Tis done-'tis past-since Pallas warns in vain
The furies seize her abdicated reign.

Wide o'er the realm they wake their kindling brands,
And wring her vitals with their fiery hands.

But one convulsive struggle 'still remains,
And Gaul shall weep ere Albion wear her chains;
The banner'd pomp of war, the glittering files,
O'er whose gay trappings stern Bellona smiles;
The brazen trump, the spirit-stirring drum,
That bids the foe defiance e'er they come,
The hero bounding at his country's call,
The glorious death that decorates his fall,
Swell the young heart with visionary charms,
And bids it antedate the joys of arms;

But know a lesson you may yet be taught,
With death alone are laurels cheaply bought;
Not in the conflict Havoc seeks delight,
His day of mercy is the day of fight;
But when the field is fought, the battle won,
Though drench'd in gore, his woes are but begun.
His deeper deeds as yet ye know by name,
The slaughter'd peasant and the ravish'd dame,
The rifled mansion, and the foe-reap'd field
Ill suit with souls at home untaught to yield.
Say, with what eye along the distant down
Would flying burghers mark the blazing town?
How view the column of ascending flames,

Shake his red shadow o'er the startled Thames?

Nay, frown not Albion, for the torch was thine,
That lit such pyres from Tagus to the Rhine:
Now, should they burst on thy devoted coast,
Go, ask thy bosom who deserves them most—
The law of heaven and earth is life for life,
And she who rais'd in vain regrets the strife."

MADAME LAVALETTE.

LET Edinburgh critics o'erwhelm with their praises Their Madame de STAEL, and their fam'd L'EPI

NASSE:

Like a meteor at best, proud Philosophy blazes,
And the fame of a Wit is as brittle as glass:
But cheering's the beam, and unfading the splendour
Of thy torch, Wedded Love! and it never has yet
Shone with lustre more holy, more pure, or more
tender,

Than it sheds on the name of the fair Lavalette.

Then fill high the wine cup, e'en Virtue shall bless it, And hallow the goblet which foams to her name; The warm lip of Beauty shall piously press it,

And HYMEN shall honour the pledge to her fame:

To the health of the Woman, who freedom and life too

Has risk'd for her Husband, we'll pay the just debt; And hail with applauses the Heroine and Wife too, The constant, the noble, the fair LAVALETTE.

Her foes have awarded, in impotent malice,

To their captive a doom, which all Europe abhors, And turns from the stairs of the Priest-haunted palace, While those who replaced them there, blush for their cause:

But, in ages to come, when the blood-tarnish'd glory Of dukes, and of marshals, in darkness hath set, Hearts shall throb, eyes shall glisten, at reading the

story

Of the fond self-devotion of fair LAVALETTE.

ODE.

Oн, shame to thee, Land of the Gaul!
Oh, shame to thy children and thee!
Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall,
How wretched thy portion shall be!
Derision shall strike thee forlorn,

A mockery that never shall die;
The curses of Hate, and the hisses of Scorn
Shall burthen the winds of thy sky;

And, proud o'er thy ruin, for ever be hurl'd
The laughter of Triumph, the jeers of the World!

Oh, where is thy spirit of yore,

The spirit that breathed in thy dead,
When gallantry's star was the beacon before,
And honour the passion that led ?
Thy storms have awaken'd their sleep,
They groan from the place of their rest,
And wrathfully murmur, and sullenly weep,
To see the foul stain on thy breast;

For where is the glory they left thee in trust?
"Tis scatter'd in darkness, 'tis trampled in dust!

Go, look through the kingdoms of earth,
From Indus, all round to the Pole,

And something of goodness, of honour, and worth,
Shall brighten the sins of the soul :

But thou art alone in thy shame,

The world cannot liken thee there; Abhorrence and vice have disfigur'd thy name Beyond the low reach of compare ;

Stupendous in guilt thou shalt lend us through time A proverb, a by-word, for treach'ry and crime!

While conquest illumin'd his sword,

While yet in his prowess he stood,

Thy praises still follow'd the steps of thy Lord,
And welcom❜d the torrent of blood;

Though tyranny sat on his crown,

And wither'd the nations afar,

Yet bright in thy view was that Despot's renown,

Till fortune deserted his car;

Then, back from the Chieftain thou slunkest awayThe foremost to insult, the first to betray!

Forgot were the feats he had done,

The toils he had borne in thy cause;
Thou turned'st to worship a new rising sun,
And waft other songs of applause;
But the storm was beginning to lour,
Adversity clouded his beam:

And honour and fame were the brag of an hour,

And loyalty's self but a dream:

To him thou hadst banish'd thy vows were restor❜d; And the first that had scoff'd, were the first that

ador'd!

What tumult thus burthens the air,

What throng thus encircles his throne?

'Tis the shout of delight, 'tis the millions that swear His sceptre shall rule them alone. Reverses shall brighten their zeal,

Misfortune shall hallow his name,

And the world that pursues him shall mournfully feel How quenchless the spirit and flame