Have strew'd a scene, which I should

see

With double joy wert thou with me.

And peasant girls, with deep blue

eyes,

And hands which offer early flowers, Walk smiling o'er this paradise; Above, the frequent feudal towers Through green leaves lift their walls of gray;

And many a rock which steeply lowers,

And noble arch in proud decay,
Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers;
But one thing want these banks of
Rhine,-

Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!

I send the lilies given to me;
Though long before thy hand they
touch,

I know that they must wither'd be,
But yet reject them not as such;·
For I have cherish'd them as dear,
Because they yet may meet thine eye,
And guide thy soul to mine even here,
When thou behold'st them drooping
nigh,

And know'st them gather'd by the
Rhine,

And offer'd from my heart to thine!

The river nobly foams and flows,
The charm of this enchanted ground,
And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round :
The haughtiest breast its wish might
bound

Through life to dwell delighted here;
Nor could on earth a spot be found
To nature and to me so dear,
Could thy dear eyes in following mine
Still sweeten more these banks of
Rhine!

By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple pyramid, Crowning the summit of the verdant mound;