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O Thou, the direst martyr of the time,

To Shadowy Virtue-but substantial Crime--
That wouldst have rush'd before the Eternal Throne,
Reeking with blood of others! and thine own!
Think not beneath that guilt-ennobled name,
That blot, and boast of Rome, to shroud thy shame ;
Thou still art wrong, were erring Brutus right,
The Pagan fell in darkness,―Thou in light!
Fix'd thy relentless purpose to fulfill,

Through life or death, shame, glory, good, or ill,
Nurse'd in the lap of Reason, but to wound
Her breast, and break the laws, her guardian mound,
Did'st hope like him, who William's life-blood spilt,
To wash out stain by stain, and guilt by guilt?
Religion,-hadst thou own'd her mild control,
With loftier, kindlier views had fill'd thy soul,
Check'd thine officious pride, with calm reproof,
And shew'd thy tempting Angel's cloven hoof.

* Belthazar Gerard, who assassinated William the First, prince of Orange, at Delft. He entertained the design six years before its execution! He said he did it to expiate his sins; that Prince being at the head of the Protestants

Thy doom,--O what created Thing might know,
Though Seraphs wept above and Man below,
Had full success that desperate hand befel,
That knock'd so fiercely at the gates of Hell!
Must general laws to partial dogmas bow?

Could Heaven have patience still, and could'st not Thou?
Think WHO obey'd, though Herod did command
Had'st thou to cast the stone a purer hand?
Would thy weak Arm th' avenging Sceptre sway?
Vengeance to GOD belongs;-He can repay,
Yea, and forbear;-to self-destruction driv'n,
Renouncing Earth, for what? to forfeit Heaven!
HE foil'd thy steel;-repent-and be forgiven.

TO THE MEMORY

OF THE

ABBÉ EDGEWORTH.

O Thou! that at thy king's command,
While cannons roar'd, and clarions, bray'd,
Didst on his scaffold calmlv stand,

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In Panoply by hands not made;

While hosts less fearless though in mail array'd; 'Mid prosp❜ring vice, by virtue half inspir'd, Thy noble bearing view'd, and menac'd, and admir'd;

'Tis not the lot of common clay,

To win the glories of that morn,

And bear a brighter crown away,

Than from thy monarch's brow was torn !
Thou didst a friendship court, in perils born,
Rarely by subjects sought, or kings bestow'd,
A friendship rock'd by storms, baptised in royal blood!

Την απ' ανωθεν πανοπλίαν ; l'his intrepid soldier of Christ was requested to at tend the king of France on the scaffold. He cheerfully complied, although it was the universal opinion, that his life would be sacrificed. As the axe descended, he exclaimed with a loud voice, “Fils de St. Louis, montez au ciel.' Struck and overawed by such magnanimity, displayed at such a moment, the troops, on his descent from the scaffold, presented arms, and made a lane for him to pass through their files unmolested !

TO CANOVA.

Europe, the World has but one Canova i

Had'st thou been born when Nature's hand

Was young, She'd copied thee;

But She is old, and trusts to Time
To mar thy victory!

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DON CARLOS.

« Vulnus alit venis, et cæco carpitur igni.”

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O, why has he harness'd his warrior-steed f
Is his spirit still sateless of' fame?

Expell'd is the Moor, and his countrymen freed,
And emblazon'd with heroes his name.

Has his castle no charms?-'tis the noblest in Spain, - Of Grenada the bulwark and pride!

Have youth, health, and beauty, been lavish'd in vain? Of renown and of riches-a tide?

But she that could hear them, and share them, is gone, Those eyes are extinguish'd in night,

That sadden'd or brighten'd for Carlos alone,

Or melted in streams of delight;

Like the eagle he flew,-but he pined like the dove,Where the Cross with the Crescent had strife!

He liv'd but to love! he died but to prove

How sweeter his love, than his life!

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