Lady! in whose heroic port And Beauty, Victor even of Time, And haughty lineaments, appear Much that is awful, more that's dear-- Wherever human hearts resort _There_ must have been for thee a Court, And Thou by acclamation Queen, Where never Sovereign yet had been.
That eye so soft, and yet severe, Perchance might look on Love as Crime; And yet--regarding thee more near-- The traces of an unshed tear Compressed back to the heart, And mellowed Sadness in thine air, Which shows that Love hath once been there, To those who watch thee will disclose More than ten thousand tomes of woes Wrung from the vain Romancer's art.
With thee how proudly Love hath dwelt!
His full Divinity was felt, Maddening the heart he could not melt, Till Guilt became Sublime; But never yet did Beauty's Zone For him surround a lovelier throne, Than in that bosom once his own: And he the Sun and Thou the Clime Together must have made a Heaven For which the Future would be given.
2.
And thou hast loved--Oh! not in vain!
And not as common Mortals love.
The Fruit of Fire is Ashes, The Ocean's tempest dashes Wrecks and the dead upon the rocky shore: True Passion must the all-searching changes prove, The Agony of Pleasure and of Pain, Till Nothing but the Bitterness remain; And the Heart's Spectre flitting through the brain Scoffs at the Exorcism which would remove.
3.
And where is He thou lovedst? in the tomb, Where should the happy Lover be!
For him could Time unfold a brighter doom, Or offer aught like thee?
He in the thickest battle died, Where Death is Pride; And _Thou_ his widow--not his bride, Wer't not more free-- _Here_ where all love, till Love is made A bondage or a trade, _Here_--thou so redolent of Beauty, In whom Caprice had seemed a duty, _Thou_, who could'st trample and despise The holiest chain of human ties For him, the dear One in thine eyes, Broke it no more.
Thy heart was withered to it's Core, It's hopes, it's fears, it's feelings o'er: Thy Blood grew Ice when _his_ was shed, And Thou the Vestal of the Dead.
4.
Thy Lover died, as All Who truly love should die; For such are worthy in the fight to fall Triumphantly.
No Cuirass o'er that glowing heart The deadly bullet turned apart: Love had bestowed a richer Mail, Like Thetis on her Son; But hers at last was vain, and thine could fail-- The hero's and the lover's race was run.
Thy worshipped portrait, thy sweet face, _Without_ that bosom kept it's place As Thou _within_.
Oh! enviously destined Ball!
Shivering thine imaged charms and all Those Charms would win: Together pierced, the fatal Stroke hath gored Votary and Shrine, the adoring and the adored.
That Heart's last throb was thine, that blood Baptized thine Image in it's flood, And gushing from the fount of Faith O'erflowed with Passion even in Death, Constant to thee as in it's hour Of rapture in the secret bower.
Thou too hast kept thy plight full well, As many a baffled Heart can tell.
[From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first time printed.]
THE IRISH AVATAR.[ir][592]
"And Ireland, like a bastinadoed elephant, kneeling to receive the paltry rider."--[_Life of Curran_, ii. 336.]
1.
Ere the daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave,[593]
And her ashes still float to their home o'er the tide, Lo! George the triumphant speeds over the wave, To the long-cherished Isle which he loved like his--bride.
2.
True, the great of her bright and brief Era are gone, The rain-bow-like Epoch where Freedom could pause For the few little years, out of centuries won, Which betrayed not, or crushed not, or wept not her cause.
3.
True, the chains of the Catholic clank o'er his rags, The Castle still stands, and the Senate's no more, And the Famine which dwelt on her freedomless crags Is extending its steps to her desolate shore.
4.
To her desolate shore--where the emigrant stands For a moment to gaze ere he flies from his hearth; Tears fall on his chain, though it drops from his hands, For the dungeon he quits is the place of his birth.
5.
But he comes! the Messiah of Royalty comes!
Like a goodly Leviathan rolled from the waves; Then receive him as best such an advent becomes,[is]
With a legion of cooks,[594] and an army of slaves!
6.
He comes in the promise and bloom of threescore, To perform in the pageant the Sovereign's part--[it]
But long live the Shamrock, which shadows him o'er!
Could the Green in his _hat_ be transferred to his _heart!_
7.
Could that long-withered spot but be verdant again, And a new spring of noble affections arise-- Then might Freedom forgive thee this dance in thy chain, And this shout of thy slavery which saddens the skies.
8.
Is it madness or meanness which clings to thee now?
Were he God--as he is but the commonest clay, With scarce fewer wrinkles than sins on his brow-- Such servile devotion might shame him away.
9.
Aye, roar in his train![595] let thine orators lash Their fanciful spirits to pamper his pride-- Not thus did thy Grattan indignantly flash His soul o'er the freedom implored and denied.
10.
Ever glorious Grattan! the best of the good!
So simple in heart, so sublime in the rest!
With all which Demosthenes wanted endued, And his rival, or victor, in all he possessed.
11.
Ere Tully arose in the zenith of Rome, Though unequalled, preceded, the task was begun-- But Grattan sprung up like a god from the tomb Of ages, the first, last, the saviour, the _one!_[596]
12.
With the skill of an Orpheus to soften the brute; With the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankind; Even Tyranny, listening, sate melted or mute, And Corruption shrunk scorched from the glance of his mind.
13.
But back to our theme! Back to despots and slaves![iu]
Feasts furnished by Famine! rejoicings by Pain!
True Freedom but _welcomes_, while Slavery still _raves_, When a week's Saturnalia hath loosened her chain.