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I found the thing I sought-aud that was thee ;
And then I lost my being, all to be
Absorb'd in thine-the world was past away-
Thou didst annihilate the earth to me!

VII.
I loved all solitude—but little thought
To spend I know not what of life, remote
From all communion with existence, save
The maniac and his tyrant : had I been
Their fellow, many years ere this had seen
My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave;
But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave ?
Perchance in such a cell we suffer more
Than the wreck'd sailor on his desert shore;
The world is all before him-mine is here,
Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier.
What though he perish, he may lift his eye
And with a dying glance upbraid the sky?--
I will not raise my own in such reproof,
Although 't is clouded by my dungeon roof.

VIII. Yet do I feel at times my mind decline, But with a sense of its decay:-I see Unwonted lights along my prison shine, And a strange demon, who is vexing me With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below The feeling of the healthful and the free; But much to one, who long hath sufferd so, Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, And all that may be borne, or can debase. I thought minc enemies had been but man, But spirits may be leagued with them--all carth Abandons--Ileaven forgets me ;- in the dearth Of such defence the powers of evil can, It may be, tempt me further, and prevail Against the outworn creature they assail. Why in this furnace is my spirit proved Like steel in tempering fire! because I loved ! Because I loved wliat not to love, and see, Was more or less than mortal, and than me.

IX.
I once was quick in feeling-that is o'er ;-
My scars are callous, or I should have dash'd
My brain against these bars as the sun flash'd
In mockery through them ;-if I bear and bore
The much I have recounted, and the more
Which hath no words, 't is that I would not die
And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie
Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame
Stamp madness deep into my memory,
And woo compassion to a blighted name,
Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim.
No-it shall be immortal !-and I make
A future temple of my present cell,
Which nations yet shall visit for my sake.
While thou Ferrara! when no longer dwell
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down,
And crumbling piece-meal view thy heartbless halls,
A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,
While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls !
And thou, Leonora! thou- who wert ashamed
That such as I could love-who blush'd to hear
To less than monarchis that thou couldst be dear,
Go! tell thy brother that my heart, untamed
By grief, years, weariness—and it may be
A taint of that he would impute to me,
From long infection of a den like this,
Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss -
Adores thee suill;-aod add-that when the towers
And battlements which guard his joyous hours
Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot,
Or left untended in a dull

repose,
This-this shall be a consecrated spot!
But thou-when all that birth and beauty throws
Of magic round thee is extinci-shalt have
One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave.
No power in death can tear our names apart,
As none in life could rend thee from my heart.
Yes, Leonora ! it shall be our fate
To be entwined for ever- but too late!

Webrew Melodies.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, the Hon. D. Kionaird, for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been published, with the music, arranged by Mr BRĄŁAM and Mr Natian.

And all that 's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her cyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

HEBREW MELODIES.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY, Sue walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies ;

But we must wander witheringly,

In other lands to die;
And where our fathers' ashes be,

Our own may never lie:
Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.

THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT. The harp the monarch minstrel swept,

The king of men, the loved of Heaven, Which Music hallow'd while she wept

O'er tones her heart of hearts had given.

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven! It soften d men of iron mould,

It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

That felt not, fired not to the tone,

Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne ! It told the triumphs of our king,

It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladden'd valleys ring,

The cedars bow, the mountains nod;

Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode! Since then, though heard on earth no more,

Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar

To sounds that seem as from above,
In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.

OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. On! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell Mouro-where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell! And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet? And Judah's melody once more rejoice The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice? Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, How shall ye tlee away and be at rest! The wild-dove hath ber nest, the fox his cave, Mankind their country— Israel but the grave!

ON JORDAN'S BANKS.

IF THAT HIGH WORLD.
Ir that high world, which lies beyond

Our own, surviving love endears;
If there the cherish'd heart be fond,
The
eye

the same, except in tearsHow welcome those untrodden spheres !

How sweet this very hour to die ! To soar from earth, and find all fears

Lost in thy light-Eternity! It must be so: 't is not for self

That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap ihe gulf,

Yet cling to being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think

To hold cach heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink,

And soul in soul grow deathless theirs !

On Jordan's banks the Arabs' camels stray,
On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,
The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep-
Yet there-even there-Oh God! thy thunders sleep :
There—where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone!
There-where thy shadow to thy people shone!
Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire :
Thyself-none living see and not expire!
Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear!
Sweep from liis shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear :
How long hy tyrants shall thy land be trod?
How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God!

