Yet now, as o'er the city's walls
In sorrowing mood I bend,
Thy sight no piteous thought recalls,
Thou seem'st an old remembered friend.
And, while I gaze, my spirit flies,
Free as thy wing, to distant skies;
To thyme-clad wold, and valley dear,
Where oft I've watched thy proud career.
Again around my morning way,
Gentle, yet bold, my greyhounds play;
Again at noon I throw me down
On silver grass, or heather brown,
And gild with young, poetic eye,
The meanest flower that blossoms nigh;
Or people the wild hills again
With thousand fairy forms-Titania's peerless train.
And now, a sportsman's honours won,
I mount yon western brow;
Delighted, ere the day is done,
To gaze on all that lies below.
The far blue hills, the river bright,
Burning with sunset's golden light;
The scattered cots, with trees between,
The lowly church, the village green;
And chiefly, dearer far than all,
Yon shadowy grove, yon old gray hall!
A cross surmounts its gable high,
Beneath it, countless roses sigh;
O'er arch and mullion, waving light,
Twine trembling leaves, and blossoms white
Within ;- but hold, my soul! repress
Each thought of that fireside, now cold and tenantless!
Ah, happy home! and must it be
For aye my mournful lot
To wander, restless, far from thee;
To wish in vain, and win thee not?
Vain hope! and merciless as vain!
I will not make thee sport again:
Like yon fierce bird thou seem'st to shine,
A star of heaven, 'midst things divine;
Drawing the wretch's heart and eye,
Then dashing down, in mockery!
I'll look no more— -I'll stoop to bear,
Patient and dull, my load of care.
My sickening heart abhors thy ray,
Which shines and lures but to betray!
Vain hope! thy fierce delusion's o'er,
Patient I'll suffer on, and look to thee no more!
THE RESTORATION OF THE HORSES
OF LYSIPPUS, TO VENICE.
CLEFT by the trident of the God*, lo! earth
Pregnant, o'erteems with strange, portentous birth:
Forth leaps the thundering war-horse up to sight,
A moment stands exulting in his might,
Snuffs the fresh gale, then bounding o'er the plain,
Rears the proud chest, and swells the raven mane!
Nor less the mould obedient owned thy skill,
When at thy touch, Lysippus (oh, that still
Such magic power were man's!) each stately steed,
Whose form ne'er rivalled aught of mortal breed,
Raised his tall head, his ample front unfurled,
And sprang to life, the wonder of the world!
Mark! how luxuriant swells the brawny chest,
What passion heaves tumultuous in the breast;
How, 'neath their nostrils rolls the fiery tide;
Swift are their feet, high tower their necks of pride.
The traveller gazes with admiring eye,
And deems he hears the thundering battle nigh;
So seem to ring through his affrighted ear,
The neighing of the steed, the hoof of fear;
So strike his heart with dread their looks of ire,
And big, round eyeballs, flashing livid fire.
divine! that bade celestial bloom
And vigorous life the unconscious clay illume!
'Tis as if Jove (when Phaeton dared aspire
To mount the car of his immortal sire),
'Tis as if Jove (when from his angry arm
Shot the red bolt) the steeds in magic charm
Had bound, and 'mid life's energy transformed
The breathless shapes their native spirit warmed.
Well might Gaul's lawless sons, who rashly dared
'Gainst Heaven defiance hurl, who ruthless bared
War's murderous steel, before whom trembling fled
Peace, Virtue, Truth-and Science drooped her head;
Well might they bow, with admiration fired,
And whilst 'mid flames, art's proudest works expired,
Snatch from the wreck those forms, whose deathless fame
Might add fresh lustre to the conqueror's name.
Heard ye that neighing shriek?—The signal's given,
Earth's powers combine to crush the foes of heaven!
Hurled from his throne, in dust the tyrant lies-
From nations freed, glad shouts triumphal rise.
With rapturous joy, fair Venice hails once more
Thy steeds, Lysippus, to her friendly shore.
There shall they live, thy monument of praise,
And long as Sol's bright orb his genial rays
Flings o'er the gladdened earth, shall glory's wreath
Its fragrance o'er thy name unfading breathe.
PAUSE:- and adoring own the' Omnific hand
That hurled the torrent from yon craggy brow;
And mantled o'er the fearful depth below
With shade and verdure. His the sea, the land,
The mountains and the vales: at His command
The rocks are smitten, and the waters flow;
And the nine-folded spheres in radiance glow,
By Him illumed, who numbers every sand
On ocean's shore. If earthquake rock the ground,
The brief convulsion stores the future mine
With fossil wealth; while pestilence and war
Go forth, on messages of mercy bound,
Chiding the nations to the morning star
Of mercy, truth, and blessedness divine.
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