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And there was one soft breast, as hath been said,

Which unto his was bound by stronger ties Than the church links withal; and, though unwed,

That love was pure, and, far above disguise,
Had stood the test of mortal enmities
Still undivided, and cemented more
By peril, dreaded most in female eyes;
But this was firm, and from a foreign shore
Well to that heart might his these absent greet-
ings pour !

The castled crag of Drachenfels *
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,
And hills all rich with blossom'd trees,
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scatter'd cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,

• The castle of Drachenfels stands on the highest summit of The Seven Mountains,' over the Rhine banks; it is in

rains, and connected with some singular traditions. It is the first in view on the road from Bonn, but on the opposite side of the river. On this bank, nearly facing it, are the remains of another, called the Jew's Castle, and a large cross com. memorative of the murder of a chief by his brother. The number of castles and cities along the course of the Rhine on both sides is very great, and their situations remarkably beautiful.

Have strew'd a scene, which I should see
With double joy wert thou with me!

And peasant girls, with deep-blue eyes!
And hands which offer early flowers,
Walk smiling o'er this paradise;
Above, the frequent feudal towers
Through green leaves lift their walls of grey,
And many a rock which steeply lours,
And noble arch in proud decay,
Look o'er this vale of vintage bowers;
But one thing want these banks of Rhine,-
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!

I send the lilies given to me;
Though long before thy hand they touch,
I know that they must wither'd be,
But yet reject them not as such;
For I have cherish'd them as dear,
Because they yet may meet thine eye,
And guide thy soul to mine even here,
When thou behold'st them drooping nigh,
And know'st them gather'd by the Rhine,
And offer'd from my heart to thine!

The river nobly foams and flows,
The charm of this enchanted ground,
And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round;
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound
Through life to dwell delighted here;
Nor could on earth a spot be found
To nature and to me so dear,
Could thy dear eyes in following mine
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine

LVI.

By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground,
There is a small and simple pyramid,
Crowning the summit of the verdant mound;
Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid,
Our enemy's, but let not that forbid
Honour to Marceau! o'er whose early tomb
Tears, big tears, gush'd from the rough
soldier's lid,

Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, Falling for France, whose rights he battled to

resume.

LVII.

Brief, brave, and glorious was his young [foes;

career,His mourners were two hosts, his friends and And fitly may the stranger lingering here Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose; For he was Freedom's champion, one of those, The few in number, who had not o'erstept The charter to chastise which she bestows On such as wield her weapons; he had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.*

The monument of the young and lamented General Marceau (killed by a rifle-ball at Alterkirchen on the last day of the fourth year of the French Republic) still remains as de

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While Waterloo with Canna's carnage vies,
Morat and Marathon twin names shall stand;
They were true Glory's stainless victories,
Won by the unambitious heart and hand
Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band,
All unbought champions in no princely cause
Of vice-entail'd Corruption; they no land
Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws
Making king's rights divine, by some Draconic
clause.

LXV.

By a lone wall a lonelier column rears
A grey and grief-worn aspect of old days,

scribed. The inscriptions on his monument are rather too long, and not required-his name was enough. France adored, and her enemies admired; both wept over him. His funeral was attended by the generals and detachments from both armies. In the same grave General Hoche is interred, a gallant man also in every sense of the word; but though he distinguished himself greatly in battle, he had not the good fortune to die there: his death was attended by suspicions of poison. A separate monument (not over his body, which is buried by Marceau's) is raised for him near Andernach, opposite to which one of his most memorable exploits was performed, in throwing a bridge to an island on the Rhine. The shape and style are different from that of Marceau's, and the inscription more simple and pleasing: The Army of the Sambre and Meuse to its Cominander-in-Chief, Hoche.' This is all, and as it should be. Hoche was esteemed among the first of The chapel is destroyed, and the pyramid of bones diminFrance's earlier generals, before Bonaparte monopolized herished to a small number by the Burgundian legion in the service triumphs. He was the destined comniander of the invading of France, who anxiously effaced this record of their ancestors' army of Ireland. less successful invasions. A few still remain, notwithstanding Ehrenbreitstein, ie, the broad stone of honour,' one of the pains taken by the Burgundians for ages (all who passed the strongest fortresses in Europe, was dismantled and blown that way removing a bone to their own country), and the less up by the French at the truce of Leoben. It had been, and justifiable larcenies of the Swiss postilions, who carried them could only be, reduced by famine or treachery. It yielded to off to sell for knife-handles,-a purpose for which the whitethe former, aided by surprise. After having seen the fortifi-ness imbibed by the bleaching of years had rendered them in cations of Gibraltar and Malta, it did not much strike by com- great request. parison; but the situation is commanding. General Marceau Of these relics I ventured to bring away as much as may have besieged it in vain for some time; and I slept in a room where made a quarter of a hero, for which the sole excuse is, that if I was shown a window at which he is said to have been stand- I had not, the next passer-by might have perverted them to ing, observing the progress of the siege by moonlight, when a worse uses than the careful preservation which I intend for ball struck immediately below it. [them.

