Oh, sorrow and reproach! Have ye to learn,
Deaf to the past, and to the future blind,
Ye who thus irremissibly exact

The forfeit life, how lightly life is staked,
When in distempered times the feverish mind
To strong delusion yields? Have ye to learn
With what a deep and spirit-stirring voice
Pity doth call Revenge? Have ye no hearts
To feel and understand how Mercy tames
The rebel nature, maddened by old wrongs,
And binds it in the gentle bands of love,
When steel and adamant were weak to hold
That Samson-strength subdued?

Let no man write
Thy epitaph! Emmet, nay; thou shalt not go
Without thy funeral strain! O young and good
And wise, though erring here! thou shalt not go
Unhonored nor unsung. And better thus
Beneath that indiscriminating stroke,

Better to fall, than to have lived to mourn,
As sure thou wouldst, in misery and remorse,
Thine own disastrous triumph; to have seen,
If the Almighty at that awful hour

Had turned away his face, wild Ignorance
Let loose, and frantic Vengeance, and dark Zeal,
And all bad passions tyrannous, and the fires
Of Persecution once again ablaze.

How had it sunk into thy soul to see,

Last curse of all, the ruffian slaves of France
In thy dear native country lording it!

How happier thus, in that heroic mood
That takes away the sting of death, to die,
By all the good and all the wise forgiven;
Yea, in all ages by the wise and good

To be remembered, mourned, and honored still!,

KESWICK.

XIV.

THANKSGIVING FOR VICTORY.

WRITTEN FOR MUSIC, AND COMPOSED BY SHIELD.

GLORY to thee in thine omnipotence,

O Lord! who art our shield and our defence,
And dost dispense,

As seemeth best to thine unerring will,
(Which passeth mortal sense,)

The lot of Victory still;

Edging sometimes with might the sword unjust,
And bowing to the dust

The rightful cause, that so such seeming ill
May thine appointed purposes fulfil;
Sometimes, as in this late auspicious hour
For which our hymns we raise,

Making the wicked feel thy present power;
Glory to thee, and praise,

Almighty God, by whom our strength was given !
Glory to thee, O Lord of earth and heaven!

KESWICK, 1815.

XV.

STANZAS

WRITTEN IN LADY LONSDALE'S ALBUM, AT LOWTHER CASTLE,

OCT. 13, 1821,

1.

SOMETIMES in youthful years,

When in some ancient ruin I have stood,
Alone and musing, till with quiet tears
I felt my cheeks bedewed,

A melancholy thought hath made me grieve
For this our age, and humbled me in mind,
That it should pass away, and leave

No monuments behind.

2.

Not for themselves alone

Our fathers lived; nor with a niggard hand
Raised they the fabrics of enduring stone,
Which yet adorn the land:

Their piles, memorials of the mighty dead,
Survive them still, majestic in decay;
But ours are like ourselves, I said,
The creatures of a day.

3.

With other feelings now,

Lowther! have I beheld thy stately walls,
Thy pinnacles, and broad, embattled brow,
And hospitable halls.

The sun those wide-spread battlements shall crest, And silent years unharming shall go by,

Till centuries in their course invest

Thy towers with sanctity.

4.

But thou the while shalt bear

To after-times an old and honored name,
And to remote posterity declare

Thy Founder's virtuous fame.

Fair structure, worthy the triumphant age
Of glorious England's opulence and power!
Peace be thy lasting heritage,
And happiness thy dower!

XVI.

STANZAS

ADDRESSED TO W. R. TURNER, ESQ., R.A., ON HIS VIEW OF

THE LAGO MAGGIORE FROM THE TOWN OF ARONA.

[Engraved for the "Keepsake" of 1829.]

1.

TURNER, thy pencil brings to mind a day
When from Laveno and the Beuscer Hill
I over Lake Verbanus held my way

In pleasant fellowship, with wind at will;
Smooth were the waters wide, the sky serene,
And our hearts gladdened with the joyful scene;

Joyful,

2.

for all things ministered delight,

The lake and land, the mountains and the vales; The Alps their snowy summits reared in light,

Tempering with gelid breath the summer gales; And verdant shores and woods refreshed the eye, That else had ached beneath that brilliant sky.

3.

To that elaborate island were we bound,
Of yore the scene of Borromean pride, -
Folly's prodigious work; where all around,
Under its coronet, and self-belied,

Look where you will, you cannot choose but see
The obtrusive motto's proud "HUMILITY!"

4.

Far off the Borromean saint was seen,

Distinct, though distant, o'er his native town,
Where his Colossus with benignant mien
Looks from its station on Arona down:

To it the inland sailor lifts his eyes,

From the wide lake, when perilous storms arise.

5.

But no storm threatened on that summer day; The whole rich scene appeared for joyance made; With many a gliding bark the mere was gay,

The fields and groves in all their wealth arrayed: