While brooding in thy prisoned rage? Or, like the thief of fire from heaven, He in his fall preserved his pride, NAPOLEON. FROM "CHILDE HAROLD." LORD BYRON. Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turning With that untaught innate philosophy, With a sedate and all-enduring eye, When Fortune fled her spoiled and favorite child, He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him piled. Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, And spurn the instruments thou wert to use Till they were turned unto thine overthrow; "T is but a worthless world to win or lose ; THERE Sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who One moment of the mightiest, and again Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou ! now That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, Who deemed thee for a time whate'er thou didst O more or less than man - in high or low, now More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield: An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, choose. If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, But men's thoughts were the steps which paved Their admiration thy best weapon shone ; But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion! Conquerors and Kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the lofti- Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor war, That narrative of fame. "T is true," they'll say, "his gorgeous throne France bled to raise ; But he was all our own!" "Mother, say something in his praise, "I saw him pass, --his was a host Countless beyond your young imaginings, My children, he could boast A train of conquered kings! And when he came this road, "T was on my bridal day, He wore, for near to him I stood, Cocked hat and surcoat gray. I blushed; he said, 'Be of good cheer! That was his very word." To see the French war-steamers speeding over From its one heart a nation wailed, for well the startled sense divined A greater power had fled away than aught that now remained behind. Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, fiance The sea-coast opposite; Had been to many a million hearts the all between themselves and naught; And now they roared, at drum-beat, from their And so they stood aghast and pale, as if they MIRABEAU. NoT oft before has peopled earth sent up so deep and wide a groan, As when the word swept over France, "The life of Mirabeau is flown!" No more I hear a nation's shout around the In every spot beneath the smiling sun, hero's tread prevailing, Sees where the springs of living waters lie; No more I hear above his tomb a nation's fierce Unseen awhile they sleep, till, touched by thee, bewildered wailing; Bright healthful waves flow forth to each glad wanderer free. I stand amid the silent night, and think of man and all his woe With fear and pity, grief and awe, when I remember Mirabeau. JOHN WILSON. FELICIA HEMANS. ON A PORTRAIT OF WORDSWORTH, BY R. B. HAYDON. WORDSWORTH upon Helvellyn! Let the cloud No portrait this, with Academic air, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. ROUSSEAU AND COWPER. FROM "THE RELIGION OF TASTE." ROUSSEAU Could weep; yes, with a heart of stone, But his were not the tears of feeling fine Of wasting fire, chills with the icy snow Was he but justly wretched from his crimes? |