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Was he a spirit sent to Scourge mankind
For vice? to dazzle them till they were blind?
As potent as the magic shield of old *,
Withering the strength of all who dared behold.

He hated converse: his o'erweening pride
Taught him man's social pleasures to deride :
Men were his instruments, and he could have
Nothing in common with them but a grave.
As wave succeeding wave breaks on the shore,
Tyrants o'erleap their bounds and are no more.

His course was rapid, he has pass'd away,
In time's vast book a tale of yesterday;
And he who held the proudest kings in awe
Of his imperious will, to them a law,
Now lies alone in a far distant isle!

Well might philosophy at grandeur smile.

The ill Napoleon did we all well know,

Each day the good he might have done will show.
Through him Italia might again have been
Renown'd in arms as she of arts is queen;

Nor would the Austrian fox have dared by stealth
To snatch, though now he rudely takes her wealth.

* This wonderful shield belonged to Atlante, but afterwards was possessed by Ruggiero.-See ARIOSTO, Canto 2.

The cloud of selfishness will ne'er decrease

That glooms the prospect of a lasting peace, 'Till Christian kings the Christian maxim heed : God never doom'd mankind to crouch and bleed.

ON

THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.

But thou art fled

Like some frail exhalation which the dawn

Robes in its golden beams; ah, thou hast fled,

The brave, the gentle, and the beautiful!
The child of grace and beauty.-SHELLEY.

THY wooded hills, Firenze *, castle-crown'd,
In beautiful luxuriance rise around:
What sweetly-blended hues enchant the sight
As the sun 'gins to soften down his light!
On houses, olives, vineyards, crags, he glows,
All nature woos him as he smiles repose.
The purple-coloured Apennines appear
Like fairy-mountains painted in the air:
While o'er the fertile vale, where Arno flows,
The queen of beauty's sacred myrtle grows.

*Firenze, al cui splendore

Ogni bella cittate aspira indarno,

Inclita figlia d'Arno,

Che al Padre cingi d'ogni onore il crine, &c.

CHIABRERA.

O! what is love by poets deified,

Compared with friendship in all dangers tried?
Gonzalvo to his Lara could not be

A firmer friend than Henry was to me.

Could not this balmy clime restore his health,

Where Nature boon has lavish'd all her wealth?

Alas! Consumption gives a sickly hue

To wood-crown'd hills, rich vales, and skies of deeepest blue.

Busy Remembrance! why call up in vain

Those happy nights, that ne'er will come again,
When in our mock-debates young Henry's mind
Show'd a ripe judgment, and a taste refined!

FLORENCE, October 2, 1818.

POEMS,

MORAL AND RELIGIOUS.

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