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Thou lovely, ghastly scene of fair decay, In beauty awful, and 'midst horrors gay, Renown more wide, more bright shall gild thy name, Than thy wild charms or fearful doom could claim.
Immortal spirits, in whose deathless song Latium and Athens yet their reign prolong, And from their thrones of fame and empire hurled, Still sway the sceptre of the mental world, You in whose breasts the flames of Pindus beamed, Whose copious lips with rich persuasion streamed, Whose minds unravelled nature's mystic plan, Or traced the mazy labyrinth of man; Bend, glorious spirits, from your blissful bowers, And broidered couches of unfading flowers, While round your locks the Elysian garlands blow, With sweeter odors, and with brighter glow. Once more, immortal shades, atoning Fame Repairs the honors of each glorious name. Behold Pompeii's opening vaults restore The long-lost treasures of your ancient lore, The vestal radiance of poetic fire, The stately buskin, and the tuneful lyre, The wand of eloquence, whose magic sway The sceptres and the swords of earth obey, And every mighty spell, whose strong control Could nerve or melt, could fire or soothe the soul.
And thou sad city, raise thy drooping head, And share the honors of the glorious dead. Had Fate reprieved thee till the frozen North Poured in wild swarms its hoarded millions forth, Till blazing cities marked where Alboïn trod,* Or Europe quaked beneath the scourge of God, No lasting wreath had graced thy funeral pall, No fame redeemed the horrors of thy fall. Now shall thy deathless memory live entwined With all that conquers, rules, or charms the mind,
* The well-known name of Attila,
Each lofty thought of Poet or of Sage,
THE BATLLE OF IVRY.
[Knight's Quarterly Magazine, 1824.]
[HENRY the Fourth, on his accession to the French crown, was op
posed by a large part of his subjects, under the Duke of Mayenne, with the assistance of Spain and Savoy. In March, 1590, he gained a decisive victory over that party at Ivry. Before the battle, he addressed his troops, "My children, if you lose sight of your colors, rally to my white plume, - you will always find it in the path to honor and glory.' His conduct was answerable to his promise. Nothing could resist his impetuous valor, and the leaguers underwent a total and bloody defeat. In the midst of the rout, Henry followed, crying, “Save the French!' and his clemency added a number of the enemies to his own army.
Aikin's Biographical Dictionary.]
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are !
of France !
Oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,
The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest,
Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din
Now God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned his
rein. D'Aumale hath cried for quarter, — the Flemish Count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven
mail; And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, • Remember St. Bartholomew,' was passed from man to man; But out spake gentle Henry then, 'No Frenchman is my foe; Down, down with every foreigner; but let your brethren go.'
Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre!
Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne!
END OF VOL. I.