The sweetness of the balmy evening
A sorrow o'er her aged soul did fling,
Yet not devoid of rapture's mingled tear;
A balm was in the poison of the sting.
This aged sufferer for many a year

Had never felt such comfort. She suppressed A sigh-and, turning round, clasped William to her breast!

V

And, though his form was wasted by the woe
Which tyrants on their victims love to wreak,
Though his sunk eyeballs and his faded cheek
Of slavery's violence and scorn did speak,
Yet did the aged woman's bosom glow.
The vital fire seemed reillumed within
By this sweet unexpected welcoming.

Oh, consummation of the fondest hope
That ever soared on fancy's wildest wing!

Oh, tenderness that found'st so sweet a scope! Prince who dost pride thee on thy mighty sway, When thou canst feel such love, thou shalt be great as they!

VI

Her son, compelled, the country's foes had fought,
Had bled in battle; and the stern control
Which ruled his sinews and coerced his soul
Utterly poisoned life's unmingled bowl,
And unsubduable evils on him brought.
He was the shadow of the lusty child
Who, when the time of summer season smiled,
Did earn for her a meal of honesty,

And with affectionate discourse beguiled
The keen attacks of pain and poverty;

Till Power, as envying her this only joy, From her maternal bosom tore the unhappy boy.

VII

And now cold charity's unwelcome dole
Was insufficient to support the pair;

And they would perish rather than would
bear

The law's stern slavery, and the insolent

The bitter scorn, the spirit-sinking noise

Of heartless mirth which women, men and boys

Wake in this scene of legal misery.

TO THE REPUBLICANS OF NORTH AMERICA

I

BROTHERS! between you and me

Whirlwinds sweep and billows roar:

Yet in spirit oft I see

On thy wild and winding shore
Freedom's bloodless banners wave,
Feel the pulses of the brave
Unextinguished in the grave,-

See them drenched in sacred gore,-
Catch the warrior's gasping breath
Murmuring "Liberty or death!"

To the Republicans of North America, Esdaile MS. || The Mexican Revolution, Rossetti. Published by Rossetti, 1870, dated 1812.

II

Shout aloud! Let every slave,
Crouching at Corruption's throne,
Start into a man, and brave

Racks and chains without a groan ;
And the castle's heartless glow,
And the hovel's vice and woe,
Fade like gaudy flowers that blow
Weeds that peep, and then are gone;
Whilst, from misery's ashes risen,
Love shall burst the captive's prison.

III

Cotopaxi bid the sound

Through thy sister mountains ring,
Till each valley smile around
At the blissful welcoming!

And, O thou stern Ocean deep,
Thou whose foamy billows sweep
Shores where thousands wake to weep
Whilst they curse a villain king,
On the winds that fan thy breast
Bear thou news of Freedom's rest!

IV

Can the daystar dawn of love,
Where the flag of war unfurled
Floats with crimson stain above
The fabric of a ruined world?
Never but to vengeance driven
When the patriot's spirit shriven

iv. 1 Can, Esdaile MS. || Ere, Hitchener MS.

Seeks in death its native heaven!
There, to desolation hurled,
Widowed love may watch thy bier,
Balm thee with its dying tear.

TO IRELAND

I

BEAR witness, Erin! when thine injured isle
Sees summer on its verdant pastures smile,
Its cornfields waving in the winds that sweep
The billowy surface of thy circling deep!
Thou tree whose shadow o'er the Atlantic gave
Peace, wealth and beauty, to its friendly wave,
its blossoms fade,

And blighted are the leaves that cast its shade ;
Whilst the cold hand gathers its scanty fruit,
Whose chillness struck a canker to its root.

II

I could stand

Upon thy shores, O Erin, and could count
The billows that, in their unceasing swell,
Dash on thy beach, and every wave might seem
An instrument in Time, the giant's grasp,
To burst the barriers of Eternity.

Proceed, thou giant, conquering and to conquer ;
March on thy lonely way! The nations fall
Beneath thy noiseless footstep; pyramids

To Ireland, i. published by Rossetti, 1870, ii. 1-7, 15-18, published by Dowden, Life of Shelley, 1887; 8-14, published by Kingsland in Poet-Lore, July, 1892.

That for millenniums have defied the blast,

And laughed at lightnings, thou dost crush to

nought.

Yon monarch, in his solitary pomp,

Is but the fungus of a winter day

That thy light footstep presses into dust.

Thou art a conqueror, Time; all things give

way

6

Before thee but the fixed and virtuous will;

The sacred sympathy of soul which was

When thou wert not, which shall be when thou perishest.

ON ROBERT EMMET'S GRAVE

VI

No trump tells thy virtues -the grave where they

rest

With thy dust shall remain unpolluted by fame, Till thy foes, by the world and by fortune caressed, Shall pass like a mist from the light of thy name.

VII

"When the storm-cloud that lowers o'er the daybeam is gone,

Unchanged, unextinguished its life-spring will shine;

On Robert Emmet's Grave. Published by Dowden, Life of Shelley, 1887, dated 1812.