No More Learning

Bright be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;[nk]
And our sorrow may cease to repine
When we know that thy God is with thee.

2.

Light be the turf of thy tomb! [nl][318]
May its verdure like emeralds be! [nm]
There should not be the shadow of gloom
In aught that reminds us of thee.
Young flowers and an evergreen tree[nn]
May spring from the spot of thy rest:
But nor cypress nor yew let us see;
For why should we mourn for the blest?

[First published, _Examiner_, June 4, 1815. ]



NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL. [319]

[FROM THE FRENCH. ]

1.

Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name--
She abandons me now--but the page of her story,
The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame. [no]
I have warred with a World which vanquished me only
When the meteor of conquest allured me too far;
I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,
The last single Captive to millions in war.

2.
Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me,
I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,--
But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,[np]
Decayed in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won--
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted
Had still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun! [nq]

3.

Farewell to thee, France! --but when Liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then,--
The Violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again--
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice--
There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,
_Then_ turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!

_July_ 25, 1815. London.
[First published, _Examiner_, July 30, 1815. ]



FROM THE FRENCH. [320]

I.

Must thou go, my glorious Chief,
Severed from thy faithful few?
Who can tell thy warrior's grief,
Maddening o'er that long adieu? [nr]
Woman's love, and Friendship's zeal,
Dear as both have been to me--[ns]
What are they to all I feel,
With a soldier's faith for thee? [nt]

II.