THE EXILE. AN ELEGY. WHERE, 'midst the ruins of a fallen state, The once famed Tiber rolls his scanty wave, Where half a column now derides the great, Where half a statue yet records the brave: With trembling steps an Exile wandered near, In Scottish weeds his shrivelled limbs arrayed; His furrowed cheek was crossed with many a tear, And frequent sighs his wounded soul betrayed. Oh, wretch! he cried, that like some troubled ghost Art doomed to wander round this world of woe, While memory speaks of joy for ever lost, Of peace, of comfort, thou hast ceased to know! These are the scenes, with fancied charms endowed! Far from the land of bliss and freedom stray. Would that, for yonder dome, these eyes could see The withered oak that crowns my native hill! These urns let ruin waste; but give to me The tuft that trembles o'er its lonely rill. Oh! sacred haunts! and is the hillock green Or is my little throne of moss away? Had but ambition, in this tortured breast, Thus had I lived the life my fathers led; Their name, their family, had not ceased to be; And thou, Monimia! on thy earthly bed!-- My name, my family, what were these to thee!-- Three little moons had seen our growing love, Urged by the brave, by fancied glory warmed, And joined the standard Charles had dared to rear. Fated we fought, my gallant vassals fell, But saved their master in the bloody strife; Their coward master, who could live to tell He saw them fall, yet tamely suffered life. Let me not think ;---but, ah! the thought will rise, Still in my whirling brain its horrors dwell, When pale and trembling, with uplifted eyes, Monimia faintly breathed---a last farewell! They come," she said; "fly, fly, these ruthless foes, And save a life, in which Monimia lives; Believe me, Henry, light are all her woes, Except what Henry's dreaded purpose gives! "And would'st thou die, and leave me thus forlorn, And blast a life the most inhuman spare? Oh! live in pity to the babe unborn, That stirs within me to assist my prayer!" What could I do? Contending passions strove, I fled and left her---left her to her fate! Fast came the ruffian band; no melting charm, The ruthless rage of party can disarm; Thy tears, Monimia, wanted power to save! She, and the remnant of her weeping train, Whose faithful love still linked them to her side, Torn from their dwelling, trod the desert plain, No hut to shelter, and no hand to guide. Thick drove its snow before the wintry wind, And midnight darkness wrapped the heath they past, Save one sad gleam, that, blazing far behind, Calmly she saw the smouldering ruins glare; "'Tis past, all-righteous God! 'tis past!" she cried; "But for my Henry hear my latest prayer!"--Big was her bursting heart;---she groaned, and died! Still, in my dreams, I see her form confessed, I hear that voice, I see that pale hand wave; I come once more to view my native shore; Stretched on Monimia's long-neglected grave, To clasp the sod, and feel my woes no more! No. 91. TUESDAY, March 21, 1780. Non quia, Macenas, Lydorum quidquid Etruscos Nec quod avus tibi maternus fuit atque paternus Ut plerique solent, naso suspendis adunco. HOR. IN estimating the conduct of men, we naturally take into account, not only the merit or blame of their actions, abstractedly considered, but also that portion of either which those actions derive from the situation of the persons performing them. Besides the great moral laws by which every man is bound, particular ranks and circumstances have their peculiar obligations; and he who attains ele |