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Poem	("Toujours lui! lui partout!") {XL., December, 1828.} Above all others, everywhere I see His image cold or burning! My brain it thrills, and oftentime sets free The thoughts within me yearning. My quivering lips pour forth the words That cluster in his name of glory— The star gigantic with its rays of swords Whose gleams irradiate all modern story. I see his finger pointing where the shell Should fall to slay most rabble, And save foul regicides; or strike the knell Of weaklings 'mid the tribunes' babble. A Consul then, o'er young but proud, With midnight poring thinned, and sallow, But dreams of Empire pierce the transient cloud, And round pale face and lank locks form the halo. And soon the Caesar, with an eye a-flame Whole nations' contact urging To gain his soldiers gold and fame Oh, Sun on high emerging, Whose dazzling lustre fired the hells Embosomed in grim bronze, which, free, arose To change five hundred thousand base-born Tells, Into his host of half-a-million heroes! What! next a captive? Yea, and caged apart. No weight of arms enfolded Can crush the turmoil in that seething heart Which Nature—not her journeymen—self-moulded. Let sordid jailers vex their prize; But only bends that brow to lightning, As gazing from the seaward rock, his sighs Cleave through the storm and haste where France looms bright'ning. Alone, but greater! Broke the sceptre, true! Yet lingers still some power— In tears of woe man's metal may renew The temper of high hour; For, bating breath, e'er list the kings The pinions clipped may grow! the Eagle May burst, in frantic thirst for home, the rings And rend the Bulldog, Fox, and Bear, and Beagle! And, lastly, grandest! 'tween dark sea and here Eternal brightness coming! The eye so weary's freshened with a tear As rises distant drumming, And wailing cheer—they pass the pale His army mourns though still's the end hid; And from his war-stained cloak, he answers "Hail!" And spurns the bed of gloom for throne aye-splendid! H.L. WILLIAMS.
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