Be sad ! be glad ! be neither ! seek, or HUMAN LIFE


Thou hast no reason why! Thou canst ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY

have none; IF dead, we cease to be ; if total gloom Thy being's being is contradiction. Swallow up life's brief flash for aye,

? 1815. we fare

SONG As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,

SUNG BY GLYCINE IN ZAPOLYA, Whose sound and motion not alone

ACT II. SCENE I declare, But are their whole of being! If the A SUNNY shaft did I behold, breath

From sky to earth it slanted : Be Life itself, and not its task and And poised therein a bird so boldtent,

Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted ! If even a soul like Milton's can know

He sunk, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled death;

Within that shaft of sunny mist; O Man ! thou vessel purposeless, un

His eyes of fire, his beak of gold, meant,

All else of amethyst ! Yet drone-hive strange of phantom purposes !

And thus he sang : “Adieu ! adieu ! Surplus of Nature's dread activity,

Love's dreams prove seldom true. Which, as she gazed on some nigh. The blossoms they make no delay : finished vase,

The sparkling dew-drops will not stay. Retreating slow, with meditative pause,

Sweet month of May, She formed with restless hands uncon

We must away ; sciously.

Far, far away! Blank accident ! nothing's anomaly !

To-day! to-day ! 1815. If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state,

HUNTING SONG Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy hopes, thy fears,

[ZAPOLYA, ACT IV. SCENE 2] The counter-weights !—Thy laughter and thy tears

UP, up! ye dames, and lasses gay!

To the meadows trip away. Mean but themselves, each fittest to create

'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn, And to repay each other! Why rejoices And scare the small birds from the corn.

Not a soul at home may stay : Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow

For the shepherds must go good ?

With lance and bow Why cowl thy face beneath the mourner's hood,

To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting Leave the hearth and leave the house voices,

To the cricket and the mouse : Image of Image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf,

Find grannam out a sunny seat, That such a thing as thou feel'st warm or With babe and lambkin at her feet. cold?

Not a soul at home may stay : Yet what and whence thy gain, if thou

For the shepherds must go withhold

With lance and bow These costless shadows of thy shadowy To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. self?



The blossoms on her Tree of Life TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY

Shone with the dews of recent bliss : AN ALLEGORY

Transplanted in that deadly strife, On the wide level of a mountain's head,

She plucks its fruits in Paradise. (I knew not where, but 'twas some faery Mourn for the widow'd Lord in chief, place)

Who wails and will not solaced be ! Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails out- | Mourn for the childless Father's grief, spread,

The wedded Lover's agony !
Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother !

Mourn for the Prince, who rose at morn
This far outstript the other ;

To seek and bless the firstling bud Yet ever runs she with reverted face,

Of his own Rose, and found the thorn, And looks and listens for the boy be- Its point bedew'd with tears of blood.

For he, alas! is blind !

O press again that murmuring string ! O'er rough and smooth with even step he

Again bewail that princely Sire ! 30

A destined Queen, a future King, passed, And knows not whether he be first or last.

He mourns on one funereal pyre. ? 1815.

Mourn for Britannia's hopes decay'd,

Her daughters wail their dear defence;

Their fair example, prostrate laid,

Chaste Love and fervid Innocence. Translation of 'A Hebrew Dirge, chaunted in the Great Synagogue, St. James's Place, Aldgate,

While Grief in song shall scek repose, on the day of the Funeral of her Royal Highness We will take up a Mourning yearly : the Princess Charlotte. By Hyman Hurwitz, To wail the blow that crush'd the Rose, Master of the Hebrew Academy, Highgate, So dearly priz'd and lov'd so dearly. 40 1817.

Long as the fount of Song o'erflows MOURN, Israel! Sons of Israel, mourn !

Will I the yearly dirge renew : Give utterance to the inward throe !

Mourn for the firstling of the Rose As wails, of her first love forlorn,

That snapt the stem on which it grew. The Virgin clad in robes of woe.

