IV.

AFTER VISITING THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.

A WINGED Goddess-clothed in vesture wrought
Of rainbow colours; One whose port was bold,
Whose overburthened hand could scarcely hold
The glittering crowns and garlands which it brought-
Hovered in air above the far-famed Spot.

She vanished; leaving prospect blank and cold
Of wind-swept corn that wide around us rolled
In dreary billows, wood, and meagre cot,
And monuments that soon must disappear :
Yet a dread local recompence we found;
While glory seemed betrayed, while patriot-zeal
Sank in our hearts, we felt as men should feel
With such vast hoards of hidden carnage near,
And horror breathing from the silent ground!

V.

BETWEEN NAMUR AND LIEGE.

WHAT lovelier home could gentle Fancy choose?
Is this the stream, whose cities, heights, and plains,
War's favourite playground, are with crimson stains
Familiar, as the Morn with pearly dews?

The Morn, that now, along the silver MEUSE,
Spreading her peaceful ensigns, calls the swains
To tend their silent boats and ringing wains,
Or strip the bough whose mellow fruit bestrews
The ripening corn beneath it.
As mine eyes

Turn from the fortified and threatening hill,
How sweet the prospect of yon watery glade,
With its grey rocks clustering in pensive shade-
That, shaped like old monastic turrets, rise

From the smooth meadow-ground, serene and still!

VI.

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.

Was it to disenchant, and to undo,

That we approached the Seat of Charlemaine?
To sweep from many an old romantic strain
That faith which no devotion may renew!
Why does this puny Church present to view
Her feeble columns? and that scanty chair!
This sword that one of our weak times might wear

Objects of false pretence, or meanly true!

If from a traveller's fortune I might claim
A palpable memorial of that day,

Then would I seek the Pyrenean Breach

That ROLAND clove with huge two-handed sway,
And to the enormous labour left his name,

Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach.

!

VII.

IN THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE.

O FOR the help of Angels to complete
This Temple-Angels governed by a plan
Thus far pursued (how gloriously !) by Man,
Studious that He might not disdain the seat
Who dwells in heaven! But that aspiring heat
Hath failed; and now, ye Powers! whose gorgeous wings
And splendid aspect yon emblazonings

But faintly picture, 'twere an office meet
For you, on these unfinished shafts to try
The midnight virtues of your harmony :—
This vast design might tempt you to repeat
Strains that call forth upon empyreal ground
Immortal Fabrics, rising to the sound
Of penetrating harps and voices sweet!

VIII.

IN A CARRIAGE, UPON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE.

AMID this dance of objects sadness steals
O'er the defrauded heart-while sweeping by,

As in a fit of Thespian jollity,

Beneath her vine-leaf crown the green Earth reels : Backward, in rapid evanescence, wheels

The venerable pageantry of Time,

Each beetling rampart, and each tower sublime,
And what the Dell unwillingly reveals

Of lurking cloistral arch, through trees espied

Near the bright River's edge. Yet why repine? creep, to halt at will, to gaże— muse, to

To

Such sweet way-faring—of life's spring the pride,

Her summer's faithful joy-that still is mine,
And in fit measure cheers autumnal days.