Part 62

Italy! Time, which hath wronged thee with ten thousand rents Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, And hath denied, to every other sky, Spirits which soar from ruin:--thy decay Is still impregnate with divinity. Which gilds it with revivifying ray.

Byron.

* * * * *

I said to Penury’s meagre train, Come on--your threats I brave; My last poor life-drop you may drain, And crush me to the grave; Yet still the spirit that endures, Shall mock your force the while, And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours With bitter smile.

I said to cold Neglect and Scorn, Pass on--I heed you not; Ye may pursue me till my form And being are forgot; Yet still, the spirit which you see Undaunted by your wiles, Draws from its own nobility Its high-born smiles.

Mrs. Hale.

* * * * *

When a great mind falls, The noble nature of man’s generous heart Doth bear him up against the shame of ruin, With gentle censure, using but his faults As modest means to introduce his praise; For pity, like a dewy twilight, comes To close th’ oppressive splendour of his day, And they who but admired him in his height His altered state lament, and love him fallen.

Joanna Baillie.

* * * * *

Oh, more or less than man--in high or low, Battling with nations, flying from the field; Now making monarchs’ necks thy footstool, now More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield; An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, However deeply in men’s spirits skilled, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, Nor learn that tempted fate will leave the loftiest star. Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turning tide With that untaught innate philosophy, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled With a sedate and all-enduring eye;-- When fortune fled her spoiled and favourite child, He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him piled.

Byron.

CITRON.... Estrangement.

Ev’n as one heat another heat expels, Or as one nail by strength drives out another; So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten.

Shakspeare.

* * * * *

Few years have passed since thou and I Were firmest friends, at least in name, And childhood’s gay sincerity Preserved our feelings long the same. But now, like me, too well thou know’st What trifles oft the heart recall; And those who once have loved the most Too soon forget they loved at all. And such the change the heart displays, So frail is early friendship’s reign, A month’s brief lapse, perhaps a day’s, Will view thy mind estranged again. If so, it never shall be mine To mourn the loss of such a heart; The fault was Nature’s fault, not thine, Which made thee fickle as thou art. As rolls the ocean’s changing tide, So human feelings ebb and flow; And who would in a breast confide Where stormy passions ever glow?

Byron.

* * * * *

Tis otherwise decreed, and I submit! Alone I guide my bark adown the stream; Dark is the voyage, around the night-birds flit, The waves are tinged by no sweet-smiling beam. And now I breathe the parting word--Farewell! And now, the cords which fondly bind, I sever! Break from the scenes I once had loved so well,-- And tear thine image from my heart for ever!

J. W. Hanson.

* * * * *

Farewell, Theresa! that cloud which over Yon moon this moment gathering we see, Shall scarce from her pure path have passed, ere thy lover Swift o’er the wide wave shall wander from thee. Long, like that dim cloud, I’ve hung around thee, Darkening thy prospects, saddening thy brow; With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found thee; Oh! think how changed, love, how changed art thou now! But here I free thee: like one awaking From fearful slumber, this dream thou’lt tell; The bright moon her spell too is breaking, Past are the dark clouds; Theresa, farewell!

Moore.

DRAGON PLANT.... You are near a snare.

He secretly Puts pirate’s colours out at both our sterns, That we might fight each other in mistake, That he should share the ruin of us both!

Crown.

His tongue was soft as velvet leaf, His poison-fangs concealing; But where he stung, the festering wound Was past the art of healing. “Beware of him whose speech is smooth,” The mother spake her daughter; “The deepest depths are ever found Where flows the smoothest water.” “His heart is like an angel’s heart,” The daughter spake her mother; “He seeks to be to thee and me A loving son and brother.” She listened to his guileful tale, Nor heeded words of warning; Ah! bitterly did future pain Repay her present scorning. For Robin laid his cunning game With art so deep and skilful, That gentle Ellen’s mind was turned To disobedience wilful.