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And now they change; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains : parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till
and all is gray.
BRING BACK THE CHAIN.
It was an aged man, who stood
Beside the blue Atlantic sea ; They cast his fetters by the flood,
And haild the time-worn captive free; From his indignant eye there flash'd
A gleam his better nature gave, And while his tyrants shrank abashid,
Thus spoke the spirit-stricken slave:
Bring back the chain, whose weight so long
These tortur'd limbs have vainly borne ;
My weary ear rejects with scorn!
I sigh’d, I panted to be free;
Bow'd down my stubborn knee.
And shook in wrath my bitter chain ;
I groan'd for liberty in vain!
And bid me bless my envied fate :
Where? I am desolate !
“ The boundless hope — the spring of joy
Felt when the spirit's strength is young; Which slavery only can alloy,
The mockeries to which I clung ;
Made life's dull lamp less dimly burn,
bid them return?
“ Bring back the chain; its clanking sound
Hath then a power beyond your own ; It brings young visions smiling round,
Too fondly lov'd- too early flown! It brings me days when these dim eyes
Gaz'd o'er the wild and swelling sea, Counting how many suns must rise
Ere one might hail me free!
· Bring back the chain! that I
think 'Tis that which weighs my spirit so; And, gazing on each galling link,
Dream as I dreamt of bitter woe! My days are gone; - of hope, of youth,
These traces now alone remain ; (Hoarded with sorrow's sacred truth)
Tears, and my iron chain !
“ Freedom ! though doom'd in pain to live,
The freedom of the soul is mine; But all of slavery you could give
Around my steps must ever twine. Raise
up the head which age hath bent: Renew the hopes that childhood gave ; Bid all return kind Heaven once lent, Till then I am a slave !"
MRS. NORTON. THE OPENING OF THE TOMB OF
AMID the torch-lit gloom of Aachen's 1 aisle
Stood Otho, Germany's imperial lord,
A simple stone, where, fitly to record
Was graven “ Carlo Magno.” Regal style
stor'd As sadden, yet make nobler, men the while. They roll'd the marble back. With sudden gasp,
A moment o'er the vault the Kaiser bent,
Where still a mortal monarch seem'd to reign : Crown'd on his throne, a sceptre in his grasp,
Perfect in each gigantic lineament,
SIR AUBREY DE VERE.
I The German name for Aix-la-chapelle, so called from “ the chapel” erected by Charlemagne as a burial-place for himself, after the design of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. The original church was destroyed by the Normans, and rebuilt in 983 by Otho III., who, in 997, opened the vault in which were found the remains of Charlemagne. He found the body, not reclining in his coffin, but seated in his throne as one alive, clothed in the imperial robes, bearing the sceptre in his hand, and on his knees a copy of the Gospels. On his brow was the crown; the imperial mantle covered his shoulders; the sword Joyeuse by his side; and the pilgrim's pouch, which he had borne always while living, was still fastened to his girdle. The throne or marble arm-chair is still in the cathedral; the other relics were removed, and used in the coronation ceremonies of succeeding emperors of Germany. They are now deposited at Venice.
THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.
FLOWERS!— when the Saviour's calm, benignant eye
Fell on your gentle beauty; when from you
That heavenly lesson for all hearts he drew,
A voice he set, as in a temple-shrine,
Unwarn'd of that sweet oracle divine.
And the loud steps of vain, unlistening haste;
THE SCENES OF CHILDHOOD REVISITED.
TWILIGHT's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
All, all are fled; yet still I linger here!
yon old Mansion frowning thro' the trees, Whose hollow turret woos the whistling breeze. That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest shade, First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd. The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown
See, thro’ the fractur'd pediment reveald,
As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call !
hung, Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; When round yon ample board, in due degree, We sweeten'd every meal with social glee. The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest; And all was sunshine in each little breast. 'Twas here we chas’d the slipper by the sound; And turn'd the blindfold hero round and round. 'Twas here, at eve, we form'd our fairy ring; And Fancy flutter'd on her wildest wing. Giants and genii chain'd each wondering ear; And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear. Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood, Or view'd the forest-feats of Robin Hood: Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour, With startling step we scal'd the lonely tower; O’er infant innocence to hang and weep, Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep.