Light of the features! in the morn of youth Thy glance is nature, and thy language truth; And ere the world, with all-corrupting sway, Hath taught e’en _thee_ to flatter and betray, Th’ ingenuous heart forbids thee to reveal, Or speak one thought that interest would conceal. While yet thou seem’st the cloudless mirror given But to reflect the purity of heaven, Oh! then how lovely, there unveil’d, to trace Th’ unsullied brightness of each mental grace! When Genius lends thee all his living light, Where the full beams of intellect unite; When love illumes thee with his varying ray, Where trembling Hope and tearful Rapture play; Or Pity’s melting cloud thy beam subdues, Tempering its lustre with a veil of dews; Still does thy power, whose all-commanding spell Can pierce the mazes of the soul so well, Bid some new feeling to existence start From its deep slumbers in the inmost heart. And oh! when thought, in ecstasy sublime, That soars triumphant o’er the bounds of time, Fires thy keen glance with inspiration’s blaze, The light of heaven, the hope of nobler days, (As glorious dreams, for utterance far too high, Flash through the mist of dim mortality;) Who does not own, that through thy lightning-beams A flame unquenchable, unearthly, streams? That pure, though captive effluence of the sky, The vestal-ray, the spark that cannot die! THE HERO’S DEATH. Life’s parting beams were in his eye, Life’s closing accents on his tongue, When round him, pealing to the sky, The shout of victory rung! Then, ere his gallant spirit fled, A smile so bright illumed his face-- Oh! never, of the light it shed, Shall memory lose a trace! His was a death whose rapture high Transcended all that life could yield; His warmest prayer was so to die, On the red battle-field! And they may feel, who loved him most, A pride so holy and so pure: Fate hath no power o’er those who boast A treasure thus secure! STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. [“Hélas! nous composions son histoire de tout ce qu’on peut imaginer de plus glorieux.... Le passé et le présent nous garantissoient l’avenir.... Telle étoit l’agréable histoire que nous faisions; et pour achever ces nobles projets, il n’y avoit que la durée de sa vie; dont nous ne croyions pas devoir être en peine, car qui eût pu seulement penser, que les années eussent dû manquer à une jeunesse qui sembloit si vive?”--Bossuet.] I.