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DIRGE OF ALARIC THE VISIGOTH.
And where I went the spot was cursed,
See how their haughty barriers fail
Beneath the terror of the Goth,
Before my ruthless sabaoth,
Not for myself did I ascend
In judgment my triumphal car;
The avenging Scythian to the war,
With iron hand that scourge I reared
O'er guilty king and guilty realm;
And vengeance sat upon the helm,
Across the everlasting Alp
I poured the torrent of my powers,
In vain, within their seven-hilled towers;
My course is run, my errand done;
I go to Him from whom I came; But never yet shall set the sun
Of glory that adorns my name; And Roman hearts shall long be sick, When men shall think of Alaric.
My course is run, my errand done ;
But darker ministers of fate, Impatient, round the eternal throne,
And in the caves of vengeance, wait; And soon mankind shall blench away Before the name of Attila.
THE LAST EVENING BEFORE ETERNITY.
By this, the sun his westering car drove low:
Round I gazed, Where, in the purple west, no more to dawn, Faded the glories of the dying day. Mild twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud The solitary star of evening shone. While gazing wistful on that peerless light, Thereafter to be seen no more, (as, oft In dreams, strange images will mix,) sad thoughts Passed o'er my soul. Sorrowing, I cried, Farewell, Pale, beauteous planet, that displayst so soft, Amid yon glowing streak, thy transient beam, A long, a last farewell! Seasons have changed, Ages and empires rolled, like smoke, away; But thou, unaltered, beamst as silver fair As on thy birthnight. Bright and watchful eyes, From palaces and bowers, have hailed thy gem With secret transport. Natal star of love, And souls that love the shadowy hour of fancy, How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray! How oft thy rising o'er the hamlet green, Signal of rest, and social converse sweet, Beneath some patriarchal tree, has cheered The peasant's heart, and drawn his benison !
Death found strange beauty on that polished brow,
There had been a murmuring sound,