FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   276   277   278   279   280   281   282   283   284   285   286   287   288   289   290   291   292   293   294   295   296   297   298   299   300  
301   302   303   304   305   306   307   308   309   310   311   312   313   314   315   316   317   318   319   320   321   322   323   324   325   >>   >|  
rough which all things grow phantoms; and the cloud Between us sinks and all which ever glowed, Till Glory's self is twilight, and displays A melancholy halo scarce allowed To hover on the verge of darkness--rays Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze, CLXVI. And send us prying into the abyss, To gather what we shall be when the frame Shall be resolved to something less than this-- Its wretched essence; and to dream of fame, And wipe the dust from off the idle name We never more shall hear,--but never more, Oh, happier thought! can we be made the same:-- It is enough in sooth that _once_ we bore These fardels[531] of the heart--the heart whose sweat was gore. CLXVII. Hark! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds,[532] A long low distant murmur of dread sound, Such as arises when a nation bleeds With some deep and immedicable wound;-- Through storm and darkness yawns the rending ground-- The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the Chief Seems royal still, though with her head discrowned, And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief-- She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief. CLXVIII. Scion of Chiefs and Monarchs, where art thou? Fond Hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the Grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head? In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled, The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy, Death hushed that pang for ever: with thee fled The present happiness and promised joy Which filled the Imperial Isles so full it seemed to cloy. CLXIX. Peasants bring forth in safety.--Can it be, Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored! Those who weep not for Kings shall weep for thee, And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard Her many griefs for _One_; for she had poured Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head[pz] Beheld her Iris.--Thou, too, lonely Lord, And desolate Consort--vainly wert thou wed! The husband of a year! the father of the dead! CLXX. Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; Thy bridal's fruit is ashes[533]: in the dust The fair-ha
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   276   277   278   279   280   281   282   283   284   285   286   287   288   289   290   291   292   293   294   295   296   297   298   299   300  
301   302   303   304   305   306   307   308   309   310   311   312   313   314   315   316   317   318   319   320   321   322   323   324   325   >>   >|  



Top keywords:

phantoms

 

darkness

 

promised

 
happiness
 

present

 
hushed
 

majestic

 

Monarchs

 

nations

 
Chiefs

yields

 

relief

 

CLXVIII

 

midnight

 

mother

 

beloved

 

forget

 
moment
 
vainly
 
Consort

husband

 

desolate

 
Beheld
 

lonely

 

father

 

bridal

 

sackcloth

 
wedding
 

garment

 

orisons


safety

 

breast

 

adored

 

Peasants

 

Imperial

 

griefs

 

poured

 
Freedom
 

filled

 
resolved

gather

 

prying

 

wretched

 

happier

 

thought

 

essence

 

distract

 

glowed

 

twilight

 

Between