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But take your choice); and then it grew a cloud; Satan replied, To me the matter is
And so it was-a cloud of witnesses.

But such a cloud! No land ere saw a crowd
Of locusts numerons as the heavens saw these:
They shadow'd with their myriads space; their
loud

And varied cries were like those of wild geese
(If nations may be liken'd to a goose),
And realized the phrase of 'hell broke loose.'

LIX.

Here crash'd a sturdy oath of stout John Bull,
Who damn'd away his eyes as heretofore:
There Paddy brogued By Jasus!'-' What's
your wull?
[ghost swore
The temperate Scot exclaim'd: the French
In certain terms I shan't translate in full,

As the first coachman will; and 'midst the war,
The voice of Jonathan was heard to express,
'Our President is going to war, I guess.'

LX.

Besides, there were the Spaniard, Dutch, and
Dane;

In short, an universal shoal of shades,
From Otaheite's isle to Salisbury Plain,

Of all climes and professions, years and trades,
Ready to swear against the good king's reign,
Bitter as clubs in cards are against spades:
All summon'd by this grand 'subpoena,' to
Try if kings mayn't be damn'd like me or you.

LXI.

When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale,
As angels can; next, like Italian twilight,
He turn'd all colours-as a peacock's tail,

Or sunset streaming through a Gothic skylight
In some old abbey, or a trout not stale,

Or distant lightning on the horizon by night,
Or a fresh rainbow, or a grand review
Of thirty regiments in red, green, and blue.

LXII.

Then he address'd himself to Satan: 'Why,
My good old friend-for such I deem you,
though

Our different parties make us fight so shy,
I ne'er mistake you for a personal foe:
Our difference is political, and I

Trust that, whatever may occur below,
You know my great respect for you and this
Makes me regret whate'er you do amiss-

LXIII.

Indifferent, in a personal point of view:
I can have fifty better souls than this [through
With far less trouble than we have gone
Already; and I merely argued his

Late Majesty of Britain's case with you
Upon a point of form: you may dispose
Of him; I've kings enough below, God knows!'

LXV.

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'He is what you behold him, and his doom Depends upon his deeds, the Angel said. clean,If you have aught to arraign in him, the tomb Gives licence to the humblest beggar's head To lift itself against the loftiest. -Some,' Said Wilkes, 'don't wait to see them laid in

Why, my dear Lucifer, would you abuse
My call for witnesses? I did not mean
That you should half of earth and hell produce:
Tis even superfluous, since two honest,
True testimonies are enough: we lose
Our time, nay, our eternity, between
The accusation and defence: if we
Hear both, 'twill stretch our immortality."

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His love was passion's essence—as a tree
On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame
Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be
Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same.
But his was not the love of living dame,
Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams,
But of Ideal beauty, which became

LXXX.

His life was one long war with self-sought foes, Or friends by him self-banish'd; for his mind Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind 'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. [know? But he was frenzied,-wherefore, who may Since cause might be which skill could never But he was frenzied by disease or woe [find; To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show.

LXXXI.

For then he was inspired, and from him came, As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore, Those oracles which set the world in flame, Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more: Did he not this for France, which lay before Bow'd to the inborn tyranny of years? Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore, Till by the voice of him and his compeers Roused up to too much wrath, which follows o'ergrown fears?

LXXXII.

They made themselves a fearful monument!
The wreck of old opinions-things which grew,
Breathed from the birth of time: the veil they
rent,

And what behind it lay all earth shall view.
But good with ill they also overthrew,
Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild
Upon the same foundation, and renew
Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour
refill'd,

As heretofore, because ambition was self-will'd.

This refers to the account in his Confessions of his passion for the Comtesse d'Houdetot (the mistress of St Lambert), and his long walk every morning, for the sake of the single kiss which was the commen salutation of French acquaintance. Rousseau's description of his feelings on this occasion may be considered as the most passionate, yet not impure, description and expression of love that ever kindled into words; which, after all, mact be felt, from their very force, to be inadequate to the delineation. A painting can give no sufficient idea of the occail.

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