O'er his pale forehead grew; XVII And he shuddered to sleep with the And her lank hand lay on his shudder dead. And her skeleton form the dead Nun reared Which dripped with the chill dew of hell. In her half-eaten eyeballs two pale flames appeared, And triumphant their gleam on the dark Monk glared, 'Ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal The hour, when man must cease to be? As he stood within the cell. 20 Heaven will save III The spirit, that faded away with the Oh! dark lowered the clouds on that breath. horrible eve, O'er his form the fierce swell of the tempest is raving; AH! faint are her limbs, and her foot- But, fear not, parting spirit; thy good ness is saving, In eternity's bowers, a seat for thee there. V. Bereavement: Song, 1811. VI. The Drowned Lover: Song, 1811; The Lake-Storm, Rossetti, 1870. 851 POSTHUMOUS FRAGMENTS OF MARGARET NICHOLSON Being Poems found amongst the Papers of that noted Female who attempted the life of the King in 1786. Edited by John Fitzvictor. [The Posthumous Fragments, published at Oxford by Shelley, appeared in November, 1810. See Bibliographical List.] ADVERTISEMENT Has swept these myriads from life's crowded stage: Hark to that groan, an anguished hero dies, THE energy and native genius of these Fragments must be the only apology which the Editor can make for thus intruding them on the public notice. The first I found with no title, and have left it so. It is intimately Yet does his parting breath essay to connected with the dearest interests of universal happiness; and much as we may deplore the fatal and enthusiastic tendency which the ideas of this poor female had acquired, we cannot fail to pay the tribute of unequivocal regret to the departed memory of genius, which, had it been rightly organized, would have made that intellect, which has since become the victim of frenzy and despair, a most brilliant ornament to Society. In case the sale of these Fragments evinces that the public have any curiosity to be presented with a more copious collection of my unfortunate Aunt's poems, I have other papers in my possession which shall, in that case, be subjected to their notice. It may be supposed they require much arrangement; but I send the following to the press in the same state in which they came into my possession. WAR J. F. AMBITION, power, and avarice, now have hurled Death, fate, and ruin, on a bleeding world. See! on yon heath what countless victims lie, Hark! what loud shrieksascend through yonder sky; He shudders in death's latest agonies; Yet does a fleeting hectic flush his cheek, For speak ΙΟ 'Oh God! my wife, my children— Monarch thou whose support this fainting frame lies low; For whose support in distant lands I bleed, Let his friends' welfare be the warrior's meed. He hears me not-ah! no-kings cannot hear, 15 For passion's voice has dulled their Tell then the cause, 'tis sure the In avenger's rage 5 silent anguish, on her husband's bier! War: the title is Woodberry's, 1893; no title, 1810. 'Is it then Thine, Almighty Power,' | What then are Kings?-I see the she cries, trembling crowd, 55 'Whence tears of endless sorrow dim I hear their fulsome clamours echoed these eyes? 30 Is this the system which Thy powerful sway, Which else in shapeless chaos sleeping lay, Formed and approved?-it cannot bebut oh! Forgive me, Heaven, my brain is warped by woe.' "Tis not-He never bade the war-note swell, 35 He never triumphed in the work of hell Monarchs of earth! thine is the baleful deed, Thine are the crimes for which thy subjects bleed. Ah! when will come the sacred fated time, When man unsullied by his leaders' crime, 40 Despising wealth, ambition, pomp, and pride, Will stretch him fearless by his foemen's side? Ah! when will come the time, when o'er the plain No more shall death and desolation reign? When will the sun smile on the bloodless field, 45 And the stern warrior's arm the sickle wield? Not whilst some King, in cold ambition's dreams, Plans for the field of death his plodding schemes; Not whilst for private pique the public fall, And one frail mortal's mandate governs all. 50 Swelled with command and mad with loud; Their stern oppressor pleased appears awhile, But April's sunshine is a Monarch's smile Kings are but dust-the last eventful day Will level all and make them lose their sway; 60 Will dash the sceptre from the Monarch's hand, And from the warrior's grasp wrest the ensanguined brand. Oh! Peace, soft Peace, art thou for He scents the battle's carnage from afar; Hell and Destruction mark his mad career, 75 He tracks the rapid step of hurrying Fear; Whilst ruined towns and smoking cities tell, That thy work, Monarch, is the work of Hell. 'It is thy work!' I hear a voice repeat, Shakes the broad basis of thy bloodstained seat; And at the orphan's sigh, the widow's moan, 80 |