THE WILD GAZELLE.
The wild gazelle on Judalis hills

Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills

That gush on holy ground;
Its airy step and glorious eye

May glance in tameless transport by A step as fleet, an eye more bright,

Hath Judah witness'd there; And o'er her scenes of lost delight

Inhabitants more fair.
The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah's statelier maids are gone!
More blest each palm that shades thosc plains

Than Israel's scatter'd race;
For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace:
It cannot quit ils place of birth,
It will not live in other earth.

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. Since our country, our God-Oh, my sire! Demand that thy daughter expire; Since thy triumph was bought by thy vowStrike the bosom that's bared for thee now! And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And the mountains behold me no more : If the land thai I love lay me low, There cannot be pain in the blow! And of this, oh, my father! be sureThat the blood of thy child is as pure As the blessing I beg ere it flow, And the last thought that soothes me below. Though the virgins of Salem lament, Be the judge and the hero unbent! I have won the great battle for thce, And my father and country are free! When this blood of thy giving hath gushd, When the voice that thou lovest is husbid, Let my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died !

The triumphs of her chosen son,

The slaughters of his sword! The deeds he did, the fields he won,

The freedom he restored!

OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.

On! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;

But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year ;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom :
And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall sorrow lean lier drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream;

And lingering pause, and lightly tread,

Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away! we know that tears are vain,

That death nor heeds nor hears distress :
Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less ?
And thou-wbo tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free

Thou shalt not taste of deatlı! The generous blood that flow'd from thee

Disdaju'd to sink beneath : Within our veins its currents be,

Thy spirit on our breath :

Thy name, our charging hosts along,

Shall be the battle-word!
Thy fall, the theme of choral song

From virgin voices pour'd!
To weep would do thy glory wrong;

Thou shalt not be deplored.

SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.
Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path :
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.

MY SOUL IS DARK. My soul is dark. -Oh! quickly string

The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers tling

Its meluing murmurs o'er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear,

'T will flow, and cease to burn my brain : But bid the strain be wild and deep,

Nor let thy notes of joy be first: I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,

Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nurst,

And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 't is doom'd to know the worst,

And break at once-or yield to soug.

Farewell to others, but never we part,
Heir to my royally, son of my heart !
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!

SAUL.

I SAW THEE WEEP.

I saw thee weep-the big bright lear

Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear

A violet dropping dew:
I saw thee smile--the sapphire's blaze

Beside thee ceased to shine,
It could not match the living rays

That fillid that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive

A deep and mellow dye, Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky, Those smiles onto the moodiest mind

Their own pure joy impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind

That lightens o'er the heart.

Thou whose spell can raise the dead,

Bid the prophet's form appear. « Samuel, raise thy buried head!

King, beliold the phantom scer !» Earth yawn'd; be stood the centre of a cloud: Lighit changed its hue, retiring from his shroud : Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye ; Ilis hand was wither'd and his veins were dry; His foot, in bony whiteness, Glitter'd there, Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare : From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame, Like cavernd winds, the hollow accents came. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,

and blasted by the thunder-stroke.

At once,

Why is my slcep disquieted ? Who is he that calls the dead? Is it thou, oh king? Behold, Bloodless are these limbs, and cold : Such are mine; and such shall be Thine, to-morrow, when with me : Ere the coming day is done, Such shalt thou be, such thy son. Fare thee well, but for a day; Then we mix our mouldering clay. Thou, thy race, lie pale and low, Pierced by shafts of many a bow :

THY DAYS ARE DONE. Tay days are done, thy fame begun;

Thy country's straius record

And the falchion by thy side
To thy heart thy hand shall guide:
Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
Son and sire, the bouse of Saul!»

An age shall fleet like earthly year ;
Its

years as moments shall endure. Away, a way, without a wing.

O'er all, ibrough all, its thoughts shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing,

Forgetting what it was to die.

my soul

«ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER.» Fame, wisdom. love, and power were mine,

And health and youth possess'd me;
My goblets bluslid from every vine,

And lovely forms caressid me;
I sunnd my heart in beauty's eyes,
And felt

grow tender;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,

Was mine of regal splendour.
I strive to number o'er what days

Remembrance can discover,
Which all that life or earth displays

Would lure me to live over.
There rose po day, there roll'd no hour

Of pleasure unembitterd ;
And not a trapping deck'd my power

That galld not while it glitter'd.
The serpent of the field, by art

And spells, is won from harming;
But that which coils around the heart,

Oh! who hath power of charming?
It will not list to wisdom's lore,

Nor music's voice can lure il;
But there it stings for evermore

The soul that must endure it.

VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. The king was on his throne,

The satraps throng'd the hall;
A thousand bright lamps shone

O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,

In Judah deemd divine
Jehovah's vessels hold

The godless heathen's wine!
In that same hour and hall,

The fingers of a band
Came forth against the wall,

And wrote as if on sand :
The fingers of a man,

A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,

And traced them like a wand.
The monarch saw, and shook,

And bade no more rejoice;
All bloodless waxd his look,

Aud tremulous his voice. « Let the men of lore appear,

The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear

Which mar our royal mirth.» Chaldea's seers are good,

But here they have no skill ; And the unknown letters stood,

Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age

Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not save,

They saw-but knew no more. A captive in the land,

A stranger and a youth,
Jle heard the king's command,

He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,

The prophecy in view; He read it on that night,

The morrow proved it true. « Belshazzar's grave is made,

His kingdom pass d away; He, in the balance weighid,

Is light and worthless clay. The shroud, his robe of state,

Bis canopy, the stone; The Mede is at his gate!

The Persian on his throne! >>

.

WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING

CLAY.
When coldness wraps this suffering clay,

Ah, whither strays the immortal mind?
It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darkeu'd dust behind,
Then, uncmbodied, doth it trace

By steps each planet's heavenly way?
Or fill at once the realms of space,

A thing of eyes, that all survey!
Eternal, boundless, undecay'd,

A thought unseen, but seeing all,
All, all in earth, or skies display'd,

Shall it survey, shall it recal:
Each fainter trace that memory holds,

So darkly of departed years,
Io one broad glance the soul beholds,

And all, that was, at once appears.
Before creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back:
And where the furthest heaven bad birth,

The spirit trace its rising track.
And where the future mars or makes,

Its glance dilate o'er all to be,
While sun is quenchid or system breaks,

Fix'd in its own eternity.
Above or love, hope, hate, or fear,

It lives all passionless and pure :

SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS! Sun of the sleepless ! melancholy star! Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,

That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel, On many an cve, the high spot whence I gazed
How like art thou to joy remember'd well!

Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed ;
So gleams the past, the light of other days,

While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays; Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine. A night-beam sorrow watcheth to behold,

And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
Distinct, but distant-clear-but, oh how cold!

But I mark d not the twilighit beam melting away:
Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead,

And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head!
WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU
DEEM'ST IT TO BE.

But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane

The shrine wliere Jehovah disdain'd not to reiga;
Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be, And scatter'd and scorn'd as thy people may be,
I need not have wander'd from far Galilee;

Our worship, oh Father! is oniy for thee.
Ji was but abjuring my creed to efface
The curse which, thou sayest, is the crime of

my race.

BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!

AND WEPT.
If the slave only sio, thou art spotless and free!
If the exile on earth is an outcast on bigh,

We sat down and wept by the waters
Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.

Of Babel, and thought of the day I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,

When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, As the God who permits tbce to prosper doth know;

Made Salem's high places his prey; In his hand is my heart and my hope-and iu thine

And ye, oh her desolate daughters!
The land and the life which for him I resign.

Were scatter'd all weeping away.
While sadly we gazed on the river

Which rolld on in freedom below,
HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE.

They demanded the song; but, oli never

That triumph the stranger shall know!
Oy, Mariamne! now for thce
The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding;

May this right hand be wither'd for ever,
Revenge is lost in agony,

Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
And wild remorse to rage succeeding.

On the willow that harp is suspended, --
Oh, Mariamne! where art thou ?

Ob Salem! its sound should be free;
Thou canst not bear my bitter pleading :

And the hour when thy glories were ended,
Ah, couldst thou-uhou woulust pardon now,

But left me that token of thee :
Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding. And we'er shall its soft tones be blended

With the voice of the spoiler by me!
And is she dead ?--and did they dare

Obey my frenzy's jealous raviog?
My wrath but doom'd my own despair :

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
The sword that smoie her 's o'er me waving.-
But thou art cold, my murder'd love!

Tax Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And this dark heari is vainly craving

And his colorts were gleaming in purple and sold; For her who soars alone above,

And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea! And leaves my soul unworthy saving.

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. She's gone, who shared my diadem!

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, She sunk, with her my joys entombing :

That host with their banners at sunset were seen : I swept that flower from Judali's stem

Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath bloon, Whose leaves for me alone were blooming. That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,

For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, This bosom's desolation dooming:

And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass d; And I have earn d those tortures well,

And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, Which unconsumed are still consuming! And their liearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,

But through it there rolld not the breath of his pride: ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF And the foam of his gasping lay wbite on the turf, JERUSALEM BY TITUS.

And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, I beheld thee, oh Sion! when render'd to Rome : With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; 'T was thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.

The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblowa. I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home,

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And forgot for a moment my bondage to come; And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane, And the might of the Gentile, unsinote by the sword, And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain. Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

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