« FöregåendeFortsätt »
'Tis light and air again: and lo! the Seine, Yon boasted, lazy, livid, fetid drain' With paper booths, and painted trees o'erlaid, Baths, blankets, wash-tubs, women, all but trade. Yet here are living beings, and the soil Breeds its old growth of ribaldry and broil. A whirl of mire, the dingy cabriolet Makes the quick transit through the crowded way; On spurs the courier, creaks the crazy wain, Dragg'd through its central gulf of mud and stain; Around our way-laid wheels the paupers crowd, Naked, contagious, cringing, and yet proud. The whole a mass of folly, filth, and strife, Of heated, rank, corrupting, reptile life; And, endless as their oozy tide, the throng Roll on with endless clamour, curse, and song. Fit for such tenants, lour on either side The hovels where the gang less live than hide; Story on story, savage stone on stone, [thrown. Time-shatter'd, tempest-stain'd, not built, but Sole empress of the portal, in full blow, The rouged grisette lays out her trade below, Even in her rags a thing of wit and wile, [smile. Eve, hand, lip, tongue, all point, and press, and Close by, in patch and print, the pedlar's stall Flutters its looser glories up the wall. Spot of corruption where the rabble rude Loiter round tinsel tomes, and figures nude; Voltaire, and Lais, long alternate eyed, Till both the leper's soul and sous divide. Above, ’tis desert, save where sight is scared With the wild visage through the casement barr'd; Or, swinging from their pole, chemise and sheet Drip from the attic o'er the fuming street.
–0– THE GRIEVINGS OF A PROUD SPIRIT.
CRIME may be clear'd, and Sorrow's eyes bedried, The lowliest poverty be gilded yet; The neck of airless, pale imprisonment Be lighten’d of its chains ! For all the ills That chance or nature lays upon our heads, In chance or nature there is found a cure : But self-abasement is beyond all cure! The brand is there burn’d in the living flesh, That bears its mark to the grave.—That dagger's Into the central pulses of the heart; [plunged The act is the mind's suicide; for which There is no after health—no hope—no pardon!
EFFECT OF ORATORY UPON A MULTITUDE.
His words seem'd oracles [turn That pierced their bosoms; and each man would And gaze in wonder on his neighbour's face, That with the like dumb wonder answer'd him: Then some would weep, some shout, some, deeper touch'd, Keep down the cry with motion of their hands, In fear but to have lost a syllable. | The evening came, yet there the people stood, As if 'twere noon, and they the marble sea, Sleeping without a wave. You could have heard The beating of your pulses while he spoke.
LOVE AN EVIL.
Why, I could give you fact and argument, Brought from all earth—all life—all history;O'erwhelm you with sad tales, convictions strong, Till you could hate it; tell of gentle lives, Light as the lark's upon the morning cloud, Struck down at once by the keen shaft of love; Of maiden beauty, wasting all away, Like a departing vision into air; Finding no occupation for her eyes, But to bedev her couch with midnight tears, Till death upon its bosom pillow'd her; Of noble natures sour'd; rich minds obscured; High hopes turn’d blank; nay, of the kingly crown Mouldering amid the embers of the throne;— And all by love. We paint him as a child, When he should sit, a giant on his clouds, The great, disturbing spirit of the world!