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Here crown thy triumphs:—life or death

'decree, The weakest here disdains thy power and

thee." . v

Thus when the Patriarch ceased, and every

ear Still listcn'd in suspense of hope and fear, Sublime, ineffable, angelic grace Beam'd in his meek and venerable face; And sudden glory, streaming round his head. O'er all his robes with lambent lustre

spread; His earthly features grew divinely bright, His essence seem'd transforming into light. Brief silence, like the pause between the

flash, At midnight, and the following thundercrash, Ensued:—Anon, with universal cry, The Giants rush'd upon the prophet—Die! The king leapt foremost from his throne;—

he drew His battle-sword, as on his mark he flew; With aim unerring, and tempestuous sound, The blade descended deep along the ground; The foe was fled, and, self-o'erwhelm'd, his

strength Hurl'd to the earth his Atlantean length; But ere his Chiefs could stretch the helping

arm, He sprang upon his feet in pale alarm; Headlong and blind with rage he search'd

around, But Enoch ualk'd with God and was not found.

Yet where the Captives stood, in holy awe, Rapt on the wings of Cherubim, they saw Their sainted Sire ascending through the

night; He turn'd his face to bless them in his flight. Then vanish'd:—Javan caught the Prophet's

eye. And snatch'd his mantle falling from the

sky; O'er him the Spirit of the Prophet came, Like rushing wind awakening hidden flame: Where is the God of Enoch now? he cried; Captives, come forth! Despiscrs shrink aside. He spake, and bursting through the Giantthrong, Smote with the mantle as he moved along; A Power invisible their rage cnntrnnl'd. Hither and thither as he turn'd they roll'd; Cnawed, unharm'd the ransom'd Prisoners

pass'd Through ranks of foes'astonied and aghast: Close in the youth's conducting steps they

trod: —So Israel march'd when Moses raised his

rod, And led their host, enfranchised, through

the wave. The people's safeguard, the pursuers' grave.

Thus from the wolves thia little flock n

torn, And, sheltering in the mountain-caves til

morn, Theyjoin'dto sing, in strains of fnll drlirk Songs of deliverance through the dmn


The Giants' frenzy, when they lost tktc

prey, No tongue of man or angel might portr.' First on their Idol-Gods their vengeai

turn'd. Those Gods on their own altar-piles tbr

burn'd; Th%n, at their Sovereign's mandate, salw*

forth To rouse their host to combat, from u«

north; Eager to risk their uttermost emprize, Perish ere morn, or reign in Paradise. Now the slow tempest, that so long kst

lower'd. Keen in their faces sleet and hailstos*

shower'd; The winds blew loud, the waters roar:

around, An earthquake rock'd the agonizing groan! Red in the west the burning Mount, arrsj; With tenfold terror by incumbent shade. (For moon and stars were rapt in duns*-.'

gloom) Glared like a torch amidst Creation's tonV: So Sinai's rocks were kindled when they Mi Their Maker's footstep, and began to rarlt: Darkness was his pavilion, whence He rarer. Hid in the brightness of descending Haw While storm, and whirlwind, and the true

pet's blast. Proclaim'd his law in thunder, as he pais'4

The Giants rcach'd their camp: — tkr

night's alarms Meanwhile had startled all their slaves ti

arms; They grasp'd their weapons as from sires

they sprang. From tent to tent the brazen clangor rant; The hail, the earthquake, the mysteries*

light Unnerved their strength, o'vrwhrlm'd then

with affright. "Warriors! to battle ;.— summon all year

powers; Warriors! to conquest;—Paradise is oar* f Exclaim'd their Monarch;—not an arm » ■

raised, In vacancy of thought, like men n masted. And lost amidst confounding dreams, thrr

stood. With palsied eyes, and horror-frozen bios* The Giants' rage to instant madness grr» The King and Chiefs on their own legion


Denouncing vengeance; — then had all the

plain Been heap'd with myriads by their leaders

slain, But ere a award could fall,—by whirlwinds

driven, In mighty volumes, through the vault of

heaven, From Eden's summit, o'er the camp accurst, The darting fires with noon-day-splendour

burst; And fearful grew the scene above, below, /With sights of mystery, and sounds of

woe. The embattled Cherubim appear'd on high, And coursers, wing'd with lightning, swept

the sky; Chariots, whose wheels with living instinct

roll'd, Spirits of unimaginable mould, Powers, such as dwell in heaven's serenest

light, Too pure, too terrible for mortal sight, From depth of midnight suddenly reveal'd, In arms, against the Giants took the field. On such an host Elisha's Servant gazed, When all the mountain round the Prophet

blazed: With such an host, when war in heaven was

wrought, Michael against the Prince of Darkness


Roused by the trumpet, that shall wake the

dead, The torpid foe in consternation fled; The Giants headlong in the uproar ran, The King himself the foremost of the van, Nor e'er his rushing squadrons led to fight With swifter onset, than he led that flight. Homeward the panic-stricken legions flew; Their arms, their vestments from their limbs

they threw; O'er shields and helms the reinless Camel

strode, And gold and purple strew'd the desert road. When through the Assyrian army, like a

blast, At midnight, the destroying Angel pass'd, The Tyrant that defied the living God, Precipitately thus his steps retrod; Even by the way he came, to his own land, Return'd, to perish by his offspring's hand. So fled the Giant-Monarch;—but unknown The hand that smote his life;—he died alone; Amidst the tumult treacherously slain; At mom his Chieftains sought their Lord in


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Who is He, so swiftly flying,
His career no eye can see?
Who are They, so early dying,
From their birth they cease to be?
Time:—behold his pictured face!
Moments:—can yon count their race?

