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"• /ill :l '1, iLELSURp rfoUB* s> --v .♦*^ ^ **, I* #' J^-^ V <- 4 «3»~Mfc* !»,. ^ ^♦., %- ^ ,< f '■'***^*^ J .#■* ■'" •)A5 w ^ m T '1 (J w /- ^ S ¥2 3 7^13 *A * J ■'^. t 'i ' 1l: « '3' TO Oliver Goldsmith* fisqnire, AuthH of " The Rising Village" &c. and descendant of the Author of " The Deserted Village" the follow, ing effusions are dedicated, with the highest esteem and respect, • # By his obedient Servant, JOHN K. LASKEY. i }^ % ■« t m • • %-r '■■-• «' ■■%, ' 9 ^Kfc' irfiiM . £=. # • '♦ f /v ■ v. 4 -ft i i ^ / ? ''-r U PREFACE. In presenting the following pases (o the eve of the discerning reader, the Author cannot but feeT that diffidence which is ever felt, in a greater or less degree, by all who submit the productions of their intellectual powers to the criterion of public opinion. This diffidence, however, is somewhat abated, when he considers that the exalted character of the subjects, which occupy the principal portion of these sheets, must shield him fom the imputation of hav- ing devoted his kisure hotirs to the compositlni of levity, calculated onl^ to gratify the vitiated taste of the trifling reader ; and he waits not ^ the critic to inform him, that his " Muse" has failed to soar to tfpe lofty heights, which these subjects so majestically present. Of this, he is thoroughly convinced ; for the boldest attempts of poetry are feeble in comparison to the unspeakable grandeur which irradiates a theme 6o great as the Birtli of the Sa- viour, — or even Abraham offering his Son Isaac. " In great attempts, 'tis glorious e'en to fail ;" and the failure, in this instance, may be attributed as well to thi§ greatness of the writer's subjects, as to his deficiency in the sublime art of poetry. Having frequently directe'd his thoughts to many of these portions of the Sacred Volume, which aflford an extensive field for poetical imaginings, the Author is daily more confirmed in the opinion, that the Poet, who is possessed of a corresponding mind, can find nothing in the fabled lore of Greece and Rome, or any Heathen Mythology, in any way so suitable for the exercise of his intellectual faculties — ^The Death ofj(|bel — The Flood — The Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah — Christ Raising Lazarus — Paul's Departure for Jerusalem, (Acts xx, 32,) &c. are of this kind ; and he has it in contemplation to apply himself to the work of investing them wi|||| Poetic Dress, ana to proceed, at the same time with the continiilTOn of his " Scripture Melodies." With thfse views, he ventures to issue this little Work, as a precursor of som^jung less concise, and consuquently better adapt- ed to a fulfer inJR®"^^ °^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ °^ thought, which will be found to characterize the Poems already produced. It was the first design of the Author, when he thought of offer- ing his Poems to the Public, to publish a Volume comprising about 200 pages, with a number of Prose Sketches; but on maturer reflection, that the Public might judge of the merits or demerits of his compositions, he concluded to limit the Work to a few pages only. And now, after perusing these prefatory remarks, the Reader is requested to accompany the Writer through the pages now in his hand; and should he derive half the pleasure in their perusal, which was experienced in their composition, the desire of the Author will be amply gratified. ^ J. xV. Lj. St. John, N. B. 1835. 305!fi^ •' § ■$-\ rr.TTT-irn-Viiaai &Js^Tarfftai'arijjin'.-. w ^,: .*., Wy) • W' f^ f ♦ • *. . ■•. . f # t .# ';&.. t^ffSj .:"^^ t ifti iM wuiJ .Uii ii ....iL',.^ r t«' MARS' HILL. • i . .^ Thii Mountain ii about 35 mili§nearl^ North of Woodstock. The Boundary Line between BritisnAmertea and the United States passes over it. It is elevated 4bve the level country upwards of 2000 feet, and is the highest mountain in New^Brunswick. From its summit an exceedingly grand and beautiful prospect is afforded of the wilds of New-Brunswick and Maine. — The following Poem was written within full view of the Mountain, on my retitfo to the Province, aAer several years' absence. W ^ J. Iv. L. " High Mountains are a feeling." — Byron. The day has gone, and night is silv'ry robed ; For in the East the brilliant Queen of Love lias fixed her bright pavilion, and she reigns In lonely grandeur o'er the scenes of earth. The burning diamonds of her azure court Their glories have unveiled, and in their light And beauty, soft as love, that nightly Queen Alone is mistress of the cloudless heav'ns ; And I have wandered to a woody hill xo contemplate thy solitary pride, Yet grand and beautiful, thou Mountain wild, As now thou seem'st to me ! None hath sung thee ! As though thou wert some gloomy form eddied, And man, with thee, would hold no intercourse ! — But he may build the mountain-pyramid, And rear Colossus with a Titan-hand, . , • • , And raise mysterious Babel to the skies, — But what are they to thee / thou storm-god's throne, Dark forest-mountain isle, of Nature's art, Built in these ocean-wilds, these drear abodes, Where Desolation sweeps his stormy wing ! And while I contemplate thee, mountain wild ! Stupendous vestige of another world ! if,dK-'' • # »'*'ip< 6 MARS HILL. Thoughts crowd into my mind of ages past : — Where wast thou 1 when the Great Creator said " Let there be light !" or when his mighty deep Gathered its waves together, m He spake, With dread amazement then upraisea thy form To look upon His work Y or when His flood To ruin swept a dark, rebUlious world, Did'st thou a monument against them rise ?— Philosophy would teach us thou didst stand, Through countless ages ere man had a being ; i^hil some convulsion of this mighty globe. Has wrought thee as thou art ; that others may Around thee rise, and thou yet disappear, As sinks the bark amid an ocean -storm ; — That ancient nations may have trod thy plains, And gazed on thee with rapture, as I gaze. And, with a singleness of heart sincere. That well becomes the humble penitent, Poured out their worship to the King of kings, Who knoweth whether yet thy wilderness Shall fade away, and fruitful fields appear ! — It may be so ! for as I look on thee. There comes a voice that speaketh to the soul, ' All ! all must change /* — The world was glorious — Was far more glorious and great than now : Each nation had its rnighty men of war, ^^ Pouring their myriads on the battle-field ; And men ^d pow'r like angels, and their souls Broke from the feeble bounds their vision gave — Created worlds, and peopled every sphe e With beings of strange fency, and strange power ; And every song ehey sang flowed like a tide. Rich, strong, and deep, enchanting all who heard.- But Empires rise and vanish ! Babylon, And Nineve were strong, and sent their wealth Over proud Persia, and the Eastern seas, As armaments of greatness. Caithage, too. Like to the constellation where the Lion # ,J^^.'< ^* .M^ •T '"'•' i *■ i » U i MARS HILL. 7 Flames and careers, and rages in his power, Looked on the world from her own jewelled home As Leo on the train of Pleiades. And Thebes, who sat rich mistress of old Nile, Proud " City of the Sun" — Busiris' home, Pouring forth armies through her hundred gates, Was in her Eden-land like a strong isle That braves the fury of the temnest-wave, And heeds it not, but shines on m its pride. And Syria's crown, Palmyra of the east, . ^ The desert- rb ►wn eari HEBBGW ANTHOLOGY. t^ He felt how strong was God, — how dread His power, When risen to take vengeance on the earth ; That but His frown was death — His smile a life That kn6w no sorrow, but the feeble ills, That nature fetters on the contrite heart That owns His worship ; and 'twere better far To feel that God was his, and would withhold No blessing from the worshipper ; that He Keeps all the destinies of man, and lules His universe of wonders with an eye That sweeps at once its glories. And again, ])eeply and fervently, went up his prayer, Breathing " Thy will be done /" — Then he arose And walked his garden-grove^ and passed the night In prayer and meditation. — Morning flung His cloudless beams upon the dewy earth, And glowed the desert of Beersheba, With pearl-drops of the night. The cedar rose In lofty pride, and peer'd above the clouds. The palm, and rich pomegranate bent their boughs, As played the morning zephyrs with the dews That glistened on their leaves ; and sweetly there. Among the branches, sang the feathered choir ; And from Philistia's plains, the morning airs Brought a rich fragrancy upon their wings. The hum of early bees was on the air, As roamed they for the honied dews that slept Upon the fruit-trees, and the blooming flowers Within the grove of Abraham. And high Towered up the eagle in the morning's blaze. As sought she for her prey. The pitying stork Passed to the wilderness, as on his winga He bore his aged sire. The patriarch Gazed on with tenderness and wept, for he Had felt