ALPHONSE MARIE LOUIS DE LAMARTINE. ALPHONSE MARIE LOUIS DE LAMARTINE, a French poet, historian, and statesman, born near Mâcon, Oct. 21, 1790; died in Paris, March 1, 1869. He was sent to the college at Belley, where he remained until his nineteenth year. In 1811 he went to Italy, where he spent two years. When Napoleon was sent to Elba, Lamartine returned to France and entered the service of Louis XVIII. On the return of Napoleon he took refuge in Switzerland. In 1818-1819 he traveled in Savoy, Switzerland, and Italy, writing poetry, of which his first volume, "Méditations Poétiques," was published in 1820. He now entered the diplomatic service. In 1823 he published "Nouvelles Méditations." After the accession of Louis Philippe he traveled in Turkey, Egypt, and Syria. During his absence he was elected to the Chamber of Deputies. He was reëlected in 1837. The Revolution of 1848 gave him a foremost place. He was made Minister of Foreign Affairs, was elected for the Constitutional Assembly and was chosen one of the five members of the Executive Committee, but he held the reins of government for four months only. The remainder of his life was spent in literary labor. In 1860 he supervised an edition of his works in forty-one volumes. Among them are "Harmonies Poétiques et Religieuses" (1830); "Souvenirs, Impressions, Pensées et Paysages pendant un Voyage en Orient" (1835); "Jocelyn, Journal trouvé chez un Curé de Village" (1836); "La Chute d'un Ange" (1838); "Recueillements Poétiques" (1839); "Histoire des Girondins" (1847); "History of the Revolution of 1848," and "Histories of Turkey and Russia." The entire list of his writings, in prose and verse, is very long. THE CEDARS OF LEBANON. EAGLES, that wheel above our crests, Nervous and gaunt, or lift our hair, Sons of the rock, no mortal hand To pay for sin the ransom-price, The beams that form'd the Cross we gave: In memory of such great events, Sounds in our foliage like the voice Of many waters; in these shades Their burning words are forged like blades, TO MY LAMP. HAIL! sole companion of my lonely toil, Still with clear light doth shine! Thou dost recall the bright days of my life, The sun was finishing his mighty round; I was alone among a buried host; And there I saw thee, 'neath the ashes piled; Perhaps by thy light did the virgin go Within the tomb her perished beauty lies: Youth, maiden modesty, the dawning love. She vanished like the lightning's sudden gleam, Beauty is not the idol of the best! I was a fool before her feet to lie, What matter, then, whether she smile or frown? Yes, I would tear myself from vain desires, The resting eagle is an eagle still: Though 'neath his mighty wing he hides his head, I pity those who thought one ivy-crowned, Never shall weariness make me abjure The gifts once prized, and cherished still the same. My dreams shall summon back the enchantress pure, And whisper her dear name. Her eyes shall watch over my soul at last; And when, dear lamp, shall come that mournful night, That flame has often filled my wondering thought; A breath creates it, at a breath it dies; See how it leaps up with a quick desire! All nature slowly to this end is drawn! 'Tis but a sleep, the so-called death of men: The fly shall have its day, the flower its dawn; Our clay shall wake again. Do we the secrets of all nature know? The sounds of night that on the horizon fail, The passing cloud that lays the flowers low, The will-o'-the-wisp of the vale? Know we the secret of the nesting dove? The cradle whence the tomb has snatched its prey? What is the mystery of grief, or love, Or night that follows day? Have not the murmuring winds a voice, a mood? Let us not strive the kindly veils to raise Till all that we should see, life's end shall show: Better know not than into mysteries gaze! Better believe than know! Farewell, my lamp! Blessings upon thy flame! ODE TO THE LAKE OF B—. THUS sailing, sailing on forevermore, Still borne along, to winds and waves a prey, Dear lake! one little year has scarcely flown, Where once she sat with me. As now, thy restless waves were moaning through Over my dear one's feet. One night we rode in silence, — dost recall When suddenly, upon the startled ear Accents unknown to earth melodious break; And with these mournful words, a voice most dear Charms all the listening lake: "O Time, pause in thy flight! and you, propitious hours, Pause on your rapid ways! Let us enjoy the springtime of our powers, "So many wretched souls would speed your flight, Take with their days the canker and the blight; "But all in vain I try to stay its course: I say to night, Pass slowly! and the dawn "Let us love, then, and love forevermore! |