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30.

- Blest and thrice blest the Roman

Who sces Rome's brightest day, Who sees that long victorious pomp

Wind down the Sacred Way, And through the bellowing Forum,

And round the Suppliant's Grove, L'p to the everlasting gates

or Capitolian Jove.

Where soft Orortes murmurs

Beneath the laurel shades;
Where Nile reflects the endless leagtb

of dark-red colonnades; Where in the still deep water,

Sheltered from waves and blasts, Bristles the dusky forest

Of Byrsa's thousand masts ; Where fur-clad hunters wander

Amidst the Northern ice; Where through the sand of morning-anj

The camel bears the spice;
Where Atlas flings his shadow

Far o'er the Western foam,
Shall be great fear on all who hear

The mighty name of Rome."

31.

“Then where, o'er two bright havens,

The towers of Corinth frown; Where the gigantic King of day

On his own Rhodes looks down ;

APPENDIX.

POMPEII.

A POEM WHICH OBTAINED THE CHANCELLOR'S MEDAL AT THE CAMBRIDGE COMMENCEMENT

JULY, 1819.

On! land 10 Memory and to Freedom dear, Heedless, like him, the impending stroke await, Land of the melting lyre and conquering spear, And sport and wanton on the brink of fate. Land of the vine-clad hill, the fragrant grove,

What 'vails it that where yonder heighits aspire, Of arts and arms, of Genius and of Love,

With ashes piled, and scathed with rills of fire, Flear, fairest Italy. Though now no more Gigantic phantoms dimly seem to glide,* The glittering eagles awe the Atlantic shore, In misty files, along the mountain's side, Nor at thy feet the gorgeous Orient flings

To view with threatening scowl your fated lands, The blood-bought treasures of her tawny Kings, And toward your city point their shadowy hands? Though vanished all that formed thine old renown, In vain celestial omens prompted fear, The laurel garland, and the jewelled crown, And nature's signal spoke the ruin near. The avenging poniard, the victorious sword, In vain through many a night ye viewed from far Which reared thine empire, or thy rights restored, 'The meteor flag of elemental war Yet still the constant Muscs haunt thy shore, Unroll its blazing folds from yonder height, And love to linger where they dwelt of yore. | In fearful sign of carth's intestine fight. If e'er of old they deigned, with favouring smile, In vain Vesuvius groaned with wrath supprest, To tread the sea-girt shores of Albion's isle, And muttered thunder in his burning breast. To smooth with classic arts our rugged tongue, Long since the Eagle from that flaming peak And warm with classic glow the British song, Hath soared with screams a safer nest to seek. Oh! bid them snatch their silent-harps which wave Awed by the infernal beacon's fitful glare, On the lone oak that shades thy Maro's grave, * The howling fox hath left his wonted lair; And sweep with magic hand the slumbering strings, Nor dares the browsing goat in venturous leap To fire the poet. -For thy clime he sings,

To spring, as erst, from dizzy stecp to steep.-Thy scenes of gay delight and wild despair, Man only mocks the peril. Man alone Thy varied forms of awful and of fair.

Defies the sulphurous flame, the warning groan. How rich that climate's sweets, how wild its While instinct, humbler guardian, wakes and saves, storms,

Proud reason sleeps, nor knows the doom it braves. What charms array it, and what rage deforms, But see the opening theatre invites Well have they mouldering walls, Pompeii, known. I The fated myriads to its gay delights. Decked in those charms, and by that rage o'er. In, in, they swarm, tumultuous as the roar thrown.

Of foaming breakers on a rocky shore. Sad City, gayly dawned thy latest day,

The enraptured throng in breathless transport views And poured its radiance on a scene as gay.