that when the hand of time should seal . , His brow with deeper age, thus would his boy Nurture his feeble sire. — His eldest-born Was, for him, sent an outcast from his home, ^. ' ■ ;..Ai^ I'e HEBREW ANTHOLOGY. To wander in the wilderness ; and now It was the will of Heav'n that he should alay, With his own hand his tenderly loved son, And offer him in sacrifice. Oh ! then He felt how lonely was his pilgi linage ; — And all the father's heart was t)roken up — The soul's deep fount of feeling, and he wept And called upon his God to spare his son, His only son, if it were possible ; For now he loved him with a father's joy, And built high hopes upon his future life ; And weie it thus his fate, to bleed and die, Oh ! would that Heav'n could spare the dreadful deed To be accomplished by ^father's hand ! The patriarch wept aloud, — and as one doomed To feel the wrath of an offended king, To wander from his own dear, native home, And leave its treasures there, — his wife and babe. Whom he had loved too tenderly to tell, But with quick tears of rapture, and to feel That they were sundered ever from his eyes,--- To see no more the melting innocence That robed his smiling boy, or know the voice. And priceless love that long had made his home, And were his heart's rich jewels, — as he feels The arrowed truth rush on his yearning soul, He Writhes in agony and bitter tears, — Thus nature wrung the aged father's heart, As mourned he for his boy. — The morning meal Was ready, and they gathered round the board. The patriarch looked to heav'n, and of his God Calmly he craved a blessing ; but a tear Stole from its troubled rest, as woman's smile Springs from a heart of sorrow, when the world Has severed the last tie that chained her soul To but one treasure, and her lonely lot To pine in secret, like a stricken dove, And smile, — if yet one pleasure bid her smile — Oh ! could you see her spirit's mould'ring urn. * . f eeJ HEBREW ANTHOLOGY. 17 And see the quick smile rushing to her cheek, You'd say that purest heav'n were dwelling there !— The simple meal was ended. — Isaac camo From out the garden-grove, where he had been To pluck the ripe fig, and the juicy grape, As tokens for his mother. — Sarah smiled. And tenderly she kissed her lovely boy ;— But mourned the father — and the inner tent He walked apart, as would some lonely on© Seeking communion with departed friend, And groaned in spirit : — and again the tear Rushed quickly to his eye. Sarah had felt That grief preyed on his spirits, but she thought He mourned for /im, whom she had sent away, His eldest son, an outcast from his home ; And now she asked if for him thus he mourned t Then Abraham told her 'twas the will of God,— And he had sent His angel in the night — That he should go, and on Moriah's hills Offer a stacrifice, and his loved son Must journey with him through the forest drear. The anxious mother asked why thus her son Must journey through the lonely deseit-wilds ? But Abraham replied " 'tis HecwWs loill. And. we must not refuse V obey that wilV* He gathered then his servants, and in prayer, His soul went up to God, to ask the grace That would support his spirit, and allay The murmurings of nature, and protect, As on he journeyed thro' the wilderness j And while far distant from his happy home. That He would shield it from the wrongs of foes. Then he arose, and for his journey, stored The scrip with food ;— with water from his well (1) A vessel filled ; and clave the offering-v/ood ; And made him ready for Moriah's hills. Sarah again embraced her lovely boy, (I) Genesis xxi— 30. b2 18 HEBREW ANTIIOLOOY. And asked her God to bless liirn ; for she feared The lonesome wilderness with danger fraught, And wept again, as she had not yet wept. To Heav'n's will the patriarch was resigned. And now assured the mother God would shield From every ill her darling's life and his. — The son and sire had parted. Through tlio wilds, That border on Philistia, they took Their onward way, and on the western plains Of Mamre, made their resting-place that night. The moon's bright lamp above them, gave the sky Its wonted brilliancy. The barren hills, That stretch along the sea from Lebanon, Rose high above them in their beauteous pride. As glowed their crystal-tops, like snowy clouds Fraught with the sunlight of a vernal day. All sweetly slumbered, but the patriarch, For he had wandered to a distant hill That overlooked the sea, and the broad plains, (1) Where dwelt he once, when Heav'ns high mesfpngers Foretold the birth of Isaac. As he looked With eye intent on the familiar scenes. Then memory brought the joys of other days; And there he thought how peaceful was his lot, And full of promised happiness. Alone And unmolested, as he worshipped God, His days passed sweetly on. He sought to know Beyond all knowledge, the high will of Go3. He thought on Death as a sweet messenger, Sent from above to call him to that home. To which he longed to go. But when he knew That heav'n would bless him in his riper age In giving him a son, he felt that life Was a sweet boon indeed. — The silver sea. That laved Philistia's western shores, was calm And lovely in its rest. The full-orbed moon. And the bright beaming of the cloudless stars, (1) Gen. xiii — 12, xiv — 13, nnd xviii — 1. UGBREW ANTHOLOGY. If) t 4 3, rs Had fallen upon its bosom. Every breeze Was bushed, as though it felt a 8pirit-form Was bonding from above to make the earth A resting place that night. And thus the sire, As on the beauteous scenes around he gazed, Felt that the warring passions of his heart, Should be as calm, when the full light of heaven Breaks on the soul. He looked upon his home, And sighed and inly wept, for now he felt That all its charms were gone, and ho was left A lone and wretched one ; and soon the deed Would be accomplished, which would make his name A by-word and a curse ; and those, who sought His favour and his friendship, as a fiend Would shun him, in whose bosom, dark and deep, Lay passions, which the heart should never feel To thrill its life-blood once. — To slay his son. With the same hand, which oft had led the boy From early infancy, were a dark deed, That would war with his conscience, and dethrone The reason of his soul. — As he must bleed, His only son, and, by the altar's flame, In sacrifice to Heav'n, be consumed, It would be sweet to die, and let the deed Be executed by another's hand. And yet he did not murmur — He had seen Jehovah's wrath consume the fruitful plain (1) Of Jordan and its cities, and he knew It tvas their sins that caused their overthroto / — But yet he looked not on the beauties, thrown So gloriously around him — The bright stars. With all night's splendour, were to him a death That preyed upon his soul ; for other days, In which he led his boy among the fields To look upon the spangled firmament, (2) Rushed quickly to his mind. Yet he was calm, And all resigned to Hea'vn's supreme command ; But still within him lived a father's heart, (1) Gen. xiii— 10. (2) Gen. xxiv-^3. 80 UEBRKW ANTHOLOOT. Telling how quenchless is its flame divine !— A cloud that veiled the brightness of the moon, Passed down the eastern sky ; and as he looked llpon its gloomy form, the ruined plain, As fell the moonlight on it, caught his gaze. Again he thought upon the wrath of God — The burning of that fire, which came from heaven, And overthrew the cities. And again The patriarch bowed submissively in prayer, And breathed again, thy will, O God ! be done !••• Thou art the Righteous Judge of all the earth !" (l) # Morning was up again with all its beams ; And when the meal was closed, they journeyed on. To seek Moriah's hills. Another eve Came with its brightness o*er the blooming earth ; And the wayfarers tarried for the night Beside the brook of Eschol. Abraham, When the repast of evening had closed, Bowed with his servants and his son, in prayer ; And there before his God, poured out his soul. Then he arose and called his smiling boy, And to his bosom pressed him tenderly ; And told him they should, on the coming day, Be at their journey's end. A joyous smile Beamed on his face, for now he thought of home. His mother, and the ones (2) with whom he played, Making his home a world of happy hours, And thought he of no other. But the heart Of Abraham was stayed upon his God, And calmly all resigned, though now he felt How full of hopes uncertain were the days * Of his beloved boy. How dark a veil Hung o'er his life, and yet he knew it not ; — Perchance another sun might be the last To jset upon his childhood. — Weariness, Through many a painful hour, and sleepless night, (1) Gen. ixiii— 25. (2)Gen. xiv--14. HEBREW ANTHOLOGY. 