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But, oh thou Rainbow of the free!
Our tears and blood must flow for thee.
And Freedom hallows with her tread
For beautiful in death are they
Who proudly fall in her array;
oh Goddess! may we be For evermore with them or thee!
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
FAREWELL to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,
Farewell to thee, France!-when thy diadem crown'd I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,- [me, But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee, Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted, Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on victory's sun!
Farewell to thee, France!—but when Liberty rallies
Then turn thee and call on the chief of thy choice!
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF "THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY."
ABSENT or present still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong!
In turn thy converse, and thy song.
By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh,
Thy homage offer'd at her shrine,
April 19, 1812.
ROUSSEAU-Voltaire-our Gibbon-and de Stael-
But they have made them lovelier, for the lore
Where dwelt the wise and wondrous; but by thee
THOUGH the day of my destiny's over,
Tby soft heart refused to discover
The faults which so many could find;
And the love which my spirit hath painted
Then when nature around me is smiling,
* Geneva, Ferney, Coppet, Lausanne.
I do not believe it beguiling
Because it reminds me of thine;
And when winds are at war with the ocean,
Though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd,
There is many a pang to pursue me:
They may crush, but they shall not contemnThey may torture, but shall not subdue me— 'Tis of thee that I think not of them.
Though human thou didst not deceive me,
Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,
And if dearly that error hath cost me,
And more than I once could foresee,
I have found that, whatever it lost me,
From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd,
It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd
In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
I HAD a dream, which was not all a dream.
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came, and went-and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires-and the thrones,