64 NAPOLEON. And nature saw her time of power- The mighty bowed before a flower, Alone before that chiseled brow, Flit by, like, hated phantoms now, And holier visions rise The empire of the heart unveils, And lo! that crownless creature wails The golden days whose suns went down, Lighting with dim but cold renown When all life's charities were dead, Oh! had the monarch to the wind And to the victory of mind Had his warrior footsteps rung, What then were desert rocks and seas, FROM A BACHELOR'S PRIVATE JOURNAL. 65 To one whom Destiny decrees Such fadeless fame! Oh! had the tyrant cast his crown What though the pomp of life had flown, Then had thy speaking bust, brave boy! FROM A BACHELOR'S PRIVATE JOURNAL. SWEET Mary, I have never breathed Though round my heart a serpent wreathed, Once more the pulse of Nature glows And is there none with me to share 66 LINES, BY A LADY. Ah no! the cradled flowers may wake, Go-ere the painted toys of youth Are crushed beneath the tread of years; Go-for I will not bid thee weep, Too soon my sorrows will be thine, And evening's troubled air shall sweep The incense from the broken shrine. If Heaven can hear the dying tone Of chords that soon will cease to thrill, The prayer that Heaven has heard alone May bless thee when those chords are still! 0. W. H. LINES, Written by a Lady, a few days before her death. I SAID to Sorrow's awful storm, That beat against my breast, Rage on-thou may'st destroy this form, And lay it low at rest; But still the spirit that now brooks LINES, BY A LADY. Thy tempest raging high, Undaunted on its fury looks With steadfast eye. I said to Penury's meagre train, And crush me to the grave; I said to cold Neglect and Scorn, You may pursue me, till my form And being are forgot; Yet still the spirit which you see, Its high-born smiles. I said to Friendship's menaced blow To those already there. Yet still the spirit that sustains This last severe distress, Shall smile upon its keenest pains, 67 68 TO A WAVE. I said to Death's uplifted dart, Shall, smiling, pass away. TO A WAVE. BY J. O. ROCKWELL, LIST! thou child of wind and sea, Wave! now on the golden sands,' To my heart some pleasant token? |