And O, were mine the painter's art,
From every form my pencil drew,
In still immortal youth should start
Some charm-some memory of you;
That beauty, by my canvas caught,

The baffled might of time should scorn,
Unknowing change or age, the thought—
The awe of races yet unborn.

Yet, love, who cares? not you, I know;
This hour at least is all our own;
For this the future we'll forego:

How blest to live for this alone!
Can fame, with its eternal fuss,

One moment such as this restore!
Love brims the cup of life for us;
Nor you, nor I, shall ask for more.

WHILE THE CHAMPAGNE FOAMS.
WHILE the Champagne foams
And trembles in your glasses,

Lift it, sparkling, high,

To her who all surpasses.
Drink this toast of mine!
Trust me, to my thinking,
She's a toast divine,

Worth the Gods' own drinking,

Worth the Gods' own drinking,

When Hebe pours the wine.

Fill to her again!

Faith! boys, she resembles
This same golden light

In my glass that trembles;
Bright her dear eyes are,
Brighter far than this is;
And her ripe lips far

Beat it, boys, in blisses,
Not such glorious blisses
In Jove's own nectar are.

H

Yes, this sparkling wine
Joy to life is giving;
But her lips to mine,

That, O Gods, is living!
All joys but one were

Fate to me refusing,

To be loved by her,

That, boys, were my choosing;
What matter all else losing,
So fate but left me her!

COUNSEL TO KINGS.

HERE, as I by my fireside sit,
And meditate my rhymes,
Across my busy brain will flit
The tidings of the times;
And as along my memory run

The news each moment brings,
From out the whirl of thought is spun
This counsel unto kings;
Beware, kings, beware!

Heed the game ye play!
Kings, the world is moving;
Stand from out the way!

At last from Prussia's royal lips
Let honest truth be heard;
A people tire of paltering knaves
Who break too oft their word;
The perjured faith of duped 'fifteen
Suits not since 'forty-eight;
The future holds more Marches yet
If wisdom come too late.
Beware, kings, beware!
Heed the game ye play!
Kings, the world is moving;
Stand from out the way!

Weak Austria, plant on swords

Play out your bloody game!

Your triumphs Freedom laughs to scorn,

The end is but the same;

Each time the Sibyl comes for more,

Denied her present due;

Vienna yet will have her rights,
And, kings, her vengeance too.
Beware, kings, beware!

Heed the game ye play!
Kings, the world is moving;
Stand from out the way!

You Hapsburgs and you Brandenburgs
Are things we prize, no doubt;
Force not the world to find such things
It well can do without!

Gagg'd tongues and censor-shackled thoughts
Much longer will you rule?

Be wise and know that these are times
When rulers must to school!

Beware, kings, beware!

Heed the game ye play!
Kings, the world is moving;
Stand from out the way!

Bourbon of Naples, when shall Time
Your bloody rule forget?

And dream you there shall come no hour
Shall pay Messina's debt?

Hate reapeth hate; blood cries for blood;
Shall not that cry endure?
The avenging Furies on the track,
Or swift or slow, are sure!
Beware, kings, beware!

Heed the game ye play!
Kings, the world is moving;
Stand from out the way!

The times are gone when history
By kings alone was made;

100

66

66

SEIZE," I SAID, O ART, THY PENCIL."

The future has some parts 'tis plain
By nations to be play'd;

Woe! woe to those by whom their path,
Their fated path is cross'd!
A scaffold once a Bourbon trod-
A head a Stuart lost!

Beware, kings, beware!
Heed the game ye play!
Kings, the world is moving;
Stand from out the way!

1850.

SEIZE," I SAID, "O ART, THY PENCIL."

"SEIZE," I said, "O Art, thy pencil,

And, in colours, all divine,

"Give her to my love for ever—

“Ever—ever, make her mine!

"Seize her smile ere time hath chill'd it;
"Fix her glance while yet 'tis bright;
"Give that brow unlined by sorrow,

"That deep hair untouch'd with white!"
Vain, all vain Art's efforts were;
O what art could image her!

And I cry to Memory ever,

Cry in vain to day-to night,
"Oh, if but for one sweet instant,
"Give her—give her to my sight!"

Weary day unheeding hears me;
Night, thrice weary, heeds me not;
Dim the image Memory brings me,
All its sweetness half forgot;

Eyes how chang'd from what they were!
Memory may not image her!

TO THE COMING COMET.

A POPULAR INVOCATION FROM SEVERAL EUROPEAN

CAPITALS.

"Astronomers are expecting the appearance this year of the Comet called that of Charles V., and so named from having caused that monarch to abdicate and retire to the Convent of St. Just."-Newspaper Paragraph.

O COMET, blessing man's poor eyes

When God the earth's cries deigns to hear,

O blessed wanderer of the skies,

O longed-for star, again appear!

If many a people thou hast freed

From many a despot's cursed power,
See, earth had never greater need
Of thee, O star! than at this hour.
How despots vex poor Europe still:
Oh, haste upon its tyrants here
Thy destined purpose to fulfil;
Appear, O star, again appear!

An Emperor's word was iron law,
Two worlds beneath his ruling groan'd;
O star! thy fiery glare he saw,

And straight his sins in sackcloth own'd.
How many now, with sway more foul
Than his, God's trampled earth offend !
Oh! to the cell—the whip—the cowl,
How many, star, thou well might'st send.
See, despots vex our poor earth still;
Oh, haste upon its tyrants here
Thy destined purpose to fulfil ;
Appear, O star, again appear!

Thy destined power one Stuart felt,
Who sought our fathers to enslave,
When at the block aghast he knelt

And his pale head to justice gave.
Nor long to be by tyrants vex'd

By thee, O wanderer, were we left;