21 ' At last o'ercame ^he fatlier, and he slept ; And when he 'woke, the rosy blush of morn Had tinged the face of nature. Pearly dews, On the rich palm-trees bending o'er the stream, Hung like the stars of a soft, summer-night — Though not so richly grand, as beautiful, The sky- work of some spirit-hand, it seemed. . The feijtliered songster sang his morning l^mns Of gratitude and praise, on every tree. The turtle-dove was perched upon the palm That thiew its shade about him, wooing there The parent of his young. The patriarch Felt all was beautiful, — though not to him The morning's beauty, as it oft had been ; — And thanked the (lod of nature for his love And goodness to His creatures — for the peace. That was within him now, he never know. — He felt the God he worshipped could not err. And yet would bless the remnant of his days. — High in the distance rose Moriah's hills Bright streaming in the sunlight. Abraham Beheld them and departed. (1) Long before The sun had left the sky, Moriah's top Before them tow'red in grandeur. There they paused (2 And made them ready to ascend the mount. Clouds gathered roimd the mountain, and the sky Grew dark and lowering. Lightning flashed around, And thunders pealed, resounding through the sky. As up the hill they trod, oft paused the boy, Bearing the offering- wood. (3) The evening breeze Played with his silken tresses, as it swept The mountain's cloudy top. And as the boy Bore on the offering- wood, he asked his sire Where was the lamb for sacrifice ? (4) Replied The sire, God will provide HimftcJJ'a lamb, (o) And when the mountain's lofty top was gained, They built an altar — laid thereon the wood ; (6) ^ (1) Gen. xxii— 4. (4) Gen. xxii — 7. (2) Gen. xxii— .5. {'^) Gen. xxii— 6. (5) (»en. xxii— H, (f>) sec remuininjj rhnp. MOThaM mum 22 WlflBir AXTHOLrtOf And then the hour was coui. n which the tire ^ Should n\aj his mly son. He called the boy, And laid hin n the pile, and raised the knife To take his lno away. His spiiit's power,— The feeling, thaf '^ft swayed the father's heart, Was gone ; and as tii thunders broke again, And shook the mount, and the fierce lightnings flashed, With awful dread around, he felt that God, — Jehovah, — had come down to save his son, For He would not thus make the elements To war with mortal man, while His command, — His Holy Will, the creature sought to do.— And as tho thunder broke again, and deep. He turned him and beheld a flaming cloud Circling a radiant form. — Broke forth a voice. Within the burning cloud, **Jbrbear / forbear ! Slay not thy Son / — God from his lofty throne Has seen thee do His will ; and now the world May know that God is Great, and thou dost fear him !" And as the patriarch turned himself to look, He saw a Jamb entangled ;• — on the pile, — Tne altar ready, there he offered it, A sacrifice instead of his loved son— Oh I what stupendous love and grace had Heaven In rich reseive for man ! — Ages passed on, 'And came the day, when on Moriah's hills, The Son of the Most High, in sacrifice, The Lamr of God, that cleanseth from all sin, Was offered for the guilt of a lost world ! 23 NO. 11. BIRTH OF THK 8AVIO|;H. " And there wai in the lame country Hhepiii^rds ebidtiiK in the flftld, keeping watch over tirair flocks by iii^ht ; and In th« tmgel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory oi he Lord hi luiie round about them, and they wore wore afraid ; and the angel laid unfo thorn. Fear not. for behold I bring yon good tiding of great joy, which fihnll be to all people ; for unto you ie burn this day in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Chriit, the Lord." Luke, 11 cht^—9 to II 9. The snti liiif] laid his brow on £v'ning*s breast, And sudi a night as soon would robe the world, Wns not u^)on the earth, since that wliich closed T^ J work of its creation, — when the stars Gemmnd the new firmament like diamond- world« ; When heav'n's enraptured hosts paused in their themes Of adoration and high mystery, To join in chorus, and a louder song. Ana shout for joy o'er new-created woHds, — (1) As that which came upon Judea's hills, The birth-night of our God. — There swept a flood Of living radiance from the cloudless moon, ' Across night's canopy, adorned with stars, So glorious, so grandly, beautiful, It seemed the gates of heav'n had opened wide. To cast its brightness on the curtained world And win man back to bliss ! — Jerusalem, Upon Moriah's hill, where Abraham Once took his only son to offer him (2) ^" saciiiice to God, — gleamed through the night. And was the traveller's welcome beacon-star, As trod he to the city. Slowly walked Up Olivet's green hills, as plucked they oft TJrie fresh grass and the grape-leaves, which had grown (1) Job xxxviii— 7. (2) ii Cbron. iii— 1. € mtmm' 24 HKBUnW ANTHOLOGY. \ Beside the way, — the laden caravan, With Zidon's marl, and robes and dyes of Tyre, And paused without Jerusalem, — for now The gates were closed, and on its towered walls g^ The sentinels were watching. Proudly rose King Herod's marble-palace with its domes ; And fell its shadows like blue, silken clouds, That, in their softness, had been wooed to earth, To press its pulseless bosom. Richly shone The clear moonbeams, as slept they on the flowers Within the hanging gardens of the King, Now giving out their fragrance to the breeze. That, like a spirit, walked the dewy earth, To revel in its beauty. Grandly rose. Above King Herod's palace and its towers, The glorious temple of King Solomon ; And as if conscious of the thoughts of heav'n. The prophecy oft said within its walls, That God, JEternal, should appear on earth, Seemed now to raise its consecrated form Up to angelic homes, to know if this Were not the birth-night of the Infant God. Through the arched windows streamed the rich moon- licrht^ And softly blended with the golden hues. Thrown from the holy oracle of God.' The lofty ceiling overlaid with gold. And the carved cherubim upon the walls. The golden chariots v^^hich around them stood, The palm-trees, and the flower's, the brilliant stones, The marble-pillars and the sea of brass. All like the sinle.ss home of angels, shone ; And on the brazen altar, radiantly. The moonbeams, glimmering like a sea of gold, Its grandeur and its holiness revealed. The prayers were gone, the deep and fervent prayers By woman said, (1) — but for the sins of man — For 'twas the calm of midnight, yet there was (1) Luke 11—37. HEBREW ANTHOLOGY. 25 n- « ■ i< Still left a fragrance of the incense burnt. There hung the veil, that parted many an eye, That flashed as bright, and many a heart as wam.% As those of Jewish maidens. How it hung, Suspended from the lofty ceiling down And trailed the marble-floor ! And yet how strange That it should part the Gentile from the Jew, And veil the holy things of life and heaven,^ The worship of Jehovah, who had deigned To own the temple with His presence bright ! O ! how mysterious and how fathomless Are the high workings of the mind of God ! — It was a glorious night, and such a night. Light, shade, the stars, love, beauty, in their league, Could never form to robe the midnight-world ! The Highest had smiled on the nightly world And now that smile was flashing through the sky. In light and love incomprehensible. For with our nature He had clothed His Son ! This was His birth-night, but His death would show The glory of His grace ! That parting veil Should be, by pow'r unseen, asunder riven !— (1) How beautiful and glorious then appeared God's dwelling place with mortals ! — Silence reigned In solemn and in lonely majesty. The tow'rs in proud sublimity arose. And frowned upon the sleeper, that lay couched Beneath the shady palms, or on the grass, The weary Gentile, who had hither come To seek a home within Jerusalem. Silence hung o'er the city, like a cloud; And sleep had lulled each mortal with its charms. To its forgetfulness, save the lone watcher, The Roman sentinel, upon the walls, "With spear and armour, gleaming in the night, And 'Casting down their brightness to the earth, As to-and-fro' he trod. (1) Matthew xxvii?-51. C i ■ i ! \ t 26 HBBREW ANTHOLOGl. And Lebanon, With its old consecrated forest-groves, In beauty and magnificence appeared. ^. [ts blooming vales lay stretched away, beneath, Griving their fragrance to the midnight-hour. Bright shone the bosom of Genesaret ; 4nd like a scroll of silver it was spread, Unrolled away to its green, shady banks, WTiere bent the long reeds, and the willow-boughs Whose sweeping leaves lay on the silver sea, Like the soft cheek of childhood, in its dreams. Upon the mother's breast. Old Jordan's waves Were hushed to softer murmurs in their course. The waving grassy that bent o'er its rich banks, And down the verdant hills, wooed the soft breeze. That swept its silken tresses, as it passed From Gilead's palmy vales, to wander where The spicy flow'rs of Jewish gardens, slept. There went up wreathing curls of vapour, flung From Ephraim's pure fountains, clustering round The old grey rocks of Olivet, and fell In silver-pearl drops on its garden-groves. Where bloomed the myrtle and the juicy fig, Half hid in its green foliage : there the myrrh |\.nd the rich aloes threw upon the air Their breath of fragrance, that went up to heaven, -^ living incense, holier far than that Offered on Jewish altars. Bethlehem lay In Ephraim's rich valley like a star Within its home of beauty. On its plains The shepherds yet unwearied kept their flocks, A happy band of kindred, unskilled in The wars and the deceits of the great world. Their music now was hushed, and they reclined Together, as their snowy flocks lay crouched * Beneath the sycamore and broad palm's shade, Upon the dewy grass. And now they held Communion with each other, on the werks, w IS e, HEBREW ANTHOLOGY. 