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The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,

The Earth with age was wan,

The skeletons of nations were

Around that lonely man!

Some had expired in fight,-the brands

Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some!

Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;
And ships were drifting with the dead

To shores where all was dumb!

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,

With dauntless words and high,

That shook the sere leaves from the wood

As if a storm pass'd by,

Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun,

Thy face is cold, thy race is run,

'Tis Mercy bids thee go.

For thou ten thousand thousand years

Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow.

What though beneath thee man put forth

His pomp, his pride, his skill;

And arts that made fire, flood, and earth,

The vassals of his will ;

Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,

Thou dim discrowned king of day:

For all those trophied arts

And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,

Heal'd not a passion or a pang

Entail'd on human hearts.

Go, let oblivion's curtain fall

Upon the stage of men,

Nor with thy rising beams recall

Life's tragedy again.

Its piteous pageants bring not back,

Nor waken flesh, upon the rack

Of pain anew to writhe;

Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd,

Or mown in battle by the sword,

Like grass beneath the scythe.

Ev'n I am weary in yon skies

To watch thy fading fire;

Test of all sumless agonies,

Behold not me expire.

My lips that speak thy dirge of death

Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To see thou shalt not boast.

The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,-
The majesty of Darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost!

This spirit shall return to Him

That gave its heavenly spark;

Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!

No! it shall live again, and shine

In bliss unknown to beams of thine,

By him recall'd to breath,

Who captive led captivity,

Who robb'd the grave of Victory,

And took the sting from Death!

Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up

On Nature's awful waste

To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste

Go, tell the night that hides thy face,

Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,

On Earth's sepulchral clod,

The dark'ning universe defy
To quench his Immortality,
Or shake his trust in God!

VALEDICTORY STANZAS

To J. P. KEMBLE, Esq.

COMPOSED FOR A PUBLIC MEETING, HELD JUNE 1817.

PRIDE of the British stage,

A long and last adieu!

Whose image brought th' heroic age

Revived to Fancy's view.

Like fields refresh'd with dewy light

When the sun smiles his last,

Thy parting presence makes more bright

Our

memory of the past;

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