

Specimens of French Poetry. 607 



Thou canst not have forgotten when thine ear 

 Hearken'd the news of my departure near ; 

 When from thy damask cheek the roses fled, 

 And when mine arms receiv'd thee almost dead, 

 While from thy breathless mouth I stole a kiss, 

 That was indeed an hour of bliss. 



If in thy garden now thou wand'rest all 

 The flow'rs the plants the shrubs my name recal 

 Unto thy mind as erst those flow'rs by thee 

 Were rear'd, with kind solicitude, for me : 

 Oh ! art thou reckless of their present bloom, 

 Indiff'rent to their sweet perfume ? 



And has the reminiscence of the day 

 When first I told my passion, pass'd away 

 When in mine own your trembling hand was placed, 

 When on your cheek the marks of tears were traced 

 Those tears of bliss that fill'd my heart with joy ; 

 How couldst thou such fond hopes destroy ? 



Reproach thyself for I can pardon yet 

 The transient love which taught thee to forget : 

 And if I lov'd thee first, 'twas you that gave 

 The hopes now buried in Oblivion's wave ; 

 And if the crowd were jealous of my bliss, 

 It ne'er foresaw a change like this ! 



BARON COPPENS. 



NAPOLEON'S COLUMN IN THE PLACE VENDOME. 



ON the foundation that his glory laid, 

 With indestructible materials made, 

 Alike secure from ruin and from rust, 

 Before whose splendour others are but dust, 

 Th' eternal column, tow'ring far on high, 

 Presents Napoleon's throne unto the sky. 



Well deem'd the hero, when his sov'reign hand, 

 Fatigued with war, the lasting trophy plann'd, 

 That civil discord would retire in shame 

 Before the vast memorial of his name, 

 And that the nation would forget to praise 

 The deeds of those who shone in ancient days. 



Around the earth his vet'rans he had led, 

 O'er smoking fields encumber'd with the dead ; ' 

 And from the presence of that host so true 

 Armies and kings in wild confusion flew, 

 Leaving their pond'rous cannon on the plain, 

 A prey to him and his victorious train. 



Then, when the fields of France again were trod 

 By him who came triumphant as a god, 

 Bearing the spoils of a defeated world 

 He came, 'mid joyous cries, with flags unfurl'd, 

 Welcome as eagle to the famish'd brood 

 That waits on mountain-top its daily food. 