27 The beautiful and the mysterious works, Of the Great God. They gazed upon the stais, As Babylonia's shepherds watching them, The clustering constellations pointing out, From where Aquarius pours his wat'ry urn. To where the North Star points the rolling earth. As they looked upward to the glorious spheres, A thrill of holy rapture wanned each heait ; And then the language sung upon the hills Of old Jerusalem in midnight-walks, By Israel's devout and holy Bard, Burst forth again with rapture : " What is man ! That Thou, Jehovah ! should'st e'er notice him. When I consider these, which thou hast made The moon and stars, Thy wisdom's handiwork !" — (1) Then they remembered what the prophet said, {2) That He, who stretched those sliining heav'ns abroad, Would be incarnate and Judea's King ; — It was to them a mystery how He Would come, Jehovah, and could dwell with men, When he, who said that God should reign on earth, (3) Bowed down with awe and said he should not live. For he had seen the dazzling of His throne, The burning glory of its mighty King, And seraphs melting with His holy praise. Then that deep silence, which he only knows. Whose soul has seen the stoppings of his God, And felt that He was nigh, — ^fell on their hearts. As bowed they down to worship, lo ! there comes A brightness shot like lightning from the sky ; And then a rush of air, and stronger glow Of radiance fell upon them. — But, behold ! An angel bends his burning wing to earth ! Clouds, shadowless, wait on him, such as veiled The High and Holy One on Sinai's top. — Fear seized upon the shepher<3s, and they fell Prostrate upon the earth, speechless with awe. — " Fear not" ! in glory, burst the angel's voice, »• 1 ■>■) ^ OUIIllOy Tlil- =3. /o\ Ion ;v a i^\ Tan VI 28 HEBREW ANTHOLOGY. Behold I bring you tidings of great joy, Which shall be to all nations ! Now is born In Bethlehem, a Saviour, Christ, the Lord ! And by this ye may know it : ye shall find Him in his birth-robes in a manger laid !" — But while he spake, there swept the glowing sky Harps of celestial minstrelsy. A choir Of seraphs left their worship round the throne Of God, to mingle in the blissful theme Of higher praise and glory to their King. They came in robes of burning brilliancy Of heav'n's bright glory, such as they had worn Since time was but a thought, and lay enshrined Within Jehovah's mind. Such holy grace. With which they swept their harps of richest gold. The spirit's high imaginings never knevvr ! — O ! how their holy songs pealed through the night, With highest praise of melody, for bliss — Such bliss, as ntever swelled their harps before, — That God would save His creature, man, from woe. By sending down to earth His only Son To be incarnate and to bleed and die, — Had fallen upon them now. — " To God" ! they sang, " Glory in highest strains !" — O ! sweeter far than man Had ever fancied in sublimest dreams Of melody and bliss, did those sweet strains, Those tidings of a world's salvation, come Forth from their spirit-voices and bright harps ! — And higher still they sang, and brighter glowed The glory unsubdued, that clothed them round. — The plains of David, like a diamond-sea, Streaming with brilliancy, that on them fell, All beautifully lay, and flinging up O'er Ephraim's hills its brightness. The broad sky Hung like a sheet of burning glass, unrolled, And seemed as though 'twere dropping to the earth, The chariot-clouds, that winged the angels down, IIEBKEW ANTHOLOGY. 29 ,ky '* ht, oe, sang, 1 sky irth, Together, as these glorious harpers lay Upon them, and enwreathed with their cymars. — " Glory to God ! and on the earth good will, And peace to man !" broke from their harps again ; And then they faded, as the sun would set, With all his brightness, mildly from the world. Still from their harps came the sweet minstrelsy. As pealed it rapt'rously through the bright sky, Until the gates of heav'n received them from The gazing shepherds. — Then a moveless joy Came over the night-watchers, for the songs Hymned by the heav'nly choir, thrill'd thro' their souls And, drying up the sources of expression, Melted their hearts in ecstacy of bliss ! They bowed themselves down to the fresh, green earth, And worshipped God, for his stupendous love In sending to the world his only Son, Made known to them by angels. — Morn was up In all his glory o'er Judea's hills. His golden blush of dawn was flung upon Bethlehem's blooming-gardens. Far away, High in the flash of the ascending sun. Hung clouds o'er Ephraim's mountains, gracefully Wreathing the soft sunlight. And Bethlehem, The city of King David, was bathed in The flood of morning's beams. Its castle-walls, (1) The ruins of its tow'rs, and palace, streamed ' In the sun's gorgeous light ; and through the Inn (2) Of Bethlehem, the morning radiance shone. And fell upon a cherub infant there. That slept within a manger. — Oh, how soft And beautiful the slumbers on him pressed ! — (1) Chroii. xi.— 5. (2) " The Inns, noentioned in the Scriptures, were the same as the Caravansaras of the East, of the present day, — in which travel- lers can rest themselves, and find shelter for their cattle. The Sa- viour was born in one of these places, at Bethlehem ; and as all the rooms were full, bis parents were obliged to take shelter in a cattle shed.'' " Manners and customs of (he Jews" c2 80 HEBREW ANTHOLOGY. ? - ■ } [* J ■ . ^ The lofty palaces of kings have seen The birth of roonarchs,' but they suited not, As did the lowliness of that rough stall, The birth-place of the Infant God of Heaven ! The snowy flocks upon Bethlehem's plains, "Wandered, unguided, o'er the dewy fields, — Fdr now the shepherds had departed, and With haste they trod the road to Bethlehem. They knew the Inn, and round the manger pressed Where, as had said the angel, lay the babe ; And, as upon the Infant Majesty They looked, there verged a circle round his head Of rays of heav'nly glory, like the glare That circled, erst, the seraph-choir they heard Praising and glorifying God, upon The midnight-plains— -but yet a thousand tiwes More pure and beautiful. With melting hearts Of joy, they worshipped there, the infant God, And giving glory to the King of Kings, For His stupendous love, that He had shown In sending down His Son, the IJrince of Heaven, To be a Saviour for a fallen world. Their souls broke forth in rapture, and they sang ** Glory and honour to thU Internal King /"— As they departed from the Babe of Heaven, The foliests and the hills, in echoes sweet. Answered their joyful songs, as they returned To spread the tidings of the Saviour'^ Birth. # i- i led, id < V g Scripture Melodies. :'tW m ► -V s 1 1 i 32 SCRIPTURE MELODIES. No. 1. THE BLEEP OP DEATH. " There the wjiary be at rest"— J06. iii— 17. O when from life's sky, the last sunbeam has vanished, And darkness comes down like a storm on the sea, And the spirit now seems to be lonely and banished, And the world rolls its billows unbroken and free, O how sweet to the sleeper will th?" be the rest. To lie low in dust, earth's funei oal home. While the spirit has gone to the \';orld of the blest. To join in its songs and partake of its bloom ! And thus should the weary one rest, in his sleep, Untroubled and ^alm, like an infant's repose !— Life's ocean its billows still onward may sweep. And darkly may bum the deep anger of foes, But they all are unhear'd. — To the dull voice of Time, No echo the home of the slumb'rer shall give ; — Not a sound that it hears ever comes from life's clime. It is heard in a world where the spirit may live ! Oh ! then who would wake up the dreamer of bliss. To pass through earth's valleys all lonely again ! — For the dark deeds of life, might, perchance, have been his, And the hot pulse of hatred rush through ev'ry vein ! O, wake not the dreamer i but let him sleep on ! And though by his slumbers the eye hath grown dim. And the heart ceased to feel, and the spirit be gone, Still, " the clods of the vale shall be sweet unto him !" il 1- ■ I ■I i I 33 No. II. BEYOND THE TOMB. " And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the Throne oFGod and the Lamb. And in either aide of the river was there the Tree of Life. *"* And there shall be no night there ; and they need no candle, neither the light of the sun ; for the Lord God giveth them light ; and they shall reign for ever and ever." Revelations zxii. How bright is the land which no mortal has seen, With its streams ever flowing, and fields ever green, — Where none ever go but the spirit of love, — Is the home of our hearts ! the fair Eden above ! In the midst of that Eden a crystalline river, Flows out from the throne of the King, and forever ; And, as onward it goes to eternity's ocean, There are melody, beauty, and life in its motion. And the sunlight ne'er falls on that Paradise-clime, It is far, far b«yond the revolving of Time ; But the King of that world gives it brightness and joy, Which no cloud can obscure, and no grief can alloy ! Oh ! then, who would stay in this dark world of woe, And ne'er seek the home of the blissful to know 1 Where the weary one ever from sorrow may rest, And unite, in adoring the King, with the blest ! « .