The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp
of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,

Not what he was, but what he should have been:
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh inan! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,

Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit !

By nature vile, ennobled but by name,

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise-

I never knew but one, and here he lies.

Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808.

FAREWELL.

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.
'T were 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!

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?

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 hear 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.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.'

O Lacrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.
GRAY'S POEMATA

THERE's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,

When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay;

'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,

But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

Then the few whose spirits foat above the wreck of happiness,

Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess; The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain

The shore to which their shive.'d sail shall never st, etch again.

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down,

It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;

1 These Verses were given by Lord Byron to Mr Power Strand, who has published them, with very beautiful music kw Sir John Stevenson

When fortune changed-and love fled far, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary star

Which rose and set not to the last.

Oh! blest be thine unbroken light!
That watch'd me as a seraph's eye,
And stood between me and the night,
For ever shining sweetly nigh.

And when the cloud upon us came,
Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray-
Then purer spread its gentle flame,

And dash'd the darkness all away.

Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,

And teach it what to brave or brook-
There's more in one soft word of thine,
Than in the world's defied rebuke.

Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,
That still unbroke, though gently bent,
Still waves with fond fidelity

Its boughs above a monument.

The winds might rend, the skies might pour, But there thou wert-and still wouldst be Devoted in the stormiest hour

To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.

But tho" and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall;
For heaven in sunshine will requite
The kind-and thee the most of all.

Then let the ties of baffled love

Be broken-thine will never break;
Thy heart can feel-but will not move;
Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.

And these, when all was lost beside,
Were found, and still are fixed, in thee—
And bearing still a breast so tried,
Earth is no desert-even to me.

ODE.

[FROM THE FRENCH.]

We do not curse thee, Waterloo !
Though freedom's blood thy plain bedew ;
There't was shed, but is not sunk-
Rising from each gory trunk,
Like the water-spout from ocean,
With a strong and growing motion-
It soars and mingles in the air,
With that of lost LABEDOYERE-
With that of him whose honour'd grave
Contains the "bravest of the brave."
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose;
When 't is full, 't will burst asunder—
Never yet was heard such thunder

As then shall shake the world with wonder

Never yet was seen such lightning,
As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!
Like the Wormwood star, foretold
By the sainted seer of old,

Showering down a fiery lod,
Turning rivers into blooc.'

The chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo!
When the soldier citizen
Sway'd not o'er his fellow-men-
Save in deeds that led them on
Where glory smiled on freedom's son—
Who, of all the despots banded,

With that youthful chief competed?
Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone tyranny commanded?
Till, goaded by ambition's sting,
The hero sunk into the king?
Then he fell ;-so perish all,
Who would men by man enthral!

And thou too of the snow-white plume!
Whose reaim refused thee even a tomb;2
Better hadst thou still been leading
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;
Such as he of Naples wears,
Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing

On thy war-horse through the ranks,
Like a stream which burst its banks,
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,
Shone and shiver'd fast around thee-
Of the fate at last which found thee:
Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave's dishonest blow?
Once as the moon sways o'er the tide,
It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,
The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendency,-
And as it onward rolling rose

So moved his heart upon our foes.

There, where death's brief pang was quickes
And the battle's wreck lay thickest,
Strew'd beneath the advancing banner

Of the eagle's burning crest

(There with thunder-clouds to fan her
Who could then her wing arrest-
Victory beaming from her breast?)
While the broken line enlarging
Fell, or fled along the plain:
There be sure was MURAT charging!
There he ne'er shall charge again!

1 See Rev. chap. viii. verse 7, etc. "The first angel sounded and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood,” etc.

Verse 8. "And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea; and the third part of the sea became blood,” etc.

Verse 10. "And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp; and it fel upon a third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters."

O'er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps triumph o'er each levell'd arch-
But let Freedom rejoice,

With her heart in her voice
Put her hand on her sword,
Doubly shall she be adored;

France hath twice too well been taught
The "moral lesson" dearly bought-
Her safety sits not on a throne,
With CAPET or NAPOLEON!

But in equal rights and laws,

Hearts and hands in one great cause-
Freedom, such as God hath given
Unto all beneath his heaven,

With their breath, and from their birth,
Though guilt would sweep it from the earth;
With a fierce and lavish hand
Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter!

But the heart and the mind,
And the voice of mankind,
Shall arise in communion-

And who shall resist that proud union?
The time is past when swords subdued-
Man may die-the soul's renew’d:
Even in this low world of care,
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;
Millions breathe but to inherit

Her for-ever bounding spirit-
When once more her hosts assemble,
Tyrants shall believe and tremble-
Smile they at this idle threat?
Crimson tears will follow yet.

