English

My God! thy servant save,
For gracious is thy name;
Thine arm can raise the sinking slave,
Oh! hear my humble claim.

To thee I lift my cries,
Thy sov'reign aid prepare;
For lo! the lordly despot tries
To sink me in despair.

Where shall my spirit hide?
Where from th' oppressor fly?
Fearless of God — his pow'r denied —
He dares thine arm defy.

Lo! God, my guardian, near,
Will all my foes control,
The Lord in mercy will appear,
And save my sinking soul.

My God! my gracious God! to thee,
Urg'd by devouring foes, I flee,
To thee for mercy cry:
Oh! view me in th' unequal fight,
Oppress'd by numbers, aw'd by might;
Jehovah, God most high!

They wrest my words with vile design,
With scourges lash this flesh of mine,
And watch the steps I tread;
Shall daring guilt evade thy frown?
Ah no! — thy wrath shall cast them down,
To lie amidst the dead.

When to the Lord I lift my cry,
My foes dismay'd shall backward fly,
For God my cause maintains;

( " Oui, ce front, ce sourire. " )

That brow, that smile, that cheek so fair,
Beseem my child, who weeps and plays;
A heavenly spirit guards her ways,
From whom she stole that mixture rare.
Through all her features shining mild,
The poet sees an angel there,
The father sees a child.

And by their flame so pure and bright,
We see how lately those sweet eyes

Lord! before thy throne we bend,
Lord! to thee our hearts ascend;
Servants, to our master true,
Lo! we yield thee homage due;
Children, to our sire we fly,
Abba, Father! hear our cry.

In the dust our knees we bow,
We are weak, but mighty thou;
Sore oppress'd, yet suppliant still,
We await thy holy will:
Galling chains confine us here,
When wilt thou, O God! appear?

From the skies, thy dwelling-place,
Send, Oh! send deliv'ring grace;
Turn and save us; — none below
Pause to hear our silent woe;

To my complaint, O God! give heed,
Hide not thyself—thy help I need;
O hear and grant my pray'r!—
I'm toss'd and rack'd with sore distress,
For taunting foes my soul oppress,
And tempt me to despair.

Harass'd, tormented and dismay'd,
My very life a burden made,
I raise to thee my cry;
My soul is fill'd with pangs of dread,
O'erwhelm'd, I sink among the dead,
I pant, and gasp, and die.

Oh for the pinions of a dove,
To bear my wearied soul above
This dark and stormy way!

On the A NNIVERSARY

The three weird sisters, on the dreary strand,
Foresaw this day, twining the fatal thread,
And would have stopt, but, urg'd by Jove's command,
They spun the rest, and weeping firm'd the deed.

O, day accurs'd! that saw, her last adieu,
To maiden honour, innocence, and same;
Nor night's black mantle round thy visage drew,
Nor sent one cloud to cover S YLVIA' n shame.

On thee no morn shall rouse the grateful song,
No gladding sun-beam wake the flow'ry dye;

To Alexis.

When rose-lip'd health reveals her vivid bloom,
And youth and genius all their charms impart;
Why wears the face the discontented gloom?
Why, sadly sighing, heaves the pensive heart?

Can weeping Melancholy's frantic train,
The brow deep-sadden'd, and the tear-swoln eye,
Invade the vernal hour with plaint profane,
And pleasure, peace, and industry supply?

( " Ma Regina, cette noble figure. " )

Thy noble face, Regina, calls to mind,
My poor lost little one, my latest born.
He was a gift from God — a sign of pardon —
That child vouchsafed me in my eightieth year!
I to his little cradle went, and went,
And even while 'twas sleeping, talked to it.
For when one's very old, one is a child!
Then took it up and placed it on my knees,
And with both hands stroked down its soft, light hair —
Thou wert not born then — and he would stammer

Night, raven-wing'd, usurps her peaceful reigs
Sleep's lenient balsam stills the voice of woe;
A keener breeze breathes o'er the lowly plain,
And pebbly rills in deeper murmurs flow.

The paly moon thro' yonder dreary grove,
The screech-owl's haunt, emits a feeble ray;
The plumy warblers quit the song of love,
And dangle, slumb'ring, on the dewy spray.

The mastiff, conscious of the lover's tread,
With wakeful yell the list'ning maid alarms,
Who, loosely rob'd, sorsakes the downy bed,

( " Ah! je le tiens enfin. " )

T HURLOW communicates the intention of Parliament to offer C ROMWELL the crown .
C ROMWELL . And is it mine? And have my feet at length
Attained the summit of the rock i' the sand?
T HURLOW . And yet, my lord, you have long reigned.
C ROM . Nay, nay!
Power I have 'joyed, in sooth, but not the name.
Thou smilest, Thurlow. Ah, thou little know'st
What hole it is Ambition digs i' th' heart!