# I .1 POEMS, Descriptive, &c. ♦ '1^ m 36 TO THE DEPARTED SPIRIT OV A FRIEND. " Leavei havo their time to fall, And flowera to wither at the North wiod'a breath ; And atari to let — but all — Thou haat aU aeaiona for thy own, oh Death." Mrs. Hbmans. 'Tis done at last ! Consumption's wasting hand Has, in thy bright career, arrested thee i And now, while I'm alone, and it is night. And yonder glorious blazonry of stars Comes like a spirit-vision to the earth, Robing the world with splendor, I would turn From all the grossness of this dreamy life. To mingle converse with thee ; for I feel Thou art my spirit's guardiar, and dost watch, As bending often from thy sphere of light And beauty, none but angels ever knew. — Then I would ask of thee, friend of my youth, Lorenzo ! say, is thine abode of light, Pure, bright, and beautiful, without one shade. As soft and paarly as the light cast down From the full crescent of a cloudless moon 7 Are there no stars to shed their glory down And gem the pathway of thy upper flight, Like pearls that glitter in the diadems Of the adoring myriads, that bow down And worship round the dazzling throne of God ? Is that a clime of never-changing bloom. With skies of radiant mildness, soft and pure ? Are there nu sunny streams, with golden shores, Save that which flows out from the throne of God 1 And are there living fountains, where the heart, Wounded and broken, will again be healed 1 Or are there none among thy happy throng, Now weary, who have^left this vale of tears, Their dear hopes blasted, and aflections crushed ? — None — none ! — it is a world of endless bliss — i TO THE DEPARTED KPfRIT OF A FRIEND. 37 Nought, nought of earth is thei e ! — iho' lh«re are clouds Tinged with the (juenchless light that is slied down Upon those plains of golden beauty, whero The Paradise of (rod forever blooms. And chungelcss verdure knows the tree of life. There are no stars, but tlu^se that gem the crowns Of angel-worshippers, that ever bow Before the throne of heaven, or glitter on The pearly gates and canopy of gold Of that eternal world.— And 'tis a clime Of ever-sunny mildness, and whose skies. Cloudless and pure, bend down their sapphire-light. And there are streams that gladden Paradise, And angels stooping, as they sing, to taste. — Oh, then, the joys of earth, how transient they ! How insignificant ! compared with those Of that bright world, where thou art, happy one ! Then how, Lorenzo, could I wish thee back From thine own home of light and purity, Profusely shed from heav'n's all-glorious Sun, Where not a sigh disturbs thy raptVous smiles ! Nor can the visions, bright and beautiful. That gild the wings of Hope of mortal clime. Once mingle with thy glorious songs of praise ! But thou art gone ! — gone ere the glass of Time Had numbered out thy fleeting years one score. — Thine was a life of spotless purity ; And in thy bold imaginings of thought. And thy wild visions of the fancied bliss Of thousands, thou would'st ])ause, and say to me, • It is not realJ — And thy deep solitudes Were the still groves, and streams, and woody lawns. And meadows sere, and mountain-majesty. — Thy spirit panted for the richer draughts , Of the pure streams, that flow out from the springs Tl^ everlasting beauty. And thy thirst Was deep, burning, and insatiable, for those Sweet waters tliat refresh the weariness r fi li J, i 38 TO THE DBPARTEO SPIRIT OF A FRIEND. Of life. Thy weary hours and waking nights Of studious toil, oft passed in treasuring up The classic lore of Athens and of Rome ; But most thy ardent hope, that thou would'st quench Thy spirit's thirst upon their golden shores, And roam amid their ruined beauty ; — these, Alas ! thy hopes and wishes, passed from thee, Like the soft radiance of a summer cloud, ♦^ . Darkened rnd driven by the rising storm ! — All — all have vanished, — and, perchance, thy friends May soon forget how thou wast stirred within, By Hope's pervading spirit ; and thy Mother, Thy Sister, too, long may lament and sigh For thy return from the abode of spirits. — Lorenzo ! we were friends together here ; And now that thou art gone, I fancy oft I hear thy voice, like low soft echoes from Oblivion's shadows, whispering around, As if to summon me, from this lone world. To thine abode of bliss. It stirs my soul Within me, and, Lorenzo, had I povirer, Fain would I call thee back to earth's loved scenes ; But would'st thou have me now, Lorenzo, seek The beauty of the budding blossoms, spread O'er Nature's blooming garden, and to wreathe A sunny garland for my brow, and feast My spirit on the beauty thou did'st love 1 — Rather, Lorenzo, let my spirit bow At heav'n's pure altar, where thy spirit bowed. Thou taught'st me, by the deep humility. To bow and worship with a passionless Enthusiasm, that the wearied spirit Might bear away, upon its snowy wings, The glorious beauty of the upper world ! And when thou feit'st the ebbing of life's pulse, The beauties of the world were nought to thee. Thou turned'st aside from all its loveliness, As from some distant and delusive vision, Thine inward gaze on heav'n's unfolding light THE DYING YOUTH^ 39 nch ids To fix, — and said'st " scenes of my youth, farewell ! The gates of heaven will soon receive me from you ! — Come, come blest spirits ! bear me to your home !" Forthwith the glorious trance began — and soon Light, fadeless and ineffable, burst forth Upon thy raptured vision ! — Thou art blest, Before the great white throne of heaven's King ! Forever joining in His glorious praise ! Supremely blest ; and like a beam of light, That brighter shines in its own sunlit home, Art happier in thy home of endless bliss, Uniting with the rapturous song of saints And angels, v/ho adore thy glorious God ! — But, could 'st thou be, Lorenzo, still as blest, My angel-guardian I would have thee be, As tread 1 thro* the weary way of life ; That from blest Virtue and Religion's path, I may not wander in this lonely world ! es ; THE DYING YOUTH. " He spoke of his return to his native land, with characteristic delight ; and this hope never deserted him. It seemed never to have entered his mind, that this consolation wonld be denied him ; that Death would thwart even those fond anticipalions. — ' I soon shall be well enough,' said he." — Prof. Longfellow's Outre Mer. He was a Son of Erin's golden isle, Who had been taught to worship Him, who knows The inmost secrets of the human heart : And he had wandered from his own green home To seek the sunnier clime of Italy, — To look upon the ruins of past years. And in a temple for the living God, Unknown to the gay world, to pass his life. That he might mingle with congenial souls His heart's warm worship ; for a quencUess ilame» ♦ I, 1 '1 (I- I 40 THE DYING YOUTH. Enkindled from above, was burning there. — But a few years had gone, and he was changed ! He lay upon a couch, subdued by pain, And all was quiet as the last still home Death has for mortals. — It was eventide, And the calm closing of a glorious day ; An hour of beauty wliich no words can paint ; And the young dying pilgrim turned his eye. That yet was brightly beaming, to behold The glowing * City of the Seven Hills;' For sol's last beams were on it. Dome and fane, And marble-ruins glowed like burnished gold, All imaged on the Tiber's bosom calm. As though there were another City there. And, as each gentle zephyr, half subdued, (As if to look upon the holy charm, Or bringing whispers of departed friends,) Brought on its silken wings, from citron-groves, A balmy fragrance up the flower-gemmed hill. — He looked upon the beauty of the hour, And turned and wept. High thoughts, as angels have, Which knows not words, rushed in upon his mind. Of all the charms of home, and early friends, Came like a spirit-vision to his view ! Earth had no charms beside, and nought but heaven Was half so glorious to his yearning soul. * O, I shall see the friends of early days — My Mother, and my home again : I shall Be well enough to see them soon,' he said ; — But the quick current of his heart's warm pulse Was ebbing as hie spoke. — His eye grew dim ; And the dark mist Death's angel shrouds us in, Was falling on him fast ; — and like some bird Caught