Your sorrow, in nobility, transcends Your conqueror's joy: his cheek may blush; but shame Can tinge not yours, though exile's tear descends; Nor would ye change your conscience, cause, and name, For his, with all his wealth, and all his felon fame. Thee, Niemciewitz, whose song of stirring power Throw down their swords at Europe's feet in scorn, 66 Shall forge the fetters of your sons unborn; LINES ON LEAVING A SCENE IN BAVARIA. ADIEU the woods and water's side, The rocks abrupt, and grassy plain! But not the storm, dethroning fast Nor river roaring to the blast Thy blossoms now no longer bright; For many a sunset hour serene My steps have trod thy mellow dew; When his green light the glow-worm gave, When Cynthia from the distant wave Her twilight anchor drew, And ploughed, as with a swelling sail, The visitant of Eldurn's shore, On such a moonlight mountain strayed, By Druid harps of yore. Around thy savage hills of oak, Oh heart effusions, that arose From nightly wanderings cherished here; To him who flies from many woes, Even homeless deserts can be dear! The last and solitary cheer Of those that own no earthly home, Yes! I have loved thy wild abode, Unknown, unploughed, untrodden shore; Where scarce the woodman finds a road, And scarce the fisher plies an oar; For man's neglect I love thee more; That art nor avarice intrude To tame thy torrent's thunder-shock, Or prune thy vintage of the rock Magnificently rude. Unheeded spreads thy blossomed bud A thousand treasures forth. Oh! silent spirit of the place, I yet might watch and worship here! And share, with no unhallowed mind, The majesty of heaven. What though the bosom friends of Fate, - Thy consolations can not rate, Though darkened by the clouds of Care, On him the world hath never smiled To thee that misanthrope shall fly! I mark his proud but ravaged form, Peace to his banished heart, at last, But dost thou, Folly, mock the Muse Then fly, thou cowering, shivering thing, Back to the fostering world beguiled, To waste in self-consuming strife The loveless brotherhood of life, Reviling and reviled ! Away, thou lover of the race That hither chased yon weeping deer! If Nature's all majestic face More pitiless than man's appear; Or if the wild winds seem more drear Than man's cold charities below, Behold around his peopled plains, Where'er the social savage reigns, Exuberance of wo! His art and honors wouldst thou seek Where senates light their airy halls, From clime to clime pursue the scene, There Peace, the cherub, can not stay; She builds her solitary bower, Where only anchorites have trod, Or friendless men, to worship God, Have wandered for an hour. And such, sweet Eldurn vale, is thine, |