And trembling majesty, Rowena sate.
On Hengist's dropping lip and knitted brow Was mockery at her fate-opposing prayer, And that was all. But she-" Proud-hearted Men,
Ye vainly deem your privilege, your right, Prerogative of your high-minded race, The glory of endurance, and the state Of strong resolving fortitude. Here I, A woman born to melt and faint and fail, A frail, a delicate, dying woman, sit
To shame ye." She endured the flashing stroke Of th' axe athwart her eyesight, and the blood That sprung around her she endured: still kept The lily its unbroken stateliness, And its pellucid beauty sparkled, still, But all its odours were exhaled-the breath Of life, the tremulous motion was at rest; A flower of marble on a temple wall, 'Twas fair but lived not, glitter'd but was cold. While from the headless corpse t' its great account Went fiercely forth the Pagan's haughty soul.
View'd the bright conclave of Heaven's blest abode,
And the cold marble leapt to life a God: Contagious awe through breathless myriads ran, And nations bow'd before the work of man. For mild he seem'd, as in Elysian bowers, Wasting in care less ease the joyous hours; Haughty, as bards have sung, with princely sway Curbing the fierce flame-breathing steeds of day; Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep By holy maid on Delphi's haunted steep, 'Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove, Too fair to worship, too divine to love.
Yet on that form in wild delirious trance With more than rev'rence gazed the Maid of France,
Day after day the love-sick dreamer stood With him alone, nor thought it solitude! To cherish grief, her last, her dearest care, Her one fond hope-to perish of despair. Oft as the shifting light her sight beguiled, Blushing she shrunk, and thought the marble smiled:
Oft breathless list'ning heard, or seem'd to hear, A voice of music melt upon her ear.
Slowly she waned, and cold and senseless grown,
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Closed her dim eyes, herself benumb'd to stone.
RECITED IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD, IN THE YEAR MDCCCXII.
HEARD ye the arrow hurtle in the sky? Heard ye the dragon monster's deathful cry? In settled majesty of calm disdain,
Proud of his might, yet scornful of the slain, The heav'nly Archer stands*-no human birth, No perishable denizen of earth;
Youth blooms immortal in his beardless face, A God in strength, with more than godlike grace; All, all divine-no struggling muscle glows, Through heaving vein no mantling life-blood flows,
But animate with deity alone,
In deathless glory lives the breathing stone.
Bright kindling with a conqueror's stern delight, His keen eye tracks the arrow's fateful flight; Burns his indignant cheek with vengeful fire, And his lip quivers with insulting ire: Firm fix'd his tread, yet light, as when on high He walks th' impalpable and pathless sky : The rich luxuriance of his hair, confined In graceful ringlets, wantons on the wind, That lifts in sport his mantle's drooping fold Proud to display that form of faultless mould.
Mighty Ephesian!t with an eagle's flight Thy proud soul mounted through the fields of light,
The Apollo is in the act of watching the arrow with which he slew the serpent Python. +Agasias of Ephesus.
Yet love in death a sickly strength supplied: Once more she gazed, then feebly smiled and died.*
I WOULD not from the wise require The lumber of their learned lore; Nor would I from the rich desire A single counter of their store. For I have ease, and I have health, And I have spirits, light as air;
And more than wisdom, more than wealth,- A merry heart, that laughs at care.
At once, 'tis true, two 'witching eyes Surprised me in a luckless season, 'Turn'd all my mirth to lonely sighs, And quite subdued my better reason. Yet 'twas but love could make me grieve, And love you know's a reason fair, And much improved, as I believe, The merry heart, that laugh'd at care.
So now from idle wishes clear, I make the good I may not find; Adown the stream I gently steer, And shift my sail with every wind. And half by nature, half by reason, Can still with pliant heart prepare, The mind, attuned to every season, The merry heart, that laughs at care.
Yet, wrap me in your sweetest dream, Ye social feelings of the mind,
*The foregoing fact is related in the work of Pinel sur l'Insanite.
Give, sometimes give, your sunny gleam, And let the rest good-humour find. Yes, let me hail and welcome give To every joy my lot may share, And pleased and pleasing let me live With merry heart, that laughs at care.
LOVE Thee!-oh, Thou, the world's eternal Sire! Whose palace is the vast infinity,
Time, space, height, depth, oh God! are full of Thee,
And sun-eyed seraphs tremble and admire. Love Thee!-but Thou art girt with vengeful fire,
And mountains quake, and banded nations flee, And terror shakes the wide unfathom'd sea, When the heavens rock with thy tempestuous ire. Oh, Thou! too vast for thought to comprehend, That wast ere time,-shalt be when time is o'er; Ages and worlds begin-grow old—and end, Systems and suns thy changeless throne before, Commence and close their cycles :-lost, I bend To earth my prostrate soul, and shudder and adore!
Love Thee!-oh, clad in human lowliness,
Quaked the earth, and pour'd the heavens, Yea, the clouds pour'd down with water: Before Jehovah's face the mountains melted, That Sinai before Jehovah's face, The God of Israel.
In the days of Shamgar, son of Anath, In Jael's days, untrodden were the highways, Through the winding by-path stole the traveller; Upon the plains deserted lay the hamlets, Even till that I, till Deborah arose, Till I arose in Israel a mother.
They chose new gods: War was in all their gates! Was buckler seen, or lance, 'Mong forty thousand sons of Israel?
