CHILDE HAROLD'S LAST PILGRIMAGE. 5 SO ENDS CHILDE HAROLD HIS LAST PILGRIMAGE! Upon the shores of Greece he stood, and cried "LIBERTY!" and those shores, from age to age Renown'd, and Sparta's woods and rocks replied "LIBERTY!" but a Spectre, at his side, Stood mocking:-and its dart, uplifting high, Smote him; he sank to earth in life's fair pride: SPARTA! thy rocks then heard another cry, And Old Ilissus sigh'd-" Die, generous exile, die!" I will not ask sad Pity to deplore His wayward errors, who thus early died; 10 Still less, CHILDE HAROLD, now thou art no more, Will I say aught of genius misapplied; 15 Of the past shadows of thy spleen or pride :— But I will bid the Arcadian cypress wave, Pluck the green laurel from Peneus' side, And pray thy spirit may such quiet have, [grave. That not one thought unkind be murmur'd o'er thy 20 SO HAROLD ENDS, IN GREECE, HIS PILGRIMAGE! 25 [earth. The slow hearse; and thy LAST sad PILGRIMAGE on Slow moves the plumed hearse, the mourning train; I mark the sad procession with a sigh, 30 Silently passing to that village fane, Where, HAROLD, thy forefathers mouldering lie ;— There sleeps THAT MOTHER, Who with tearful eye, Pondering the fortunes of thy early road, Hung o'er the slumbers of thine infancy; Her son, released from mortal labours' load, Now comes to rest with her, in the same still abode. 35 Bursting Death's silence, could that mother speak. (Speak when the earth was heap'd upon his head) In thrilling, but with hollow accent weak, She thus might give the welcome of the dead: 40 "Here rest, my son, with me; the dream is fled; The motley mask and the great stir is o’er: Welcome to me, and to this silent bed, Where deep forgetfulness succeeds the roar Of life, and fretting passions waste the heart no more." BOWLES. 44 THE VOICE OF SPRING. I COME, I come! ye have call'd me long, 5 I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes, But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom, To speak of the ruin or the tomb ! 10 I have look'd o'er the hills of the stormy North, And the larch has hung all his tassels forth: And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free, And the moss looks bright where my step has been. I have sent through the wood-paths a gentle sigh, 15 20 From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain, 26 30 Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come! And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, 35 Come forth to the sunshine; I may not stay. Away from the dwellings of care-worn men, 40 45 But ye ye are changed since ye met me last! Ye are changed, ye are changed!-and I see not here 50 There were steps, that flew o'er the cowslip's head, 55 60 I know whence the shadow comes o'er you now: They are gone from amongst you, the young and fair, The summer is coming, on soft winds borne, 75 Ye are mark'd by care, ye are mine no more. HEMANS. THE BETTER LAND. "I HEAR thee speak of the better land, Is it where the flower of the orange blows, 5 And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs ?" "Not there, not there, my child!” "Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, 10 "Is it far away, in some region old, 15 Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold? Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand? Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ?" -"Not there, not there, my child!" 20 |