Though, with aspect deep-dissembling,
Here he feigns unconscious sleep,
Round and round this circle trembling,
Day and night his symbols creep,
While unseen, through earth and sky,
His unwearying pinions ply.

Hark! what petty pulses, beating,
Spring new moments into light;
Every pulse, its stroke repeating,
Sends its moment back to night;
Yet not one of all the train
Comes uncall'd, or flits in vain.

In the highest realms of glory,
Spirits trace, before the throne,
On eternal scrolls, the story
Of each little moment flown;
Every deed, and word, and thought,
Through the whole creation wrought.

Were the volume of a minute
Thus to mortal sight unroll'd,
More of sin and sorrow in it,
More of man, might we behold,
Than on History's broadest page
In the reliques of an age.

Who could bear the revelation?
Who abide the sudden test?
With instinctive consternation,
Hands would cover every breast,
Loudest tongues at once be hush'd,
Pride in all its writhings crush'd.

Who, with leer malign exploring,
On his neighbour's shame durst look?
Would not each, intensely poring
On that record in the book,
Which his inmost soul reveal'd,
Wish its leaves for ever seal'd?

Seal'd they are for years, and ages,
Till,— the earth's last circuit run,
Empire changed through all its stages,
Risen and set the latest sun,—
On the sea and on the land,
Shall a midnight-angel stand:—

Stand;—and, while the abysses tremblf,
Swear that Time shall be no more:
Quick and Dead shall then assemble
Men and Demons range before
That tremendous judgment-seat
Where both worlds at issue meet.

Time himself, with all his legions.
Days, Months, Years, since Nature's bint
Shall revive,—and from all region),
Singling out the sons of earth,
With their glory or disgrace,
Charge their spenders face to face.

Every moment of my being
Then shall pass before mine eyes:
God, all-searching! God, all-seeing!
Oh! appease them, ere they rise;
Warn'd I fly, I fly to Thee:
God, be merciful to me!



Image of one, who lived of yore!

Hail to that lovely mien, Once quick and conscious ;—now no Dmr

On Land or Ocean seen! Were all earths breathing forms to pw Before me in Agrippa's glass, Many as fair as Thou might be. But oh, not one, not one like Thee.

Thou art no Child of Fancy; Thon

The very look dost wear, That gave enchantment to a brow.

Wreathed with luxuriant hair; Lips of the morn embathed in dew, And eyes of evening's starry blue; Of all who ever enjoy'd the sun Thou art the image of but one.

And who was she, in virgin prime.

And May of Womanhood, Whose roses here, unpluck'd by time,

In shadowy tints have stood; While many a winter's withering blast Hath over the dark cold chamber past''. In which her once resplendent form Slumber'd to dust beneath the storm?

OF gentle blond; upon her birth

Consenting 1'lunetB smiled.
And she had seen those days of mirth

That frolic round the child;
To bridal bloom her strength had sprung,
Behold her beautiful and young!
Lives there a record which had told
That she was wedded, widow'd, old?

How long her date, 'twere Tain to guess!

The pencil's cunning art
Can but a single glance express,

One motion of the heart;
A smile, a blush,—a transient grace
Of air, and attitude, and face:
One passion's changing colour mix
One moment's flight for ages fix.

Her joys and griefs alike in vain,

Would fancy here recall;
Her throbs of ecstasy or pain

Lull'd in oblivion all;
With her, methinks, life's little hour
Fass'd like the fragrance of a flower,
That leaves upon the vernal wind
Sweetness we ne'er again may find.

Where dwelt she ?—Ask yon aged tree,

Whose boughs embower the lawn,
Whether the birds' wild minstrelsy

Awoke her here at dawn?
Whether beneath its youthful shade,
At noon, in infancy she play'd ?—
If from the oak no answer come,
Of her all oracles are dumb.

The dead are like the stars by day;

Withdrawn from mortal eye,
But not extinct, they hold their way

In glory through the sky:
Spirits from bondage thus set free,
Vanish amidst immensity,
Where human thought, like human sight,
Fails to pursue their trackless flight.

Somewhere within created space

Could I explore that round.
In bliss, or woe, there is a place.

