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Across the everlasting Alp

I poured the torrent of my powers, And feeble Cæsars shrieked for help,

In vain, within their seven-hilled towers ; I quenched in blood the brightest gem That glittered in their diadem, And struck a darker, deeper die, In the purple of their majesty, And bade my northern banners shine Upon the conquered Palatine.

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.



By this, the sun his westering car drove low : Round his broad wheel full many a lucid cloud Floated, like happy isles, in seas of gold: Along the horizon castled shapes were piled, Turrets and towers, whose fronts, embattled, gleamed With yellow light: smit by the slanting ray, A ruddy beam the canopy reflected; With deeper light the ruby blushed; and thick Upon the seraphs' wings the glowing spots Seemed drops of fire. Uncoiling from its staff, With fainter wave, the gorgeous ensign hung, Or, swelling with the swelling breeze, by fits Cast off, upon the dewy air, huge flakes Of golden lustre. Over all the hill, The heavenly legions, the assembled world, Evening her crimson tint for ever drew.

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, And dashed it out. There was a tint of rose On cheek and lip;- he touched the veins with ice, And the rose faded. Forth from those blue eyes There spake a wishful tenderness — a doubt Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence Alone may wear. With ruthless haste, he bound The silken fringes of those curtaining lids For ever. There had been a murmuring sound, With which the babe would claim its mother's ear, Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set The seal of silence. But there beamed a smile So fixed and holy from that cherub browDeath gazed, and left it there ;—He dared not steal The signet-ring of Heaven.



There is a smile of bitter scorn,

Which curls the lip, which lights the eye; There is a smile in beauty's morn

Just rising o'er the midnight sky.

There is a smile of youthful joy,

When hope's bright star's the transient guest; There is a smile of placid age,

Like sunset on the billow's breast.

There is a smile, the maniac's smile,

Which lights the void which reason leaves, And, like the sunshine through a cloud,

Throws shadows o'er the song she weaves.

There is a smile of love, of hope,

Which shines a meteor through life’s gloom; And there's a smile, Religion's smile,

Which lights the weary to the tomb.

There is a smile, an angel smile,

That sainted souls behind them leave; There is a smile which shines through toil,

And warms the bosom, though in grief.

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