I know her mien; I know her zoneless breast; I know the laurel-wreath that binds her brow, How pure its grace. Lur'd from the mountain's snow-clad breast, And Virtue leaves her haunts, and quaffs thy balmy air. Fall'n is ambition; and her tottering fanes Swart Satan left his ebon throne; And, as in all her vices drest, Her pale and haggard form he prest, In parent's pride elate, A few faint rays of unknown joy Came flashing from his piercing eye, And, for awhile, eclipsed its beams of deadly hate. Then, while th' infernal regions rung, In vice's agonizing smart, Clasp'd to her breast the child she singled for her She lives no more! Distain'd with gore, Beneath yon stone her paly corse is laid; While each poor soul that passes by, Victim of lawless tyranny, own. Calls on her loathed name, and imprecates her shade. The hoary pilgrim slow, with faltering tread And, as he lists her awful doom, Rears his clasp'd hands, and shakes his silver head. "Is this the dust an empire once could sway, "That once stalk'd proudly o'er fair Russia's land; "A queen, who said, ' World, hear me, and obey† ;' "Who slaughter'd millions with remorseless hand?— "How fallen, fallen, from her high estatet:'"Due homage paid her in the realms of fate! * Milton thus accents the word Hecate in the following marginal distich. "Wherein thou rid'st with Hecate, Vide Newton's Ed. vol. iv. p. 102. "Who said'st the distant poles shall hear me, and obey." ‡ Dryden's Ode on St. Cecilia's Day. DRYDEN. "There, enthron'd amidst her peers, "Relentless fiends around her wait, "And, as they weave the woof of fate, "Pour on man's destin'd head each tort'ring ill"Prone to fulfil their own, to anticipate her will. "What savage rapture glances in their eye "At each rife-scene of untried misery! "Yes, their's the care-corrosive smart "That vibrates to affliction's heart, "And wakes in every nerve the pang of keen despair. "Is this the queen at whose command, Starting like bloodhounds from the slip, "With speed that would the winds outstrip, "Where virtue*, suff'ring in her country's cause, 66 Her rightful freedom supplicates in vain ; "No more shall patriot worth complain, "As when, of erst, in each long pause, "The gaunt, grim spectre of insatiate power, "Strode through the chilly vaults, and hail'd the murky hour." "The knell + of death, with stern control, "No more shall harrow up her soul, "Nor stun her tranced ear; "But, shades of still uncoffin'd dead,' "Shall dance around her rocky bed, "And riot o'er her bier." *General Kosciusko. + It is said, that for many years preceding her death, Catherine could not hear any funeral knell, nor be witness to any funeral procession, without evincing the greatest horror. Wherefore, those rites had been lately performed at midnight. "Yes, ye who gasp'd near Ismael's * tower, 66 "Whose death-bell was the widow's scream, 68 "Arm with fresh poignancy each pang, "Head, head the immolated train: "In night's wan noon, and murky glare, "With anguish'd mien, with wounds all bare, "Dance yelling round her gore cemented tomb; "Swell, swell the grave's impervious gloom; "Chase her cold sleep with wildest screams of woe; "Bid the vengeful torments glow; "And mark, in characters of blood, the vile assassin's "doom." 4. EPIGRAM. FROM THE GREEK. THE sun to mortals is the source of light: ETONENSIS. *The fortress of Ismael was taken by the Russians, after a continued siege of seven months; the last assault alone cost the lives of 15,000 men. + Peter III. her husband, A PARAPHRASE ON THE FIRST AND SECOND VERSES OF THE 14TH CHAPTER OF THE BOOK OF JOB. WRITTEN BY DR. RUSSELL, ON THE DEATH OF AN ONLY SON. I. WHEN now the destin❜d period run II. Swift fly the hours, the days, the years, III. Thus, at the dawn of genial day, The gilded flow'r from earth's soft womb IV. But, ah! ere evening shadows rise, And shrinks to earth's soft womb again. |