The gorgeous temple of the Tragic Muse. The leaves scarce rustled in the sighing brecze; There, while her wand in shadowy pomp arrays In azure dimples curled the sparkling seas,

Ideal scenes, and forms of other days, And as the golden tide of light they quaffed, Fair as the hopes of youth, a radiant band, Campania's sunny meads and vineyards laughed, The sister arts around her footstool stand, While gleamed each lichened oak and giant pino 1. To deck their Queen, and lend a milder grace On the far sides of swarthy Apennine.

To the stern beauty of that awful face:
Then mirth and music through Pompeii rung; Far, far, around the ravished eye surveys
Then verdant wreaths on all her portals hung; The sculptured forms of Gods and heroes blaze.
Her sons with solemn rite and jocund lay,

Above the echoing roofs the peal prolong
Hailed the glad splendours of that festal day. Of lofty converse, or melodious song,
With fillets bound the hoary priests advance, While, as the tones of passion sink or swell,
And rosy virgins braid the choral dance.

Admiring thousands own the moral spell,
The rugged warrior here unbends awhile

Melt with the melting strains of fancied wo, His iron front, and deigns a transient smile; With terror sicken, or with transport glow. There, frantic with delight, the ruddy boy

Oh! for a voice like that which pealed of old Scarce treads on earth, and bounds and laughs with Through Salem's cedar courts and shrines of gold, joy.

And in wild accents round the trembling dome From every crowded altar perfumes rise

Proclaimed the havoc of avenging Rome; In billowy clouds of fragrance to the skies.

While every palmy arch and sculptured tower The milk-white monarch of the herd they lead, Shook with the footsteps of the parting power. With gilded horns, at yonder shrine to bleed; Such voice might check your tears, which idly streart And while the victim crops the broidered plain, For the vain phantoms of the poet's dream. And frisks and gambols towards the destined fane, They little deem that like himself they stray

* Dio Cassius relates that figures of gigantic size sp. To death, unconscious, o'er a flowery way;

peared for some time previous to the destruction of Pom

peii, on the summits of Vesuvius. This appearance was • See Eustace's description of the Tomb or Virgil, on probably occasioned by the fantastic forins which the the Neapolitan coast.

smoke from the crater or the volcano assumed. VOL. IV.-72

Might bid those terrors rise, those sorrows flow;
For other perils, and for nearer wo. (cloud
The hour is come. Even now the sulphurous
Involves the city in its funeral shroud,
And far along Campania's azure sky
Expands its dark and boundless canopy. [height,
The Sun, though throned on heaven's o
Burns red and rayless through that sickly night.
Each bosom felt at once the shuddering thrill,
At once the music stopped. The song was still.
None in that cloud's portentous shade might trace
The fearful changes of another's fac -
But through that horrid stillness each could hear
His neighbour's throbbing heartbeat high with fear.
A moment's pause succeeds. Then wildly rise
Grief's sobbing plaints and terror's frantic cries. "
The gates recoil; and towards the narrow pass
In wild confusion rolls the living mass.
Death—when thy shadowy sceptre waves away
From his sad couch the prisoner of decay,
'Though friendship view the close withglistening eye,
And love's fond lips imbibe the parting sigh,
By torture racked, by kindness soothed in vain,
The soul still clings to being and to pain.
But when have wilder terrors clothed thy brow,
Or keener torments edged thy dart than now,
When with thy regal horrors vainly strove
The law of Nature and the [. of Love?
On mothers, babes in vain for mercy call,
Beneath the feet of brothers, brothers fall.
Behold the dying wretch in vain upraise
Towardsyonder well-known face the accusing gaze;
See trampled to the earth the expiring maid
Clings round her lover's feet, and shrieks for aid.
Vain is the imploring glance, the frenzied cry;
All, all is fear;—to succour is to die.-
Saw ye how wild, how red, how broad a light
Rurst on the darkness of that mid-day night,
As fierce Vesuvius scattered o'er the vale
Her drifted flames and sheets of burning hail,
Shook hell's wah lightnings from his blazing conc,
And gilded heaven with meteors not its own?
The morn all blushing rose; but sought in vain
The snowy villas and the flowery plain,
The purpled hills with marshalled vineyards gay,
The domes that sparkled in the sunny ray.
Where art or nature late hath deck'd the scene
With blazing marble or with spangled green,
There, ...i. by many a fiery torrent's bed,
A boundless waste of hoary ashes spread.
Along that dreary waste where lately rung
The festal lay which smiling virgins sung,
Where rapture echoed from the warbling lute,
And the gay dance resounded, all is muse:-
Mute *}. it Fancy shapes that wailing sound
Which saintly murmurs from the blasted ground,
Or live there still, who, breathing in the tomb,
Curse the dark refuge which delays their doom,
In massive vaults, on which the incumbent plain
And ruined city heap their weight in vain?
Oh! who may sing that hour of mortal strife,
When Nature calls on Death, yet clings to life?
Who paint the wretch that draws sepulchral breath,
A living prisoner in the house of Death , .
Pale as the corpse which loads the funeral pile,
With face convulsed that writhes a ghastly smile,
Behold him speechless move with hurried pace,
Incessant, round his dungeon's caverned space,
Now shrink in terror, and now groan in pain,
Gnaw his white lips and strike É

