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But O! how false and full of guile,
That world, which wore so soft a smile
But to betray!
She that had been his friend before,
Her charms away.
The countless gifts, -the stately walls, The royal palaces, and halls
All filled with gold;
Plate with armorial bearings wrought, Chambers with ample treasures fraught Of wealth untold;
The noble steeds, and harness bright,
In rich array,
Where shall we seek them now? Alas! Like the bright dewdrops on the grass, They passed away.
His brother, too, whose factious zeal
Unskilled to reign;
What a gay, brilliant court had he,
But he was mortal; and the breath,
Blasted his years;
Judgment of God! that flame by thee,
Spain's haughty Constable, the great And gallant Master, — cruel fate Stripped him of all.
Breathe not a whisper of his pride, -
The countless treasures of his care,
Hamlets and villas green and fair,
His mighty power,—
What were they all but grief and shame, Tears and a broken heart, when came
The parting hour!
His other brothers, proud and high,
Might rival kings;
Who made the bravest and the best
What was their prosperous estate,
With power and pride?
What, but a transient gleam of light,
So many a duke of royal name,
That might the sword of empire wield, All these, O Death, hast thou concealed In the dark grave!
Their deeds of mercy and of arms,
O Death, thy stern and angry face,
Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh, Pennon and standard flaunting high, And flag displayed;
High battlements intrenched around, Bastion, and moated wall, and mound, And palisade,
And covered trench, secure and deep,-
When thou dost battle in thy wrath,
O World! so few the years we live, Would that the life which thou dost give
Were life indeed!
Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast,
Our happiest hour is when at last
The soul is freed.
Our days are covered o'er with grief,
Veil all in gloom;
Left desolate of real good,
Within this cheerless solitude
No pleasures bloom.