and bewildered, but when sunlight breaks In beauty on him, and his leafy home, — And sweetly come the voices of glad throats. And the lone captive with a joyous wing. Flies to his heav'n of light and melody — So passed the spirit of the sufferer To join its kfndred in the sinless world. — COME TO ME. 41 'Twas evening's hour again, and all was still — Quiet and beautiful as the calm sleep Of that meek spirit, that had gone to God ; And a small company of brotherhood, An-ayed in sable robes, with solemn step, Were bearing to a lonely grave, beneath A cypress tree, his much endeared remains. They gathered rbuiid the grave, and then was read Slowly and solemnly the burial rite ; — Then a sweet requiem, from hearts devout, Was sung, and wafted to the throne of heaven ; And twilight gathered o'er the holy scene, And then they left the sleeper to his rest. m have, ren COME TO ME ! Sister ! the sky is a gleam of gold, For his garments of light has morn unroUesd j And now the song of the early bird, Like the voice of Love, frongi the grove is heard— Come to me ! for the spirit of spring Is shedding bloom from her passing wing ! The mom has gone, and our fount is bright, Like a diamond -pearl, in noon-day light ; The sun is throwing his burning beams On the hill and field, in golden gleams, — And the bird has flown to the shady bough — O, come to me, for I'm weary now ! And come to me, when the crystal-cloud Floats o'er earth, like a spirit-shroud ; While the west is tinged with crimson sheen — While rainbow-dyes on the sky are seen, Ere the evening sun with setting beams, Shall pass from the sky like childhood's dreams. d2 T" »a,MnimnmkM»atim ."IIP • -arr- 4S COME TO ME. And, dearest, come, when the day is gone, And his magic charms are all withdrawn ! Come — and we'll go where the rose is wet With the dew, as it sleeps by the violet ; And a starlit rill is gushing there — O, come — for the scene is bright and fair ! Yes — come to me ! while the sky is bright. With tbe million gems of fairy night ; While Echo, down in our own green vale, Like a sea-nymph reigns, 'till the morning gale.- O come ! while his voice is wandering there. By the light of the moon, on the sleeping air— You have come — but, sister, come again. For Autumn comes in his turn to leign ; With solemn voice, like a spirit's call. Throwing a spell o'er earth and all ! — Yes — come ! for our fairy vale is sere With yellow hues of the fading yeai ! Yes, dearest sister, now come to me, While the world is like a sleeping sea ! Come — and we'll talk of a world more fair, One of fadeless bloom where angels are ; Where none ever wear a garb of guile, But all are pure as an infant's smile ! ! . # 43 one, m ! wet t; ir! ight, lie, ling gale.- there, g air— iir, THE DREAM. As rising on its purple wing. The insect-queen of eastern spring, O'er emeraled meadows of Kashmeer, Invites the young pursuer near, And leads him on, from flower to flower, A weary chase, and wasted hour. Then leaves it and it soars on high, With panting heart and tearful eye ;— So beauty lures the full-grown child. With hue as brij^ht, and wing as wild, A chase of idle hopes and fears, Begun in folly, closed in tears ! — Bijron, 'Twas eve — and on a rocky height, I set rae down to view the scene. For there were sea and landscape bright, As any fairy sea and green. As, one by one, they passed away, I contemplated wave and hue. Till every beam of dying day Had all evanished from my view. Then, like some lone and weary one , I laid my head upon that steep, 1 think on forms of beauty gone, — But soon forgot them all in sleep. And there I dreamed that every breeze Half slept, like whispers Love would breathe,- In morning light, on flowers and trees, Far round the sunny sky beneath. And ne'er was ocean-calm more bright. In summer's reign, in diamond-dew, Than one that dawned upon my sight, For it had nature's every hue. And long I gazed upon that sea. And thought it robes of fadeless light. By angels cast on earth, to be A shadow of a world more bright. # f li 44 THB DllEAM. But no ! I saw a gentle wav^, Which a low breeze brought to the shore, Pass on, as Death to Beauty's grave, So much like earth's, it seemed no more. And then I knew the spirit-sea Was Lipe's^ — though now it seemed so bright, That o'er its bosom, wild and free, A bark might ever roam in light. Oh ! then I gazed upon that calm. For now it seemed 'twere ever fair, — And lingered on its bosom's charm, And thought of forms that had been there. And while I gazed, a fairy form Came fkmting from the east away, So light, it seenled the god of storm, Who'd thought to carol there that day. — But on it canA^, and 'twas a bark That gleamed with light, as the gemmed sea, — So streaming bright, I wished thftt dark From sea and bark would ever flee. It passed so near the pearly shore,— I saw the gleaming oars and sail ; And saw the an;^e^forms it bore. Borne by an unheard, spirit-gale. And there was one upon the prow, Who held a golden anchor fast, With heav'n-lit eye, and shining brow. And snowy robes around her cast.— But at the hdm — O, who wad he ! With eye so bright, and brow so fair \ With form divine, and grstc6 fio free ! With ringlets sporting in, the air! — I had a burning wish to know The streaming baik, and those she bore. For, oh, she seemed a magic dow Of gold, as passed she down the shore ! ■^ THE DKEAM. I asked — and from a shining height, An angel-voice came to my ear ; I turned, and saw a foi-m of light, A genius of another sphere : He had Apollo's form and face, While Phoebus' beams about him shone ; With Pallas' stern and sainted grace. And a loose robe around him thrown. I thought him Cynthius of the height, Or angel-gu'urdian of the sea ; And but a moment turner my sight. When he was seated near by me. The genius knew my wish, and said, Yon bark upon this golden sea. Is ardent Youth's, and he is led By Hope, and sped by Passion free. — • Passion, thou see'st, is all concealed. And plies the glittering golden oar ; Nor would he have his form revealed, E'en when he's passed that ocean o'er. But wind and wave, and gloomy dark Will soon o'ertake that thoughtless crew, And beat upon their slender bark — When Hope will give her last ' adieu P But mark thou well ! though all be bright, And calm this azure, minored sea ; The scene will change, and stormy night Upon that bark will surely be. I looked — but with a tearful eye, For I would have all ever bright ; And soon as I saw the sapphire-sky, Streaked with the shades of early night. The storm came on — the bark was tossed By howling wind, and roaring wave ; And all but Hope and anchor lost. For Hope had sought herself to save. 45 * ^- 46 O TUNE THE HARP TO OTHER YEARS. In tears I asked the genius why For youth there was no lasting gleam Of bliss ? — He pointed to the sky — I woke — but ne'er forgot this dream. H O ! TUNE THE HARP TO OTHER YEARS ! " Wo cftll back. Maid of Lutha, yean that have rolled away."— OsaiAN. Dear Ada ! time the Harp again, And let it tell of other days, When life's young hours, a laughing train Of love, were in its magic lays. It is the Harp, whose pensive tone First thrilled my heart with music's power ; It told me of some gentle one. Who died within her garden-bower. — There were two hearts, like two bright streams. That only ilow to meet as one ; For Love came with his fairy dreams. And life seemed as if just begun. To make each other truly blest. Was all they wished on earth to know, And seek that holy home of rest, Where streams of rapture ever flow. — Eudolphus parted for the isles. That lie beyond the Indian sea, Where ever-blooming summer smiles» And ilden-groves are said to be. Time passed along with wearied wing. And oft seemed pausing on his way But Julia hoped he soon would bring Eudolphus, and the bridal day. Lf ^ ■ » O TUNTte THE HARP TO OTHER TIARf. 47 At length the riches of the East "Were wafted o'er the Atlantic main — But oh ! the one to make her blest Was not among the welcome ': .:n. Where was he ? — Ah ! how many a heart Has prayed — and wept — and hoped in vain, To have the loved, with whom they part. Brought back to their own homes again ! 'Tis ever thus ! — 'tis ever thus. When hearts with love's young fervour bum, The hopes that often smile on us. May part, and never may return ! — In lands, where first the morning sun Gilds every object in his view. With charms that one would think were won For Love, of starry drops of dew, — They laid the lover down to rest. To slumber in than sylvan land ; And lightly on his grave were pressed Fresh evergreens by Friendship's hand.