Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand, Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame Forsake its languid melancholy frame! Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close, Welcome the dreamless night of long repose! Soon may this woe-worn spirit seek the bourne Where, lull'd to slumber, Grief forgets to mourn!" PROPERLY a monody on Miss Broderick. Written at the age of nineteen, at Downie, Argyllshire, during the poet's residence as tutor to the son of Colonel Napier, now Sir William Napier, of Milliken, who resided at that time with his mother on his grandfather's estate at Downie. The monody was transmitted to London to James Thompson, Esq., of Clitheroe, Lancashire, in a letter dated September 15, 1796, of which the following is an extract:-"I believe I hinted in my last that I proposed submitting a monody, lately finished, to your inspection. The subject is the unhappy fair one, who, you may remember, was tried about twelve months ago for the murder of Errington. Some of my critical friends have blamed me for endeavouring to recommend such a woman to sympathy; but from the moment I heard Broderick's story I could not refrain from admiring her, even amid the horror of the rash deed she committed. Errington was an inhuman villain to forsake her, and he deserved his fate; not by the laws of his country, but of friendship, which he had so heinously broken through." HALLOWED GROUND. WHAT'S hallow'd ground? Has earth a clod Its maker meant not should be trod By man, the image of his God Erect and free, Unscourged by Superstition's rod To bow the knee? That's hallow'd ground-where, mourn'd and miss'd, The lips repose our love has kiss'd :— But where's their memory's mansion? Is 't Yon churchyard's bowers? No! in ourselves their souls exist, A part of ours. A kiss can consecrate the ground Where mated hearts are mutual bound: The spot where love's first links were wound, That ne'er are riven, Is hallow'd down to earth's profound, And up to Heaven! For time makes all but true love old; The burning thoughts that then were told Until the heart itself be cold In Lethe's pool. What hallows ground where heroes sleep? Or Genii twine beneath the deep But strew his ashes to the wind Whose sword or voice has served mankind— And is he dead, whose glorious mind Lifts thine on high ?— To live in hearts we leave behind, Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right? What can alone ennoble fight? A noble cause! Give that! and welcome War to brace Her drums! and rend Heaven's reeking space! The colours planted face to face, The charging cheer, Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear. And place our trophies where men kneel Transfer it from the sword's appeal Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join The heart alone can make divine To incantations dost thou trust, That men can bless one pile of dust The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man! Thy temples-creeds themselves grow wan! But there's a dome of nobler span, A temple given Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban- Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling, Make music, though unheard their pealing Fair stars are not your beings pure? Ye must be Heavens that make us sure And in your harmony sublime I read the doom of distant time: That man's regenerate soul from crime Shall yet be drawn, And reason on his mortal clime Immortal dawn. |