XXVI.

Hark! the mob shout! the thunder cities hear

Comes rolling with the force of rushing water;
A Warrior-form in triumph draweth near,
His sword still reeking from its sanguine slaughter.
Nobles await him, and a Queen stands there,
The circle's sun, on whom each eye doth bend;
What proud submission mingles in his air!

His stern lips touch the hand would claim him friend ; Low greetings and swift praise around in murmurs blend.

XXVII.

And wealth is showered on him, and titles too;
The idol of the day awhile he shines;

Its star, so long as Fashion's whim shall woo
Him 'neath her halo-and with her combine
Both fear and wonder and self-interest mean;
But soon men tire of souls their own above;
The cloud on Marlbro's page have we not seen?
Not seen the "Conqueror of the Conqueror" 13 prove

The fickle breath of an ungrateful nation's love?

XXVIII.

Huzzaed, the boast of millions, he had passed,
Upborne by Britain's stoutest hearts, along
A proud metropolis! and thick and fast
Came cheers and shouts from the exulting throng:
The saviour of far nations-of the land
Whose myriads, thus outpouring, send a voice

In one deep swell; and with an eager hand

Hold forth the laurel-crown to Victory's ChoiceThe Soldier-Duke, whose tread bids England's shores rejoice!

XXIX.

But now we need no lyre to tell the tale,
The ebbing quick of popular applause!
How grateful echoes from the saved soon fail;
How this our land would gladly strain the laws
To wrong and thwart him! Thou, who oft hast led
Its conquering hosts-who anxious nights had pass'd,
And weary days, exiled for them-thy head

Throbbing with thought intense ;--and this, at last, Is thy reward-scoffs from each craven at thee cast!

XXX.

They who still lounged in Sloth's gross haunts at

home,

Encouched by comfort-or pale luxury's slaves; A jaunt of pleasure, where Thames' waters roam, Their greatest effort-floating o'er its waves; Or in rich coach! whilst thy short troubled sleep Beneath Heaven's arch, encircled by thy foes, Was oft disturbed by signal sounds-low-deepFrom watchful sentinel, and each hour rose Heavy with doubt how such next measured time might close!

XXXI.

But minds like thine are far above the fang
With which pale Envy wounds the breast; though deep
And strong, perchance the short-enduring pang
That sprang with thy cool blood's unwonted leap,
When rose the whisper that Truth's mirror stains,
And soiled thy hard-earned wreath by vulgar hands;
And thy stunned heart confessed that Pain of Pains,
Wrong from the Served!--yet nought thy soul de-
mands;

In its own pure intent and strength and power it stands!

XXXII.

To Present we are wandering from the Past; We turn again to years, long gone-the deadThe glorious Dead! whence brilliant shades are cast Unto the soul's still depths; and oft have fed Its musings lone, and caused the pulse to throb Quick, quick and full-the deepening brow to flush; Or paled our cheek, as rose the swoln heart's sob, With flashing fervours-such as, rising, rush, When tones from the soul's lyre with wakened Memory gush.

XXXIII.

What eyes, fair Jennings! seem enchained to thee! 14 What hearts as leaping from each fervid glance!— Ah! they are here portrayed, who bent the knee, And sunned their souls in Love's delirious trance, 'Neath the warm radiance of thy glowing brow!— Those love-embedded lips could'st thou but ope, Would not the forms, but pictured shadows now, Spring from their frames with life-engendering hope, Whilst laughingly with thine their mirth once more would cope?

B

XXXIV.

Woman! why thus coquet with living hearts,
Which feed on glances from deceiving eyes?-
With their full throbs each pulse of passion starts,
And raptured bounds in wildering fantasies;
But when the goal of vanity is won,

How changed her air!—she coyly turns to chide;
Nor heeds from bosoms pierced what torrents run
In frenzied sorrow's dark and boiling tide;

But for fresh lovers spreads new meshes far and wide.

XXXV.

Oh! give me one, whose glance comes from the soul, Who never feigns a passion still unknown

;

Whose soft full orbs ne'er take a measured roll

Whose voice assumes not affectation's tone ;Modest, yet warm, and frank, though dignifiedWho hath a smile for all-but one for me, Whence the whole heart to sunny eyes shall glide, With the rapt light of love's own purity

That brightens the sweet blush of her truth's constancy!