Welsh Newspapers

Search 15 million Welsh newspaper articles

Hide Articles List

11 articles on this Page



LOVE, [From li The Beggar's Coin," a Poem, by J, R, Best, Esq,) THE loye of woman is a blessed thing, The heart of woman is a throne of power. Fond ana more fundly still, it loves to cling; And grows more fond where'er most dangers lower. Constant beyond this world's imagining Rich in all love-kind nature's bounteous dower: Our guardian angel-promise-guide in lifc- Our joy—hope—grace—pride—solace—home-star—Wife NAPOLEON. Among; the thousand-and-one compositions, in all languages, founded upon the sublime theme of the downfall and death of Napoleon, there are, we think, very few* which have surpassed in weight of thought, in splendour of diction, and in grandeur of versification, Pushkin's (Russia's greatest poet,) noble lyric ullon this subject The wondrous destiny is ended, The mighty light is quench'd and dead; In stonn. and darkness hath descended Napoleon's sun, so bright and dread. The captive King hath burst his prison- The petted child of victory And for the Exile hath arisen The dawning of Posterity. O thou, of whose immortal story Earth aye the memory shall keep, Now, 'neath the shadow of thy glory Hest, rest, amid the lonely deep A grave sublime nor nobler ever Couldst thou have found for o'er thine urn The Nations' hate is quenahed for ever, Anù Glory's beacon-ray shall bum, There was a time thine eagles tower'd 1> esistless o'er the humbled world There was a time the empires cower'd Before the bolt thy hand had hurl'd: The standards, thy proud wiII obeying, wrath and woe on every wind- A few short years, and thou wert laying Thine iron yoke on human kind. 01. AmI France, on glories vain and hollow, Had fixed her frenzy-glance of flame- Forgot sublimer hopes, to follow Thee, Conqueror, thee-her dazzling shame Thy legions' swords with blood were drunken- All sank before thine echoing tread; And Europe fell-for sleep was sunken, The sleep of death upon her head. » # Thou mightst have judged us, but thou wouldst not What dimm'd thy reason's piercing light, That Russian hearts thou understoodst not, IIrom thine heroic spirit's height 1 Moscow's immortal conflagration Foreseeing not, thou deem'dst that we Would kneel for peace, a conquer'd nation Thou knew'st the Rass .too late for thee Up, Russia, Queen of hundred battles, Uemember now thine ancient right! Blaze, Moscow !—Far shaÎ1 shine th; 1ighi! Lo other times are dawning o'er us Be blotted out, our short disgrace Swell, Russia, swell the battle chorus War Is the watchword of our race Lo how the haffied leader seizeth, W ith fetter'd hands, his Iron Crown- A dread abyss his spirit freezeth Duwn, down he goes, to ruin down AmI Europe's armaments are driven, Like mist, along the blood-stain'd snow- That snow shall melt 'neath summer's heaven, W ilh the last footstep of the foe, 'Twas a wild storm of fear and wonder, When Europe woke anù burst her chain; The accursed rare, like scatter'd thunder, After the tnant fled amain. And Nemesis a doom hath spoken, The 1Iighty hears that doom with dread: The wrongs thou hast done shall now be wroken, Tyrant, upon thy guilty head Thou shalt redeem thy usurpation, Thy Iong career of war and crime, In exile's heating desolation, Beneath a far and stranger clime. And oft the midnight sail shall wander By that lone isle, thy prison-place, And oft a stranger there shall ponder, And o'er that stone a pardon trace, Where mused the Exile, oft recalling The well-known clang of sword and lance, The yells, Night's icy ear appalling His own blue sJ,y-the sky of France W here, in his loneliness forgetting His broken sword, his ruin'd throne, With bitter grief, with vain regretting, On hi, fair noy he mused alone, But shame, and curses without number, r-pun that reptile head be laid, Whose insults now shall vex the slumber Of him-that sad discrowned shade No for his trump the signal sounded, Her glorious race when Russia ran; His hand. 'mid strife and battle, founded Eternal liberty for man Jlag4:cine.



ftgncttlture, &r.


[No title]


[No title]

[No title]