Imatges de pÓgina
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VI.

The green young ivy, by its graceful clinging,

Pourtray'd fair Constancy and Faith sublime; And Flora's tribes, their lovely fetters flinging,

Held in sweet thraldoin all within that clime

Such bonds unfelt are worn.

Blithesome I wander'd through this world of treasure,

Deeming my spirit's home at length attain’d, Trusting such boundless joy would know no measure : Once more to me were Eden's blessings gain'd

O Love, how fair thy morn!

VII.

Lullid in sweet slumber, all my senses shrouded

By bright illusions that should never fade :
In that short dream my all of bliss was crowded :-
I wake !--it passeth like a fleeting shade-

Life, light, the world is drear !Oh, stay, sweet dream; and yet, by mem’ry's pow'r,

Whisper again the language of that land, That I may tell thy charms in sorrow's hour

To the still ocean and the desert's sand,

Which thou alone canst cheer,

FA M E.

Though fame is smoke, Its fumes are frankincense to human thought."

BYRON.

1.

SOLDIER, why so madly rushing

'Midst the gleaming spears ?Why thy cheek with ardour flushing ?

Where thy human fears ?-Thou hast life or limb to lose,–

Life, and youth, and pleasure; Slaughter round her victims strews : Why so blindly treasure

Fame, famel-gory fame!

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II.

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Stricken, while thy heart is beating

With a hero's pride,
Even while thy arm 's defeating-

Widowing some bride,
Low thou 'lt fall, and mangled lie-

Trampled, rifled, gory; And the herd that

pass Reckless of thy story,

Shall the laurels wear!

thee by,

III.

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Or, where Afric's sun is burning,

Fever'd, weak, and lone, On a bed of anguish turning,

Vainly thou mayst moanAll unnoted yield thy breath,

With no voice to cheer thee: Oh ! of all, a soldier's death Mocks his dream of glory

Fame, fame!-fickle fame!

IV.

Player, why that mimic seeming

Of a woe too big for words ?-Why that soul-impassion'd dreaming,

Pacing o'er the Thespic boards, Quick deep sobs, and passion's start

True as Nature-breaking From thy fancy-tortured heart, Fabled grief mistaking

For thine own-thine own!

V.

Study's toil and nightly watching,

Daily wrongs and insults keen, Stigma to thy name attaching :

But to seem a king or queen ?Nol-I wrong thee !-Reckless thou—

King or Beggar playing; . With thy mind-illumined brow But one hope betraying

Fame, fame deathless fame!

VI.

Painter, wherefore ever straining

Eye and hand to image manLife's enjoyments all disdaining,

O’er and o'er thy work to scan ?
Pale and silent worker, tell

From whence thy patience springeth,
Binding Nature in her spell
Until thy pencil bringeth

Fame, fame! -dear-bought fame!

VII.

Thou, to whom sweet Beauty seemeth

So divinely bright and fair, As from out thy canvas beameth

Something of her 'witching air Doom'd obscurely, ost, to sigh,

'Midst the fancied forms of grace That around thee scatter'd lie, Over one remember'd face :

Fame, famel-idle fame!

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