-— They told his fate, and Julia thought He slumbered in her garden-bower, For such wild dreams had Fancy wrought In gentle love, with mimic power. She smiled, and said, that ' here he slept, For here he wished would be his sleep ;' And when the stars their vigils kept. She gently came for her's to keep. — One morning came, and she had made A resting place among her flowers, Wrapt in a snowy robe she laid, A spirit of the morning hours ! — Dear Ada ! tune the Harp again. And let it tell of other days. When life's young hours, a laughing train Of love, were in its magic lays. «# •■•i ' 48 THE WEEPING BRIDE. # ■ i It 19 the Harp, whose pensive tone Firsr thrilled my heart with music's power ; It told .lie of some gentle one Who died within her garden-bower ! THE WEEPING BRIDE. How strong and beautiful is woman's lovei ! — Mrs. Ugdumey. 'Twas eve, and her soft shadows fell Like moonlight on the sea, Upon the field, and hill) and dell, And leafy canopy ; And when those shadows grew more deep, A youthful mourner sought to weep. Upon a distant streamlet's side, Near by a lonely glade, Alone she set her down and sighed. And wept and knelt, and prayed, — She wept because the one she loved Forever from her was removed. The pure and brilliant gems of night Resplendant on her shone. And yet she heeded not their light. She wept, and still wept on, While the full moon was riding high. And not a cloud was on the sky. And on the streamlet's bank of green She laid her down and wept ; And, dreamed the one she lored, had seen Her, while she mourned and wept ; But vanished soon that rainbow-dream, Though lovelier than the silver stream. § ! : UYRON. 49 ney. 'Twas flummer, nnd the ev'ning sun Hod ju8t witluliawn his beam, Again her wand'rings were begun Along that grove and stream ; Nor would she chock the rising sigh, Nor aught regret the tearful eye. And now the fields besran to fade, And that umbrageous grove Had cast its richer leafy shade Around where oft she'd rove ; But still the sigh and tender tear Were lovely to the eye and ear. — 'Twas winter when I passed again That solitary place ; The pure white snow upon the plain Of her bore not a trace — I sought her, — ^but I found her not — She died upon that lonely spot ! i BYRON, AT THE AGE OF NINETEEN, SUGGESTED WHILE VIEWING HIS PICTURE — REPRESENTED IN A NIGHT-SCENE, AS DE- SCRIDED IN THE FOLLOWING POEM. The sun has vanished from the sky. There is no Aioon to meet the eye, And night is down upon the sea, And wind is on it, strong and free, And waves against the rocky shore, Are dashing with unceasing roar. And high above, in darkling light, Appears the mountain's rugged height ; And Btkon stands entranced in thought, His soul witfi glorious visions fraught ! His gaze is on the gloomy sky, With deepest rapture in his eye, E « 'Vi ^0 BYRON. And inspiration in his soul, Too liigli for mortal to control, His converse with the pale star-light, That glimmers on the brow of niglit, Or with some spirit of the past, In visions all too bright to last ! — \^f But, Child of Nature's deep-toned Lyre, Alas I here's all thy soul's desire ! — And is there nought of prophecy Revealed upon the sky for thee. Of deathless fame in futuie years. Or grief, too deep for sighs and tears 1 — 'Tis so ! this sky was clewing bright, Morn dazzled — now 'tis gloomy night ! — And once yon calm and sunny sea, — Where now the elements are free. And high, and strong, and spend their might In giving terror to the night, — Had its own bright, — but broken dreams. As bright as now thy vision seems ! The very things of light have changed. As knowing, and from love estranged ! And look around ! what meets the eye, But troubled sea, and darker sky, And mountain, sunless as the grave. The transient gleaming of each wave, — All telling how the things of life Amid its elemental strife, May pass away, with darkest doom. With god-like soul, and Nature's bloom ! — O, that some angel-vision there, Had laid thy ardent bosom bare ! O, that some warning voice had spoken That thy glad spirit would bo broken ! That beauty, hope, and hearts so gay, May only live to pass away, And thou had'st made one solemn vow. To worship Him, thou knowest notv / — BY HON. No lyio was ever tunoil like lliino, Thfl gentle Iny and the divine,* And grandest of the huiriim mind, Are all in melody entwined ! I read thee, and a magic spell Is on me, which I cannot quell, Of Nature's charms, earth, sea and sky, Of flowers — that over bloom to die, Ot raptured hope, and love, and smiles, That steal the heart with fairy wiles, Of melancholy's withering power, And anger, kindled for an hour. And tears unbrought, or brought, by grief, And grief, in death, that finds relief,— These have a pow'r, so wild and strong. It chains my spirit to thy song ! — And oft at eve, beside yon sea, I fancy 'tis thy minstrelsy, The dash of waves, the tempest-toues, Thy melancholy harp that moans ! And in that dash, or murm'ring blast, Come visions of thy gloomy past ; And could'st thou from thy spirit :^nliere, Who mourns thee now, the ' aistrel hear, At this lone hour, thy voi< o would wake, And tell me that gay hearts may break ; That glad young spirits, now so free. May know the deepest misery, — Though one should sweep the Muses* Lyre, With all Apollo's charm and fire. Without a heart tliut angels love. To worship Him, enthroned above The loftiest flight of seraph's wing, Mean is the harp he tunes to sing ! Gl See Byron's Hebrew Melodier. .^jm..^JL 52 ■* MY NATIVE CITY. " My heart is in the home of my childhood." — L. E. L. I come to thee, My native city ! with a dreamer's heart ! With all its rapture, as in other days, Ere many a'yeat h^d brought increasing mart, And laid itvat thy feet, to send thy praise ]Far p'ey the sea ! , I come to thee ! To gaze again upon my childhood's home, The scenes of sunny pleasure, short and gay, I tasted, ere my heart Lad learned to roam, And stray in other climes of milder ray, Among " the free !" •I come to thee ! But with a heart of feeling welling deep, For here are nature's charms I loved so well, The broad-blue sea, oft cradled in its sleep, But now with waves, that loud its greatness tell, Mighty and free ! I come to thee ! And O, how many a change the past hath wrought. In all that bears the signet of man's power ! All but thy rock-bound shores, I oft have sought. To muse upon the beauties of an ho jr, They had for me ! I come to thee ! And fain would see the friends of other years. But some have wandered on the trackless main, And some have wandered where no temple rears Its spire ; and some, upon the battle plain. Have ceased to be !-:- To thee I come ! But I have learned to feel that all must change. And though I've dreamed of pleasure, well I know I , J THE LYRE AND BOWL. The world is cold, and human hearts estrange Oft from each other — and the tears that flow From hearts of purity, are dear to heaven, And only to such holy hearts are given That blessed home ! St. John, N. B., 1838. 53 # low THE LYRE AND BOWL. PARAPHRASED FROM THE GREEK. It is true ! it is true ! as Minerva hath sung, That the children of Payche are foolish and wrong ! With the noise of the banquet, the miith of its wine, Are mingled the notes of the Lyre divine ; But Apollo intended the soft thrilling Lyre, Should stir in the heart some more holy desire, And when us the cold world has to soitow resigned, To sooth and console the disconsolate mind ! Then shame to the Bard, who would mingle his strains, With the mirth-stirring Bowl, where Bacchus now reigns ! With its red sparkling wine, and its banqueting loud. To join in the songs of the Bacchanal crowd ! ! Forsake the vain wassail, the feasting of glee, The board spread with dainties, where the full Bowl is free. For too sacred the Lyre, and too sweet is its song, Which the children of Payche profanely prolong ! ! ! Give me the deep woods, by the summer-lit stream. Where the wild flowers iare, where my spirit may dieam ; Or the peace-smiling dale, with its ever green trees. With their music among them, played there by the breeze, e2 . ^s • 54 REQUIEM FOR SUMMER. Then away with the Bowl and its pleasures ! away, And give me the Lyre, with its sweet pensive lay ! Till the sunlight is gone, I will muse there alone, And will sing of the past and its pleasures now flown ! • REQUIEM FOR SUMMER. The beautiful have vanished, And return not. — Coleridge. Summer is gone ! I see it in the sky with shadows dimming, I hear it in the river's gentle flow. And in the rustling leaves, her dirge-notes hymning. And in the murm'ring streamlet, sad and low ; I know it as the sea-waves come and go. And feel it in the sun's meridian glow, That Summer's gone ! Summer is gone ! I hear it in the wind's low voices sighing, I know it by the stillness of the grove, I see it in the lonely flow'r, that's dying ; I feel it in the spell, oft wont to movq My spirit to high melody, the love, That inly burned, some kindling from above, That Summer's gone. Yes ! Summer's gone ! For tones of richest minstrelsy, once blending. From Nature's Harp, with hearts that gladly met In garden-bow'rs, where Love and Hope were bending, Like angel-guardians, when the sun was set, Or in fair morning's light, when l^e dews wet And gemmed like crystal, rose and violet ! — Ah ! Summer's gone ! REQUIEM FOR SUMMER. 