is burning brain, Till Fear o’erstrained in stupor dies away, And Madness wrests her victim from dismay. His arms sink down; his wild and stony eye Glares without sight on blackest vacancy. He feels not, sees not; wrapped in senseless trance His soul is still and listless as his glance. One cheerless blank, one rayless mist is there, Thoughts, senses, passions, live not with despair. Haste, Famine, haste, to urge the destined close, And lull the horrid scene to stern repose.

Yet ere, dire Fiend, thy lingering tortures cen
And all be hushed in still sepulchral peace,
Those caves shall wilder, darker deeds beho
Than e'er the voice of song or fable told,
Whate'er dismay may prompt, or madness dare,
Feasts of the grave, and banquets of despair:-
Hide, hide the scene; and o'er the blasting sight
Fling the dark veil of ages and of night.
Go, seek Pompeii now:—with pensive tread
Roam through the silent city of the dead.
Explore each spot, where still, in ruin grand,
Her shapeless piles and tottering columns stand,
Where the pale ivy's clasping wreaths o'ershade
The ruined temple's moss-clad colonnade,
Or violets on the hearth's cold marble wave,
And muse in silence on a people's grave.
Fear not.—No sign of death thine eyes shall
scare,
No, all is beauty, verdure, fragrance there.
A gentle slope includes the fatal ground
With odorous shrubs and tufted myrtles crowned;
Beneath, o'ergrown with grass, or wreathed witn
flowers,
Lie tombs and temples, columns, baths, and towers.
As if, in mockery, Nature seems to dress *
In all her charms the beauteous wilderness,
And bids her gayest flowerets twine and bloom
In sweet profusion o'er a city's tomb.
With roses here she decks the untrodden path,
With lilies fringes there the stately bath;
The acanthus” spreading foliage here she weaves
Round the gay capital which mocks its leaves;
There hangs the sides of every mouldering room
With tapestry from her own fantastic loom, -
Wallflowers and weeds, whose glowing hues supply
With simple grace the purple's Tyrian dye.
The ruined city sleeps in fragrant shade,
Like the pale corpse of some Athenian maid,t
Whose marble arms, cold brows, and snowy neck
The fairest flowers of fairest climates deck,
Meet types of her whose form their wreaths array,
Of radiant beauty, and of swift decay.
Advance, and wander on through crumbling halls,
Through prostrate gates and ivied pedestals,
Arches, whose echoes now no chariots rouse,
Tombs, on whose summits goats undaunted browse.
See where yon ruined wall on earth reclines,
Through weeds and moss the half-seen painting
shines,
Still vivid midst the dewy cowslips glows, -
Or blends its colours with the blushing rose.
Thou lovely, ghastly scene of fair decay,
In beauty .# and midst horrors gay,
Renown more wide, more bright shall o thy name,
Than thy wild charms or fearful doom could claim.
Immortal spirits, in whose deathless song
Latium and Athens yet their reign prolong,
And from their thrones of same and empire hurled,
Still sway the sceptre of the mental world,
You in whose breasts the flames of Pindus beamed,
Whose copious lips with rich persuasion streamed,
Whose minds unravelled mature's mystic plan,
Or traced the mazy labyrinth of man:
Bend, glorious spirits, from your blissful bowers,
And broidered couches of unfading flowers,
While round your locks the o lands blow,
With sweeter odours, and with brighter glow.
Qnce more, immortal shades, atoning Fame
Repairs the honours of each glorious name.
Behold Pompeii's opening vaults restore
The long-lost treasures of your ancient lore,
The vestal radiance of poetic fire,
The stately buskin and the tuneful lyre,

