 | Poems |  |
THE FELO-DE-SE.
In yon unhaunted, and unhallowed copse,
O'er whom no form is bent to shed a tear,
The tortured victim of delusive hopes,
Poor Austin sleeps, beyond the verge of fear.
O'er whom no form is bent to shed a tear,
The tortured victim of delusive hopes,
Poor Austin sleeps, beyond the verge of fear.
Perchance his heart was formed in virtue's mould,
And beat responsive to celestial worth,
His noble hand the gilded stores unrolled
Before the good man of ignoble birth;
And beat responsive to celestial worth,
His noble hand the gilded stores unrolled
Before the good man of ignoble birth;
His voice, in soothing accents, hushed the woes,
The iron pangs, that rack the pensile breast,
And his high soul portrayed each charm, that throws
A screen o'er sorrows, that life's blessings wrest.
The iron pangs, that rack the pensile breast,
And his high soul portrayed each charm, that throws
A screen o'er sorrows, that life's blessings wrest.
In the deep mansions of his pliant heart,
He bore the shafts of envy and disdain,
Nor worth, nor wisdom could a charm impart
To quell his anguish, or assuage his pain.
He bore the shafts of envy and disdain,
Nor worth, nor wisdom could a charm impart
To quell his anguish, or assuage his pain.
A smile would tremble on his pallid lip,
Like the dim sunbeam of the dusky hour
O'er lilied lawns, when pendent willows dip
Their boughs in rills, or droop beneath the shower.
Like the dim sunbeam of the dusky hour
O'er lilied lawns, when pendent willows dip
Their boughs in rills, or droop beneath the shower.
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But oh! when fancy lured his raptured sight
With a rich gem, in thrilling hope he sprung,
And grasped the thorn, and, merged in mental night,
His spirit dark to agony was stung.
With a rich gem, in thrilling hope he sprung,
And grasped the thorn, and, merged in mental night,
His spirit dark to agony was stung.
ANTISTROPHE I.
When flower-wreathed Morn upon the mountains danced,
And fragrant gales the spangled meadows fanned,
His radiant eye o'er nature's fair form glanced,
Each sense was revelling, and each passion bland.
And fragrant gales the spangled meadows fanned,
His radiant eye o'er nature's fair form glanced,
Each sense was revelling, and each passion bland.
His soul drank nectar from the honied fields,
And, in exuberance, bounded like the fawn,
The darkest breast the light of glory gilds,
And heaven descends to deck the gemmed dawn.
And, in exuberance, bounded like the fawn,
The darkest breast the light of glory gilds,
And heaven descends to deck the gemmed dawn.
Oh! then he roved and culled the blushing flowers,
And wove a garland, in his wayward mood,
To grace the brow of her, who charmed the bowers,
That bloomed in his lone, mental solitude.
And wove a garland, in his wayward mood,
To grace the brow of her, who charmed the bowers,
That bloomed in his lone, mental solitude.
STROPHE II.
The soft, the delicate, the dovelike breath
Of gentle ruth attuned his soul for bliss,
But in the shock, the scorn of man fell death
His fine heart sunk to dark despair's abyss.
Of gentle ruth attuned his soul for bliss,
But in the shock, the scorn of man fell death
His fine heart sunk to dark despair's abyss.
His breast was not an adamantine throne,
Where reigned stern Apathy with stoic eye,
Unmoved by gore, unheeding mortal groan,
Dark deeds her vaunt, and death her revelry.
Where reigned stern Apathy with stoic eye,
Unmoved by gore, unheeding mortal groan,
Dark deeds her vaunt, and death her revelry.
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He lured not victims with the rays of heaven,
Stolen to fascinate by a lucid glare,
Then lock the chain by which the wretch is riven,
And, smiling, dye the gory scimitar.
Stolen to fascinate by a lucid glare,
Then lock the chain by which the wretch is riven,
And, smiling, dye the gory scimitar.
No!—the fierce pangs of human wo he hushed,
But curses fell upon his tortured ear,
From life—from hope in frenzied rage he rushed,
They laid him shroudness on his raven bier.
But curses fell upon his tortured ear,
From life—from hope in frenzied rage he rushed,
They laid him shroudness on his raven bier.
ANTISTROPHE II.
So there he sleeps beneath the glebe untrod,
And, if perchance a vagrant footstep roam
Around the spot, or press the fatal sod,
Or a sigh's breathed o'er dire misfortune's dome;
And, if perchance a vagrant footstep roam
Around the spot, or press the fatal sod,
Or a sigh's breathed o'er dire misfortune's dome;
A warning voice will break the sweet repose,
And mark pollution on the pensive mien,
That dares to drop a tear, and is not froze
To iciness when gazing on the scene.
And mark pollution on the pensive mien,
That dares to drop a tear, and is not froze
To iciness when gazing on the scene.
Poor suicide! thy bitter life was sad,
And agonizing were thy woes unknown,
A fiend each fair, and bright, and dear scene clad
With desolation; and the eternal throne
And agonizing were thy woes unknown,
A fiend each fair, and bright, and dear scene clad
With desolation; and the eternal throne
Man strove to seize, and thee thy doom award
In never waning fire and hopelessness;
Thou should'st have reared thy crest, and bravely warred,
And made each proud head prone, and every voice to bless.
In never waning fire and hopelessness;
Thou should'st have reared thy crest, and bravely warred,
And made each proud head prone, and every voice to bless.
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CHORUS.
But I would seek thy voiceless tomb,
And tread the moaning nightshade down,
And weep amid sepulchral gloom,
Nor vent a curse, nor wear a frown.
And tread the moaning nightshade down,
And weep amid sepulchral gloom,
Nor vent a curse, nor wear a frown.
He, that thy being gave, alone
Can know thy thousand untold woes,
He knows if ought can death atone
Inflicted by thy hand—he knows.
Can know thy thousand untold woes,
He knows if ought can death atone
Inflicted by thy hand—he knows.
Goaded by hate, and black despair,
Illuded by his fickle fate,
The youth has fallen who was fair,
And his grave is desolate.
Illuded by his fickle fate,
The youth has fallen who was fair,
And his grave is desolate.
This sphere is sure no place for those,
Who feel each taunt and bitter jeer,
Yet we must brave our mortal woes,
And steel ourselves against a tear.
Who feel each taunt and bitter jeer,
Yet we must brave our mortal woes,
And steel ourselves against a tear.
The hand, that caused the stream to flow,
A one can justly stem the torrent,
And he, who strikes the fatal blow,
Is ever viewed with eye abhorrent.
A one can justly stem the torrent,
And he, who strikes the fatal blow,
Is ever viewed with eye abhorrent.
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