Nay hear me out! That was not half so fearful as his eye, His hot, red, eye!-O Collatine-my husband! Look if it have not kindled Brutus' eye! Thinkest thou, my husband, that I dreaded death? TO RECOVERY. RECOVERY, where art thou? Daughter of Heaven, where shall we seek thy help? By the grey ocean's verge, Daughter of Heaven, we seek thee, but in vain; Where are the happy hours, The sunshine that so cheer'd the morn of life! I saw the distant hills Smile in the radiance of the orient beam, I look'd abroad at noon, The shadow and the storm were on the hills. On you, ye coming years, So fairly shone the April gleam of hope, Come thou and chase away Shall we not find thee here, I look for thy approach, O life-preserving Power! as he who strays THE FILBERT. NAY gather not that filbert, Nicholas, There is a maggot there, it is his houseHis castle-Oh commit not burglary! Strip him not naked, 'tis his clothes, his shell, His bones, the very armour of his life, And thou shalt do no murder, Nicholas ! It were an easy thing to crack that nut, Or with thy crackers or thy double teeth, So easily may all things be destroyed! But 'tis not in the power of mortal man To mend the fracture of a filbert shell. There were two great men once amused themselves With watching maggots run their wriggling race And wagering on their speed; but Nick, to us It were no sport to see the pampered worm Roll out and then draw in his folds of fat, Like to some barber's leathern powder bag Wherewith he feathers, frosts, or cauliflowers Spruce beau, or lady fair, or doctor grave. Enough of dangers and of enemies Hath Nature's wisdom for the worm ordained, Increase not thou the number! him the mouse Gnawing with nibbling tooth the shell's defence May from his native tenement eject; Him may the nut-hatch piercing with strong bill Unwittingly destroy, or to his hoard The squirrel bear, at leisure to be crack'd. Man also hath his dangers and his foes, As this poor maggot hath, and when I muse Upon the aches, anxieties, and fears, The maggot knows not, Nicholas, methinks It were a happy metamorphosis To be enkernelled thus: never to hear Of wars, and of invasions, and of plots, Kings, Jacobines, and tax-commissioners, To feel no motion but the wind that shook The filbert tree, and rocked me to my rest; And in the middle of such exquisite food To live luxurious! the perfection this Of snugness! it were to unite at once Hermit retirement, aldermanic bliss, And stoic independence of mankind. THE BATTLE OF PULTOWA. ON Vorska's glittering waves They strain their aching eyes, The conqueror Charles, the iron-hearted Swede.] Him famine hath not tamed When man by man his veteran troops sunk down, He held undaunted on; What though he mounts not now The fiery steed of war, Borne on a litter to the fight he goes. Go, iron-hearted king! Think how the humbled Dane Let Narva's glory swell thy haughty breast- That on thy shame shall set! Now bend thine head from heaven, His laurels blasted to revive no mor Long years of hope deceived That restless soul must bear, The despot's savage anger took thy life, ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S DAY. THE night is come, no fears disturb Go to the palace wouldst thou know The monarch from the window leans, He listens to the night, And with a horrible and eager hope Oh, he has hell within him now! God, always art thou just! For innocence can never know such pangs As pierce successful guilt. He looks abroad and all is still. Hark! now the midnight bell Sounds through the silence of the night alone; Thy hand is on him, righteous God! He hears the glorying yells of massacre, |