[FROM THE FRENCH.]

AH wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who had been exalted from the ranks by Buonaparte. He clung to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial capacity, which could not be admitted."

MUST thou go, my glorious chief,
Sever'd from thy faithful few?
Who can tell thy warrior's grief,

Maddening o'er that long adieu?
Woman's love and friendship's zeal-
Dear as both have been to me—
What are they to all I feel,

With a soldier's faith, for thee?

Idol of the soldier's soul!

First in fight, but mightiest now:
Many could a world control:

Thee alone no doom can bow.
By thy side for years I dared

Death, and envied those who fell,
When their dying shout was heard

Blessing him they served so well.1

Would that I were cold with those,
Since this hour I live to see;
When the doubts of coward foes

Scarce dare trust a man with thee,
Dreading each should set thee free.

Oh! although in dungeons pent,
All their chains were light to me,
Gazing on thy soul unbent.

Would the sycophants of him
Now so jeaf to duty's prayer,
Were his borrow'd glories dim,

In his native darkness share?
Were that world this hour his own,

All thou calmly dost resign, Could be purchase with that throne

Hearts like those which still are thine?

My chief, my king, my friend, adieu !
Never did I droop before;
Never to my sovereign sue,

As his foes I now implore,
All I ask is to divide

Every peril he must brave, Sharing by the hero's side

His fall, his exile, and his grave.

ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION OF HONOUR

[FROM THE FRENCH.]

STAR of the brave!-whose beam hath shed

Such glory o'er the quick and dead

Thou radiant and adored deceit!

Which millions rush'd in arms to greet,

Wild meteor of immortal birth!

Why rise in heaven to set on earth?

Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays;
Eternity flash'd through thy blaze!
The music of thy martial sphere
Was fame on high and honour here;
And thy light broke on human eyes
Like a volcano of the skies.

Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood,
And swept down empires with its flood
Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base,
As thou didst lighten through all space;
And the shorn sun grew dim in air,
And set while thou wert dwelling there.

grew,

Before thee rose, and with thee
A rainbow of the loveliest hue,
Of three bright colours,' each divine,
And fit for that celestial sign;
For freedom's hand had blended them
Like tints in an immortal gem.

One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;
One, the blue depth of seraphs' eyes;
One, the pure spirit's veil of white
Had robed in radiance of its light;
The three so mingled did beseem
The texture of a heavenly dream.

1 The tri-colour.

Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,
And darkness must again prevail !
But, oh thou rainbow of the free!

Our tears and blood must flow for thee.
When thy bright promise fades away,
Our life is but a load of clay.

And freedom hallows with her tread
The silent cities of the dead;
For beautiful in death are they
Who proudly fall in her array;
And soon, oh goddess! may we be
For evermore with them or thee!

NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL.
[FROM THE FRENCH.]

FAL EWELL to the land where the gloom of my glory
Arc. and o'ershadow'd the earth with her name-
She abandons me now,--but the page of her story,
The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame.
I have warr'd with a world which vanquish'd me only
When the meteor of conquest allured me too far;

I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,

The last single captive to millions in war!

Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crown'd me,
I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,-
But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,
Decay'd in thy glory and sunk in thy worth.
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted

In strife with the storm, when their battles were won-
Then the eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted,
Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on Victory's sun!
Farewell to thee, France!-but when liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then-
The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though wither'd, thy tears will unfold it again:
Yet, yet I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice-
There are links which must break in the chain that has
bound us,

Then turn thee, and call on the chief of thy choice!

And when winds are at war with the ocean,
As the breasts I believed in with me,

If their billows excite an emotion,

It is that they bear me from thee.
Though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd,
And its fragments are sunk in the wave,
Though I feel that my soul is deliver'd
To pain-it shall not be its slave.
There is many a pang to pursue me:

They may crush, but they shall not contemaThey may torture, but shall not subdue me— "Tis of thee that I think-not of them.

Though human, thou didst not deceive me,

Though woman, thou didst not forsake, Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me,

Though slander'd, thou never couldst shake,Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, Though parted, it was not to fly, Though watchful, 't was not to defame me, Nor mute, that the world might belie. Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it, Nor the war of the many with onemy soul was not fitted to prize it, 'T was folly not sooner to shun. And if dearly that error hath cost me, And more than I once could foresee,

I have found that, whatever it lost me,

It could not deprive me of thee.

From the wreck of the past, which hath perish a
Thus much I at least may recall,

It hath taught me that what I most cherish'c
Deserved to be dearest of all: