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3. I send the lilies given to me; Though long before thy hand they touch, I know that they must withered be, But yet reject them not as such; For I have cherish'd them as dear, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold’st them drooping nigh, And knowst tuem gathered by the Rhine, And offered from my heart to thine!
The river nobly foams and flows,
LVI. By Coblenz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple pyramid, Crowning the summit of the verdant mound; Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid, Our enemy's, - but let not that forbid Honour to Marceau! o'er whose carly tonib Tears, big tears, grush'd from the rough soldier's lid, Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume.
LVII. Brief, brave, and glorious was liis young career, Ilis mourners were two hosts, luis friends and foes; And fițly may the stranger lingering here Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose; For he was Freedom's champion, one of those, The few in number, who had not o'erstept The charter to chastise which she bestows On such as wield her weapons; he had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him
i wept. 12
LX. Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu! There can be no farewell to scene like thine; The mind is coloured by thy every hue; And if reluctantly the.eyes resign Their cherish'd gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine! 'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise; More mighty spots may rise — more glaring shine, But none unite in one attaching maze The brilliant, fair, and soft, -the glories of old days,
LXI. The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen, The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom, The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between, The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been In mockery of man's art; and these withal A race of faces happy as the scene, Whosc fertile bounties here extend to all, Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near LXII. But these recede. Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Hlave pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And thoned Eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche - the thunderbolt of snow! All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show Ilow Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain
LXIII. But çre these matchless heights I dare to scan, There is a spot should not be pass’d in vain, Morat! the proud, the patriot field! where man May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain, Nor blush for those who conquered on that plain; Here Burgundy bequeath'd his tombless host, A bony heap, through ages to remain, Themselves their inonument; - the Stygian coast Unsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wan
dering ghost. 14