Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 53, No. 331, May, 1843

If Jove at that moment had hurl'd
The earth in some other rotation,
Along with your Julia whirl'd,
You had felt not the shock of creation.

Learn this—that Philosophy beats
Sure time with the pulse—quick or slow
As the blood from the heyday retreats,—
But it cannot make gods of us—No!

It is well, icy Reason should thaw
In the warm blood of Mirth now and then,
The Gods for themselves have a law
Which they never intended for men.

The spirit is bound by the ties
Of its jailer, the Flesh—if I can
Not reach, as an angel, the skies,
Let me feel, on the earth, as a Man.

ROUSSEAU.[11 - Schiller lived to reverse, in the third period of his intellectual career, many of the opinions expressed in the first. The sentiment conveyed in these lines on Rousseau is natural enough to the author of "The Robbers," but certainly not to the poet of "Wallenstein" and the "Lay of the Bell." We confess we doubt the maturity of any mind that can find either a saint or a martyr in Jean Jacques.]

Oh, Monument of Shame to this our time,
Dishonouring record to thy Mother Clime!
Hail, Grave of Rousseau! Here thy sorrows cease.
Freedom and Peace from earth and earthly strife!
Vainly, sad seeker, didst thou search through life
To find—(found now)—the Freedom and the Peace.
When will the old wounds scar? In the dark age
Perish'd the wise. Light came; how fares the sage?
There's no abatement of the bigot's rage.
Still as the wise man bled, he bleeds again.
Sophists prepared for Socrates the bowl—
And Christians drove the steel through Rousseau's soul—
Rousseau who strove to render Christians—men.

FORTUNE AND WISDOM

In a quarrel with her lover
To Wisdom Fortune flew;
"I'll all my hoards discover—
Be but my friend—to you.
Like a mother I presented
To one each fairest gift,
Who still is discontented,
And murmurs at my thrift.
Come, let's be friends. What say you?
Give up that weary plough,
My treasures shall repay you,
For both I have enow!"
"Nay, see thy Friend betake him
To death from grief for thee—
He dies if thou forsake him—
Thy gifts are nought to me!"

THE INFANTICIDE

1.
Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady,
The clock's slow hand hath reach'd the appointed time.
Well, be it so—prepare! my soul is ready,
Companions of the grave—the rest for crime!
Now take, O world! my last farewell—receiving
My parting kisses—in these tears they dwell!
Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing,
Now we are quits—heart-poisoner, fare-thee-well!
2.
Farewell, ye suns that once to joy invited,
Changed for the mould beneath the funeral shade
Farewell, farewell, thou rosy Time delighted,
Luring to soft desire the careless maid.
Pale gossamers of gold, farewell, sweet-dreaming
Fancies—the children that an Eden bore!
Blossoms that died while dawn itself was gleaming,
Opening in happy sunlight never more.
3.
Swanlike the robe which Innocence bestowing,
Deck'd with the virgin favours, rosy fair,
In the gay time when many a young rose glowing,
Blush'd through the loose train of the amber hair.
Woe, woe! as white the robe that decks me now—
The shroud-like robe Hell's destined victim wears;
Still shall the fillet bind this burning brow—
That sable braid the Doomsman's hand prepares!
4.
Weep, ye who never fell—for whom, unerring,
The soul's white lilies keep their virgin hue,
Ye who when thoughts so danger-sweet are stirring,
Take the stern strength that Nature gives the few
Woe, for too human was this fond heart's feeling—
Feeling!--my sin's avenger[12 - "Und Empfindung soll mein Richtschwert seyn."A line of great vigour in the original, but which, if literally translated, would seem extravagant in English.] doom'd to be;
Woe—for the false man's arm around me stealing,
Stole the lull'd Virtue, charm'd to sleep, from me.
5.
Ah, he perhaps shall, round another sighing,
(Forgot the serpents stinging at my breast,)
Gaily, when I in the dumb grave am lying,
Pour the warm wish, or speed the wanton jest,
Or play, perchance, with his new maiden's tresses,
Answer the kiss her lip enamour'd brings,