Edwardsville spectator. [volume] (Edwardsville, Ill.) 1819-1826, 1824-08-24
POETRY.
From Tie Boston Centinel.
On the Death ofLord Byron.
A FRAGMENT.

A FRAGMENT.
On the Death ofLord Byron.
As when tn autumnal tempest has over
thrown
Some deeply rooted and majestic oak,
Whose branches spread more widely, and
whose leaves
Were more luxurant. because it stood
Apart, exposed to all the elements;
While the weak willows, and the poplar rows,
And the thick groves of mean but clustered
Which how'd and Bonded with each blast, or
else
Depended on confederate force,
Have all withstood the tempest, and remain
So seems the world when we go forth, and
find
That Byron is no longer on the earth,
Where was the scene to which his glowing
mind
Did not give added vvidness of tint,
How nobly he withstood the mightiest shocks
OF envy, of malignity, and hate
The harness'd drudges whom the critics
whips
Have brought TO tame subsection, let them
run,
And wear existence out in servile steps,
AL Que Underwriting ROUND OF rule.
There is nobler fame than fautlessness,
The mirror may be faultess with no spots,
The solar disk is darken'd with them ever.
The comet which at times is child in space,
At times too bathes within the solar fount,.
Who says his course was devious, across
That Hellespont of personal abuse 7
Was there another arm so strongly nerv'd
As to have bufeted the violence,
The opposition of its full, foul waves
Who says his course was solitary, lone
Was there among the towards of his age,
One bosom that dared boldly breast with him
The current of an authorized abuse?
Ev'n though they ey'd the distant torch of
fame,
Hung forth to guide and welcome their APP
proach,
And knew that when the point had once been
gained
The lofty tower would be to them accessible.
Who is it says his heart was cold Ay, cold
Where is the Boosting one whose puny pulse
Would not have petrifed in those same waves
Which il is said did chill his once warm heart
Once warm Yes once, and ever to the last;
For though the life-blood of affection fled,
Driven from each vein, and forcefully thrown
back
In every artery, yet to that heart
Ii rolPd, and entered there, till its own warmth
Expanded it to such powerful swell.
1t would have burst the easement of that heart,
Had not deaths winter suddenly come on,
Contracted-yes and more. congea'd il there
They call'd Thee Misanthrope! would our
world
Had one such misanthrope remaining now
Where is he Call aloud that if he stands,
An ou.cast on the glowing Afric's sands,
Or if his bosom, bare and bleeding, lies
Shivering on the sheet of Arctic snow,
Or fpercbance inhospitably bedded
Upon the mattress of the polar ice,
He thence may come, or thence arise, and
speak,
In fearless majesty of dauntless pride,
Plain truths, in terms as plain, and as direct,
And boldly independent, as were his
Who's deep-toned voice has died away for
ever!
Where are the tongues that basely slander'd
him
They speak, while his is silent in the tomb.
What Byron in the tomb Is Byron there
Pale Fear appears less death-like, and SAYS, |
Yes
And envy with curling lip, says, Yes.
Inhibition, which has long been toiling upward,
NoW pauscS, ANU iOokS No"n upon tnS NoTiti,
And, as il breathes more freely, answers. Yes.
Hatred bestrides narrow spot of earth,
Then listens till silence shall assureit,
And then It's look declares Byron is dead.
Thou dreaded one Silence, like one vast
wave,
Roll'd round the earth, as pass'd the voice
which bore
To startled man the news of thy departure.
Ii seem'd as when we feel tn expiring blast
OF some tornado passing over us,
And wonder that we remain ourselves unhurt |
But bark the Dirge is swe ling from that
shore
Where, though unseen, Thou hast been I'm.
known,
Nor hast Thou been unhonor'd, Thou alon.
one
Save by -
The mournful tones are swelling solemnly.
And soon the western winds shall bear them
hence,
And Europe's high cathedral arches hear
Their deep-toned organs vibrating with sounds
Ascending first from freedoms noblest temple.
IT'S fit that here his Dirge should first be
heard;
For he was free; and freedoms noblest
friend.
And here are those who scorn to praise the
name
Ofthem they neither love, esteem, nor honor
Why did he dip his pen in Grecian tears,
And write in rainbow lines her destinyi
Why was he ready TO have grasp'd his sword,
To carve the story of her wrongs, and rights,
I'm the hard hearie of hpr ntlaec foar