III.

"Ay, go thy way, thou painted thing,
Puppet, which mortals call a King,
Adorning thee with idle gems,
With drapery and diadems,

And scarcely guessing, that beneath
The purple robe and laurel wreath,
There's nothing but the common slime
Of human clay and human crime!-

My rags are not so rich,-but they
Will serve as well to cloak decay.

IV.

"And ever round thy jewelled brow
False slaves and falser friends will bow:
And Flattery,-as varnish flings
A baseness on the brightest things,—
Will make the monarch's deeds appear
All worthless to the monarch's ear,
Till thou wilt turn and think that fame
So vilely dressed, is worse than shame!—

The gods be thanked for all their mercies.
Diogenes hears naught but curses.

V.

"And thou wilt banquet!-air and sea
Will render up their hoards for thee;
And golden cups for thee will hold
Rich nectar, richer than the gold.—

The cunning caterer still must share
The dainties which his toils prepare;
The page's lip must taste the wine
Before he fills the cup for thine:

Wilt feast with me on Hecate's cheer!
I dread no royal hemlock here!

VI.

"And night will come; and thou wilt lie
Beneath a purple canopy,

With lutes to lull thee, flowers to shed
Their feverish fragrance round thy bed,
A princess to unclasp thy crest,

A Spartan spear to guard thy rest.-
Dream, happy one!-thy dreams will be
Of danger and of perfidy,-

The Persian lance, the Carian club!-
I shall sleep sounder in my tub.

VII.

"And thou wilt pass away, and have
A marble mountain o'er thy grave,
With pillars tall, and chambers vast,—
Fit palace for the worm's repast!
I too shall perish! let them call
The vulture to my funeral;

The Cynic's staff, the Cynic's den,

Are all he leaves his fellow-men;

Heedless how this corruption fares,—
Yea, heedless, though it mix with theirs."

(1826.)

ARMINIUS.*

"Cernebatur contra minitabundus Arminius, præliumque denuntians".-Tacit. Annal. ii. 10.

I.

BACK,-back!-he fears not foaming flood

Who fears not steel-clad line!
No offspring this of German blood,-
No brother thou of mine;

Some bastard spawn of menial birth,-
Some bound and bartered slave:
Back,-back!-for thee our native earth
Would be a foreign grave!

II.

Away! be mingled with the rest
Of that thy chosen tribe;
And do the tyrant's high behest,

And earn the robber's bribe;

* Arminius, the assertor of the liberties of Germany, had a brother who had been brought up and had risen to high rank in the Roman service. Upon one occasion, when the two armies were separated by the river Weser, the brothers, after a colloquy which ended in reciprocal reproaches, were scarcely prevented, says Tacitus, from rushing into the stream and engaging hand to hand.

And win the chain to gird the neck,
The gems to hide the hilt,

And blazon honour's hapless wreck

With all the gauds of guilt.

III.

And wouldst thou have me share the prey?

By all that I have done,

By Varus' bones, which day by day
Are whitening in the sun,-

The legion's shattered panoply,
The eagle's broken wing,

I would not be, for earth and sky,
So loathed and scorned a thing!

IV.

Ho! bring me here the wizard, boy,

Of most surpassing skill,

To agonize, and not destroy,

To palsy, and not kill:

If there be truth in that dread art,
In song, and spell, and charm,
Now let them torture the base heart,
And wither the false arm!

V.

I curse him by our country's gods,
The terrible, the dark,
The scatterers of the Roman rods,
The quellers of the bark!

They fill a cup with bitter woe,

They fill it to the brim!

Where shades of warriors feast below

That cup shall be for him!

VI.

I curse him by the gifts our land
Hath owed to him and Rome-
The riving axe and burning brand,
Rent forests, blazing home ;-
Oh, may he shudder at the thought,
Who triumphs in the sight;
And be his waking terrors wrought
Into fierce dreams by night.

VII.

I curse him by the hearts that sigh
In cavern, grove, and glen,—
The sobs of orphaned infancy,

The tears of aged men ;

When swords are out, and spear and dart Leave little space for prayer,

No fetter on man's arm and heart

Hangs half so heavy there.

VIII.

Oh, misery, that such a vow

On such a head should be!

Why comes he not, my brother, now,
To fight or fall with me,-

VOL. I.-23