The proud shall pass, forgot; the chill, Mourn the young Mother, snatch'd away

Damp, trickling Vault their only From Light and Life's ascending Sun !

mourner ! Mourn for the babe, Death's voiceless Not so the regal Rose, that still prey,

Clung to the breast which first had Earn’d by long pangs and lost ere won.

worn her! Mourn the bright Rose that bloom'd and went

O thou, who mark'st the Mourner's path Ere half disclosed its vernal hue !

To sad Jeshurun's Sons attend ! 50 Mourn the green bud, so rudely rent, Amid the Light’nings of thy Wrath

It brake the stem on which it grew. The showers of Consolation send ! Mourn for the universal woe

Jehovah frowns ! the Islands bow! With solemn dirge and fault'ring

And Prince and People kiss the Rod! tongue :

Their dread chastising Judge wert thou ! For England's Lady is laid low,

Be thou their Comforter, O God ! So dear, so lovely, and so young!






His word appalld the sons of pride,

Iniquity far wing'd her way; 30 PEOPLE

Deceit and fraud were scatter'd wide,

And truth resum'd her sacred sway. A Hebrew Dirge and Hymn, chaunted in the Great Synagogue, St. James' pl. Aldgate, on the Day of the Funeral of King George III. of

He sooth'd the wretched, and the prey blessed memory. By Hyman Hurwitz of High- From impious tyranny he tore; gate, Translated by a Friend.

He stay'd th' Usurper's iron sway,

And bade the Spoiler waste no more. Dirge OPPRESS'D, confused, with grief and pain,

Thou too, Jeshurun's Daughter ! thou,

Th'oppress'd of nations and the scorn! And inly shrinking from the blow, In vain I seek the dirgeful strain,

Didst hail on his benignant brow The wonted words refuse to flow.

A safety dawning like the morn. A fear in every face I find,

The scoff of each unfeeling mind, Each voice is that of one who grieves ;

Thy doom was hard, and keen thy And all my Soul, to grief resigned,

grief; Reflects the sorrow it receives.

Beneath his throne, peace thou didst find,

And blest the hand that gave relief. The Day-Star of our glory sets ! Our King has breathed his latest E'en when a fatal cloud o'erspread breath!

The moonlight splendour of his sway, Each heart its wonted pulse forgets, Yet still the light remain'd, and shed

As if it own’d the pow'r of death. Mild radiance on the traveller's way. Our Crown, our heart's Desire is fled ! Britannia's glory moults its wing !

But he is gone—the Just! the Good !

Nor could a Nation's pray’r delay 50 Let us with ashes on our head,

The heavenly meed, that long had stood Raise up a mourning for our King.

His portion in the realms of day.
Lo! of his beams the Day-Star shorn, 1
Sad gleams the Moon through cloudy Beyond the mighty Isle's extent
veil !

The mightier Nation mourns her Chief :
The Stars are dim! Our Nobles mourn; Him Judah's Daughter shall lament,
The Matrons weep, their Children In tears of fervour, love and grief.

Britannia mourns in silent grief; No age records a King so just,

Her heart a prey to inward woe. His virtues numerous as his days ; In vain she strives to find relief, The Lord Jehovah was his trust,

Her pang so great, so great the And truth with mercy ruled his ways.


60 His Love was bounded by no Clime;

Britannia ! Sister ! woe is me! Each diverse Race, each distant Clan

Full fain would I console thy woe. He govern’d by this truth sublime,

But, ah ! how shall I comfort thee, God only knows the heart — not

Who need the balm I would bestow ?



1 The author, in the spirit of Hebrew Poetry, here represents the Crown, the Peerage, and the Commonalty, by the figurative expression of the Sun, Moon, and Stars.

United then let us repair,

As round our common Parent's grave; And pouring out our heart in prayer,

Our heav'nly Father's mercy crave.

Until Jehovah from his throne

Lord, comfort thou the royal line : Shall heed his suffering people's Let Peace and Joy watch round us hand fears ;


and hand. Shall turn to song the Mourner's groan, Our Nobles visit with thy grace divine, 100 To smiles of joy the Nation's tears.

And banish sorrow from the land !

Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet; Praise to the Lord ! Loud praises sing!

And Peace and Mercy meet And bless Jehovah's righteous hand !

