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Endure that from a bosom, once so dear,
Convulsive pangs the trembling life should tear?
Oh! should'st thou, certain of the cruel truth,
Behold, in Fancy's eye, the slaughter'd youth,
Could'st thou that lov'd, that lovely form survey,
And see it faded to insensate clay?
Eternal darkness on those eye-lids hung ?
Eternal silence stiffen on that tongue?
No! wildly, from the bare surmise, I start,
And treble fondness rushes through my heart ;
Live!- live, Eugenio !-free from fierce alarms,
Blest, if thou canst, e'en in

my

rival's arms! O! safe, through lengthen'd years, may'st thou remain From all the varied forms of deathful pain ! From injured honour's unrelenting ire, The blast of accident, the fever's fire ! Soft may those dangerous graces melt away, And gently sink in scarce perceived decay!

For this my breast its cureless woes shall hide, Nor sting fraternal love, nor generous pride. Yes, dear Lorenzo! thou shalt still believe, Though much the thought thy gentle breast will grieve, Louisa, lost to tenderness, and truth, In the vain levity of thoughtless youth,

Proved to Eugenio's love a cold ingrate,
And lightly splenetic deserved her fate.

Cruel Remembrance ! how shall I assuage The yearning pangs of thy incessant rage ? What balmy comfort can the heart pervade, When bitter tears his broken faith upbraid, Whose hand, we fondly hoped, should wipe away Their flowing sorrows through each future day? Since in Reflection's grasp each blessing dies, When the forced struggling spirit must despise Him who, encircled with perfection's zone, Long in our sight scarce less than angel shone. For if Credulity her warmth impart, With veils of light she screens the selfish heart; But barbarous Perfidy's severe extreme, In shades eternal, shrouds each gorgeous beam.

On the arch'd windows thus, that proudly grace An high majestic temple’s awful face, When pours the setting sun its darting rays, An hundred solar orbs appear to blaze ; But when th' incumbent shades of lowering night Curtain the source of this illusive light, Its evanescent fires no more remain, But horrors gather round the darkend fane ;

The lofty turrets, desolately grand,
In dreary state, and lonely silence stand;
Though the dim aisles pale spectres seem to fleet,
And hollow groans the whispering walls repeat.

So, round Eugenio's form, that rises yet, 'Mid Pride's cold frown, and Passion's warm regret, Deprived of all the lustre it retain'd, When

gay

belief with sunny hue remain’d, Incessant now the fiends of avarice glide, With dark Ambition scowling at their side.

Detested impotence of flatter'd charms,
That could not bind my wanderer to my arms!
Ah! what availd your beauties, but to lure
That fleeting love, ye knew not to secure !

Like opening flow'rs, that deck the desert glade, Fair to no purpose,

flatter'd

graces

fade! One healing draught-and all shall yet be well! • Peace is the pale-ey'd sister of the cell,' The cell of Death-where Misery only knows The soft exemption,—and the long repose.

Ah no!-a guardian spirit seems to say, Stay thee, Louisa, yet a little stay!

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Who, shut for ever from the blissful bow'rs,
With horror and remorse at distance hear
The music that enchants th' immortal pow'rs,
The heav'nly music of well purchased praise,

Seraphic lays,

The sweet reward
On heroes, patriots, righteous kings conferr’d.
For such alone the heav'n-taught poets sing.
Tune ye for Edward,* then, the mortal strain,
His name shall well become your golden string ;

Begirt with this ethereal train,
Seems he not rank'd among the gods ?
Then let him reap the glorious meed

Due to each great heroic deed,
And taste the pleasures of the blest abodes.

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EPODE 2.
Hail, happy prince! on whom kind fate bestows
Sublimer joys, and glory brighter far
Than Cressy's palm, and every wreath that grows
In all the blood-stain'd field of prosp'rous war;

Joys that might charm an heav'nly breast,
To make dependent millions blest,

A dying nation to restore,
And save fall’n liberty with kingly pow'r;

Edward III. by whom the Order of the Garter was founded.

To quench the torch of discord and debate,
Relume the languid spark of public zeal,
Repair the breaches of a shatter'd state,
And gloriously compleat the plan of England's weal;

Complete the noble Gothic pile,
That on the rock of justice rear'd shall stand

In symmetry, and strength, and fame,
A rival of that boasted frame

Which virtue rais'd on Tiber's strand.
This, Edward, guardian, father of our isle,

This god-like task, to few assign’d,

Exalts thee above human-kind,
And from the realms of everlasting day
Calls down celestial bards thy praise to sing ;
Calls this bright troop of spirits to survey
"Thee, the great miracle of earth, a PATRIOT-KING.

END OF VOL. I.

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