* The capital of the Corinthian pillar is carved, as is well known, in imitation of the acanthus. Mons. de Chateaubriand, as I have found since this Poem was written, has employed o same image in his Travels.

# It is the custom of the modern Greeks to adorn corpses profusely with flowers

-----

THE BATTLE OF IWRY. 57.1 Q * e

The wand of eloquence, whose magic sway Now shall thy deathless memory live entwined
The sceptres and the swords of earth obey, With all that conquers, rules, or charms the = -
And every mighty spell, whose strong control mind,
Could nerve or melt, could fire or soothe the soul. Each lofty thought of Poet or of §age,

And thou, sad city, raise thy drooping head, Each grace of §, lyre or Tully's page.
And share the honours of the glorious dead. Like theirs whose Genius consecrates thy tomb,

Had Fate reprieved thee till the frozen North Thy fame shall snatch from time agreener bloom,

oured in wild swarms its hoarded millions forth, Shall spread where'er the Muse has rear'd her
Till blazing cities marked where Albiontrod, throne,
Qr Europe quaked beneath the scourge of God,” And live renowned in accents yet unknown;
No lasting wreath had graced thy funeral pall, Earth's utmost bounds shall join the glad acclaim,
No fame redeemed the horrors of thy fall. And distant Camus bless Pompeii's name.

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[HENRY the Fourth, on his accession to the French crown, was opposed by a large part of his subjects, under the Duke of Mayenne, with the assistance of Spain and Savoy. In March, 1590, he gained a decisive victory over that party at Ivry. Before the battle, he addressed his troops, “My children, if you lose sight of your colours, rally to my white plume—you will always find it in the path to honour and glory.” His conduct was answerable to his promise. Nothing could resist his impetuous valour, and the leaguers underwent a total and bloody defeat. In the midst of the rout, Henry followed, crying, “Save the French!” and his clemency added - a number of the enemies to his own army. .Mikin's Biographical Dictionary.]

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are:
And o to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre!
Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance,
-Through thy cornfields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, e
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters.
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,
For cold, and stiff, and still are they who jo. thy walls annoy.
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war;
Hurrah! hurrah. for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre. -

Oh! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day,
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; o
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears.
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land'
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand;
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; * *
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,
To fight for his own holy name and Henry of Navarre.

The king is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest,
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest:
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to ..";
Down all our line, in deafening shout, “God save our lord, the King.
“And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may-
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray-
Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre.”

Hurrah! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin:

The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain,

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.

- Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the lance!
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest;
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

• The well-known name of Attila

Now God-be praised, the day is ours!, Mayenne hath turned his rein D'Aumale hath cried for quarter-the Flemish Count is slain, Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail; And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, “Remember St. §. was passed from man to man; But out spake gentle Henry then, “No Frenchman is my foe; Down, down with every foreigner; but let your brethren go.” Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre!

Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne! Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return: Ho! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls' Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright! Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night! For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised #. slave, And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valour of the brave. Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are; A rid glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre.

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