My soul is yours, ye chiefs of Israel! And ye, the self-devoted of the people, Praise ye the Lord with me! Ye that ride upon the snow-white asses; Ye that sit to judge on rich divans Ye that plod on foot the open way, Come, meditate the song.
For the noise of plundering archers by the wells of water,
Now they meet and sing aloud Jehovah's righte
His righteous acts the hamlets sing upon the open plains,
And enter their deserted gates the people of Jehovah.
-In whom each heart its mortal kindred knows- Our flesh, our form, our tears, our pains, our Awake, Deborah! awake! Awake, uplift the song!
A fellow-wanderer o'er earth's wilderness! Love Thee! whose every word but breathes to
Barak, awake! and lead your captives captive, Thou son of Abinoam!
With him a valiant few went down against the mighty,
With me Jehovah's people went down against the
Weeping-weeps she all the night; the tears are Have women ever eat their young, babes fondled on her cheeks;
In the above translation an attempt is made to preserve something of a rhythmical flow. It adheres to
Priest and Prophet e'er been slain in the Lord's Holy place?
the original language, excepting where an occasional In the streets, upon the ground, lie slain the young
word is, but rarely, inserted, for the sake of perspicuity.
My virgins and my youth have fallen by the All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord, sword; And the doom of eternity hangs on his word!
In thy wrath thou'st slain them, thou hast had no mercy.
We stretch our hands to Egypt,
To Assyria for our bread. At our life's risk we gain our food,
From the sword of desert robbers. Our skins are like an oven, parched, By the fierce heat of famine. Matrons in Sion have they ravish'd, Virgins in Judah's cities. Princes were hung up by the hand, And age had no respect. Young men are grinding at the mill, Boys faint 'neath loads of wood. The Elders from the gate have ceased, The young men from their music. The crown is fallen from her head,
Woe! woe! that we have sinn'd. 'Tis therefore that our hearts are faint, Therefore our eyes are dim. For Sion's mountain desolate, The foxes walk on it.
Oh mercy! oh mercy! look down from above, Creator! on us thy sad children, with love! When beneath to their darkness the wicked are driven,
May our sanctified souls find a mansion in heaven!
FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.
LORD! Thou didst arise and say To the troubled waters 66 Peace," And the tempest died away,
Down they sank, the foamy seas; And a calm and heaving sleep Spread o'er all the glassy deep, All the azure lake serene Like another Heaven was seen!
Lord! Thy gracious word repeat To the billows of the proud! Quell the tyrant's martial heat,
Quell the fierce and changing crowd! Then the earth shall find repose From its restless strife and foes; And an imaged Heaven appear On our world of darkness here!
FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.
THE angel comes, he comes to reap The harvest of the Lord! O'er all the earth with fatal sweep Wide waves his flamy sword.
And who are they, in sheaves to bide The fire of Vengeance bound! The tares, whose rank luxuriant pride Choked the fair crop around.
And who are they, reserved in store God's treasure-house to fill? The wheat a hundred-fold that bore Amid surrounding ill.
O King of Mercy! grant us power Thy fiery wrath to flee! In thy destroying angel's hour, O gather us to Thee!
QUINQUAGESIMA.
LORD! we sit and cry to Thee, Like the blind beside the way: Make our darken'd souls to see
The glory of thy perfect day! Lord! rebuke our sullen night, And give Thyself unto our sight!
Lord! we do not ask to gaze
On our dim and earthly sun; But the light that still shall blaze
When every star its course hath run: The light that gilds thy blest abode, The glory of the Lamb of God!
Оn help us, Lord! each hour of need
Thy heavenly succour give;
Help us in thought, and word, and deed, Each hour on earth we live.
Oh help us, when our spirits bleed With contrite anguish sore,
And when our hearts are cold and dead, O help us, Lord, the more.
O help us, through the prayer of faith More firmly to believe;
For still the more the servant hath, The more shall he receive.
If strangers to Thy fold we call, Imploring at Thy feet
The crumbs that from Thy table fall, 'Tis all we dare entreat.
But be it, Lord of Mercy, all,
So Thou wilt grant but this; The crumbs that from Thy table fall Are light, and life, and bliss.
Oh help us, Jesus! from on high, We know no help but Thee; Oh! help us so to live and die As thine in Heaven to be.
RIDE On! ride on in majesty! Hark! all the tribes Hosanna cry! Thine humble beast pursues his road, With palms and scatter'd garments strow'd!
Ride on ride on in majesty! In lowly pomp ride on to die!
Oh Christ! Thy triumphs now begin O'er captive death and conquer'd Sin!
Ride on! ride on in majesty! The winged squadrons of the sky Look down with sad and wondering eyes, To see the approaching sacrifice!
Ride on! ride on in majesty! Thy last and fiercest strife is nigh; The father on His sapphire throne Expects His own anointed Son!
Ride on! ride on in majesty! In lowly pomp ride on to die! Bow Thy meek head to mortal pain! Then take, oh God! Thy power, and reign!
BOUND upon th' accursed tree, Faint and bleeding, who is He? By the eyes so pale and dim, Streaming blood and writhing limb,
By the flesh with scourges torn, By the crown of twisted thorn, By the side so deeply pierced, By the baffled burning thirst, By the drooping death-dew'd brow, Son of Man! 'tis Thou! 'tis Thou!
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