Before thy Judgment seat ; Again he bids a George, our King,

Lord, hear us ! we entreat ! Dispense his blessings to the Land.



O thron'd in Heav'n ! Sole King of


The sole true Something -- This, in Jehovah ! hear thy Children's prayers and

Limbo's Den. sighs !

It frightens Ghosts, as here Ghosts Thou Binder of the broken heart ! with

frighten men. wings

Thence cross d unseiz'd-and shall some Of healing on thy people rise ! 80

fated hour Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet ;

Be pulveriz’d by Demogorgon's power And Peace and Mercy meet,

And given as poison to annihilate soulsBefore thy Judgment seat :

Even now it shrinks them--they shrink Lord, hear us ! we entreat !

in as moles

(Nature's mute monks, live mandrakes of When angry clouds thy throne sur

the ground) round, E'en from the cloud thou bid'st thy mercy

Creep back from Light-then listen for

its sound;shine :

See but to dread, and dread they know And ere thy righteous vengeance strikes

not whythe wound,

The natural alien of their negative eye.
Thy grace prepares the balm divine !

Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet ;

'Tis a strange place, this Limbo !-- not a

Place The Parent tree thy hand did | Yet name it so ;-where Time and weary spare


Space It fell not till the ripen'd fruit was won : Fettered from Alight, with night - mare Beneath its shade the Scion flourish'd

sense of fleeing, fair,

Strive for their last crepuscular halfAnd for the Sire thou gay'st the Son.

being ;etc.

Lank Space, and scytheless Time with

branny hands This thy own Vine, which thou didst Barren and soundless as the measuring rear,

sands, And train up for us from the royal root, Not mark'd by flit of Shades,--unmeanProtect, O Lord ! and to the Nations

ing they near

As moonlight on the dial of the day! Long let it shelter yield, and fruit. But that is lovely - looks like human etc.


skies ;


An old man with a steady look sublime, Is gone, —and the birch in its stead is That stops his earthly task to watch the


The Knight's bones are dust, But he is blind a statue hath such And his good sword rust ;eyes ;

His soul is with the saints, I trust. Yet having moonward turn’d his face by

? 1817 chance, Gazes the orb with moon - like counte

ON DONNE'S POETRY nance, With scant white hairs, with foretop bald With Donne, whose muse on dromeand high,

dary trots, He gazes still, -his eyeless face all eye;- Wreathe iron pokers into true-love knots; As 'twere an organ full of silent sight, Rhyme's sturdy cripple, fancy's maze and His whole face seemeth to rejoice in

clue, light !

Wit's forge and fire-blast, meaning's press Lip touching lip, all moveless, bust and

and screw.

? 1818. limb Ile seems to gaze at that which seems to gaze on him!

FANCY IN NUBIBUS No such sweet sights doth Limbo den immure,

OR THE POET IN THE CLOUDS Wall’d round, and made a spirit - jail secure,

O! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease, By the mere horror of blank Naught-at

Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,

To make the shifting clouds be what you Whose circumambience doth these ghosts


Or let the easily persuaded eyes enthral. A lurid thought is growthless, dull Priva

Own each quaint likeness issuing from

the mould tion, Yet that is but a Purgatory curse ;

Of a friend's fancy; or with head bent

low Hell knows a fear far worse, A fear--a future state ; —'tis positive And cheek aslant sce rivers flow of gold

'Twixt crimson banks; and then, a Negation !


traveller, go From mount to mount through Cloud

land, gorgeous land ! THE KNIGHT'S TOMB

Or list’ning to the tide, with closed WHERE is the grave of Sir Arthur


Be that blind bard, who on the Chian O'Kellyn?

strand Where may the grave of that good man be?

By those deep sounds possessed with

inward light, By the side of a spring, on the breast of

Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee
Under the twigs of a young birch tree !

Rise to the swelling of the voiceful

sea. The oak that in summer was sweet to

1819. hear, And rustled its leaves in the fall of the

TO NATURE year, And whistled and roar'd in the winter It may indeed be phantasy when I alone,

Essay to draw from all created things

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