Where she might still be found;
And oh! unless these eyes deceive,
I may, I must, I will believe,
That she, whose charms so meekly glow,
h what she only seem'd below;—

An Angel in that glorious realm,

Where God himself is King:
But awe and fear, that overwhelm

Presumption, check my wing;
Nor dare Imagination look
Upon the symbols of that book,
Wherein Eternity enrolls
The judgments of departed souls.

Of Her, of whom these pictured lines

A faint resemblance form;
Fair as the second rainbow shines

Aloof amid the storm;
Of her, this shadow of a shade,
Like its original must fade,
And She, forgotten when unseen.
Shall be as if she ne'er had been.

Ah! then, perchance, this dreaming strain,

Of all that ever I sung,
A lorn memorial may remain,

When silent lies my tongue;
When shot the meteor of my fame,
Lost the vain echo of my name,
This leaf, this fallen leaf, may be
The only trace of her and me.

With One who lived of old my song

In lowly cadence rose; To One who is unborn belong 'The accents of its close: Ages to come, with courteous ear, Some youth my warning voice may hear; And voices from the dead should be The warnings of eternity.

When these weak lines thy presence great,

Render! if I am blest,
Again, as spirits, may we meet

In glory and in rest:
If not,—and / have lost my way,
Here part we;—go not Thou nstray;
No tomb, no verse my story tell!
Once, and for ever, fare Thee well.


Tbbbr is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary Pilgrims found,
They softly lio and sweetly sleep
Low in the ground.

The storm that wrecks the winter-sky
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer-evening's latest sigh
That shuts the rose.

I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil,
To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil.

For Misery stole me at my birth.
And cast me helpless on the wild:

I perish; O my Mother Earth!

Take home thy Child!

On thy dear lap these limbs reclined.
Shall gently moulder into thee;
Nor leave one wretched trace behind
Resembling me.

Hark!—a strange sound affrights mine ear, My pulse,—my brain runs wild,—I rave; —Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear ?"I am THE GRAVE!

The GRAVE, .that never spake before,
Hath found at length a tongue to chide:
O listen!—I will speak no more:—
Be silent, Pride!

Art thou a WRETCH of hope forlorn,
The victim of consuming care?
Is thy distracted conscience torn
By fell despair?

Do foul misdeeds of former times
Wring with remorse thy guilty breast?
And ghosts of unforgiven crimes
Murder thy rest?

Lash'd by the furies of the mind,

From Wrath and Vengeance wouldst thou

Ah! think not, hope not. Fool! to find
A friend in me.

By all the terrors of the tomb,
Beyond the power of tongue to tell!
By the dread secrets of my womb!
By Death and Hell!

I charge thee LIVE!—repent and pray;
In dust thine infamy deplore;
There yet is mercy;—go thy way,
And sin no more.

Art thou a MOURNER?—Hast thou known
The joy of innocent delights,
Endearing days for ever flown,

And tranquil nights?

O LIVE! and deeply cherish still

The sweet remembrance of the past:
Rely on Heaven's unchanging will
For peace at last.

Art thou a WANDERER?—Hast thou seen
O'erwhelming tempests drown thy bark?
A shipwreck'd sufferer hast thou been,
Misfortune's mark?

Though long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemn'd in wretchedness to roam,
LIVE!—thou shalt reach a sheltering port,
A quiet home.

To FRIENDSHIP didst thou trust thy fame,
And was thy friend a deadly foe,
Who stole into thy breast, to aim
A surer blow?

LIVE!—and repine not o'er his loss,
A loss unworthy to be told:
Thou hast mistaken sordid dross
For friendship's gold.

Seek the true treasure, seldom found.
Of power the fiercest griefs to calm,
And soothe the bosom's deepest wound
With heavenly balm.

Did WOMAN'S charms thy youth bepak.
And did the Fair One faithless prove?
Hath she be tray'd thee with a smile.
Anil sold thy love?

LIVE! 'Twas a false bewildering fire:
Too often Love's insidious dart
Thrills the fond soul with wild desire,
But kills the heart.

Thou yet shalt know, how sweet, how dear.
To gaze on listening Beauty's eye!
To ask,—and pause in hope and fear
Till she reply.

A nobler flame shall warm thy breast,
A brighter maiden faithful prove;
Thy youth, thine age, shall yet be Mat
In woman's love.

Whate'er thy lot,—Whoe'er thou be,—
Confess thy folly,—kiss the rod.
And in thy chastening sorrows see
The hand of GOD.

A bruised reed he will not break;
Afflictions all his children feel;
He wounds them for his mercy's sake.
He wounds to heal!

Humbled beneath his mighty hand,
Prostrate his Providence adore:
'Tis done!—Arise! HE bids thee stand.
To fall no more.

Now, Traveller in the vale of tears!
To realms of everlasting light,
Through Time's dark wilderness of yean
Pursue thy flight.

There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary Pilgrims found:
And while the mouldering ashes sleep
Low in the ground;

The Soul, of origin divine,
GOD'S glorious image, freed from clsy.
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine
A star of day!

The SUN is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor in the sky;
The SOUL, immortal as its Sire,


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