65 \. J < *• Yes ! Summer's gone ! And yonder bright, but lonely star, that's keeping Its mid night- vigils in its home of blue, Beheld her oft in robes, at ev'ning weeping, For joy and rapture many a young heart knew, So full of hope was life, so bright and true ! That Fortune's smiles were theirs, but to pursue ! Ah ! Summer's gone ! Sui^mer is gone ! And many a heart, with sorrow's pang, is swelling. That once beat high with hope, but now at rest. Or writhing in its thoughts, like waters welling, To find some secret pathway, never prest ; — The starting tears, the griefs that rend the breast, Tell how W3 hope, and how we are unblest, LHe fs mmer gone ! Summer is gone ! But she shall bloom again, like yon star's beaming. With all her roses and her jewelled train. As soft and fair as Fancy's spirit-dreaming. For it is only life, its bloom and wane, — Like woman's hours of gladness and short reign. More rapt'rous than her hope, to bloom again, Life's Summer gone ! — Yes ! Summer's gone ! And bring ye now the lute, her dirge to tell ! And let its tones, like low-breathed voices rise. For all the lovely flow'rs, that threw a spell About our hearts and incense to the skies. With all their charms, are faded from our eyes ! Touch ye the lute ! for grief deep-hidden lies, Fbr Summer's gone ! 56 EVENING AUTUMNAL REFLECTIONS. " The Rose, the glorioui Rose in gone !" ILays of Many Lands. How dear it is, a; "Svening fades, And Night with deeper, solemn shades, Comes spreading round her sable veil, To muse on things that be, and fail ! — The sun has sunk to quiet rest, 'Mid gold and crystal-clouds to rest, While fast the gates of evening close To leave the world to sweet repose. And now 'tis heaven within my breast, To look on beauty, not expressed, The lonely and unclouded moon. Which, from the sky, will set too soon. There is no cloud upon the sky, Below, no shadow passing by ; And yon calm lake,* with moonlit-smile, . Seems, now, like some enchanted isle. That basks upon a summer's ocean, Without a wave, without a motion, While silvered o'er with softer light. From Luna, and the stars so bright. And at this still and solemn hour. There is a charm, a magic power, That steals the soul away from earth. To mingle thought with spirit-worth, — With friends, that long have passed away. The friends of childhood's transient day ! And Retrospection loves to look. As Memory opes her treasured book, On many a youthful scene gone by. With tints as bright as summer's sky ; But longer loves to litiger on Hope's smiles, and tears, forever gone. As Memory paints them to the view, i^ i ^ H ^ V * This poem was written on the borders of an extensive lake, after an evening walk, during a Harveet-Moon. mmemmki ■,».. . i < 1 to >m d». ifter EVENING AUTUMNAL REFLECTIONS. With VI .ions pure, but all untrue, Yet breathing on the lonely heart, Like Love's first smiles that weep to part ! Like Morning's glance of rosy light ! Like Fancy's pictures, all too bright ! — And Autumn now resumes his reign. O'er hill and dell, o'er field and plain j The groves, and every tree of shade, Put off their leafy robes, and fade. Flora, with airy dress so gay, Has smiled and laughed, — and passed away. An emblem of our joyous youth, Speaking the thoughts of silent truth. The velvet-bosomed landscape wide, And summer-stream, with silver tide, — The one has lost the green it wore. The stream runs laughing on no more. G$iy. bird and insect of the spring. And butterfly with downy wing. So golden through the summer's day, Each, in his turn, has passed away ; Atid solemn Night, with spirit-tread, Returning, points me to the dead. The changes of I^ife's changing clime, The trophies of triumphant Time ! — So like the beautiful, the great Must vanish from their high estate ! Those emblems of eternity. The moon and stars, must cease to.be ! The sun with milder, fiercer light. And crimsoned at the eve of night. Must vanish from his golden sphere, No more in glory to appear ! — Oh ! tis a time for sacred thought ; And tears, by better feeling brought, Rush quickly to the gazing eye. And some kind zephyr passing by, Si # ■♦ 58 THE TIMID FLOWER. Extends its Ijeav'nward-wing abroad, And bears them up to Nature's God, So sparkling bright, of purer worth, An off'ring far too great for earth ! And while I muse on pleasures fled. And Nature's bloom, that now is shed, Hope points me far above the sky, To those that Tiever fade and die ! > THE TIMID FLOWER. " The Lotui( ofEjfvpt, at the approach of a storm, always hides iu head beneath the surface of the water, till the winds have censed." [ TraoeU in the Ea$t. There is a flower, *i timid flower. That drinks the light of summer-hour : *Tis gemmed with gold of eastern mc-rn, And sips perfume by zephyrs borne, As on Egyptia's sunlit lake, It sleeps in bloom till tempests w^ake, And then it reeks its head to rest. Beneath the billow's snowy crest. Till wind and wave are hushed and gone, The timid flower is all withdrawn ; And then it lifts its lilly head, The amber surface for its bed, And basks again in gleams of light, In roseate bloom, as changeless bright, An emblem of a life more fair. Where storm and light are ever there ! Yes ! I have thought, thou timid flower, How like to thee, is woman's hour ! Arrayed in sunlight-tinted charms. She's joy, like Beauty in Love's arms ; — • But this cold world hath many a storm, That beats upon her timid form, 1^ And then she seeks her head to hide, Beneath Life's dark and changing tide 1 "\ TUB ISA SHELL. 59 But not again she lifts her head, E'en when life's stormy winds have fled, And leave its ocean calm and bright, Like summer-morning's early light ! — Ah ! some rude wave that form has broken, And fades she with a wound unspoken ; liife's chilling storm she could not brave, — She blooms, but 'tis beyond the grave ! THE SEA SHELL. " There is much beauty in the following, told bv one of the Gre- cian Poets : — That the musical shell of a Nereiad was taken by a Wood-nymph to her grot, and when she sought to play upon it the songs of her own sylvan home, 'twou'd only repeat the tones it had learned before of the winds and the waves." — Elegant Extracts. There was a shell, a beauteous shell, That once adorned a Nereiad's cell ; And there, amid her cave of ocean. She tuned it to her heart's devotion. It drank the hues of sky and sea, And played her own sweet minstrelsy Of winds, that murmured round her grot. And sea-waves' tones, it ne'er forgot. The Nereiad once when morn was o'er, Had left her shell upon the shore ; A nymph of Tempo's Eden-bowers, Soon came to pass the golden hours, ' Where Egea rolls her silver waves In music o'er the ocean-caves ; — , The nyiTiph admired the beauteous shell, And took it to her mountain-dell. She saw its fairy chords and cells. And tuned its music-falls and swells, But all the melody it knew. Was when sweet Tempo's zephyrs blew. 11 60 THE BKOTIIER's ADIEU. . And old Peneus' murmurs stole In pensive music o'er the soul ; — These formed its only minstrelsy, The music of its home — the sea ! And thus there is in many a heart, A melody, untaught by art. It learned to breathd of earlier home ; And O, how many a time they come Back to the heart, like Love's first smiles, ■ The charms of our green home, or v\rilds ; And then the exiled spirit owns None but young life's unbroken tones ! I THE BROTHER'S ADIEU. " Thy Song around our early path Fiung beauty born of dreams, That shadows on thia lonely world, The spirit's sunny dreams. And yet thy song is sorrowful, JtN beauty is not bloom ; The hopes of which it breathes, are hopes That look beyond the tomb."— Afiss London. *' Were it mine to trace thy future destiny, ^ 'Twould all be fraught with light and bloom from ev'ry sha- dowy tree ; Thy feet should rove o'er summer flowers sending up rich perfume. And all things beautiful and bright, thy pathway should illume." Mrs. S. H. IVhilman. The time is come, my sister, when thy smile No more shall glow with brightness, nor those eyes Shall beam their meekness on me, to beguile My sadness, 'neath our skies. T\ii.r w( re ihe moments that thou counted'st bright — Anc < ^ e ^hf^j vanished, like Hope's sunny dream, From recollection, as eve's softer light. From our lone grove and stresim ? THE BROTHER 8 ADIEU. Then holy was each hour, that passed away, On the green bosom of our native vale, As sober Twilight slow pursued the day, When still was every gale. Thy music floated o'er those shadows grey, As each soft echo in the distance died, As o'er some air-liarp, the wild breezes play. Then I was by thy side — But now, if I am doomed to part and rove, And thou another friend shalt have than me. Sister ! I'll bless thee with a brother's love, "Whate'er that doom may be ! And while adown the winding stream of Time, Thy barque of life may to its haven glide, O, may the breezes of a milder clime, Waft thee upon that tide ; For it is darkly shadowed, rough and drear, Its way in mist, its seeming end in night. But if the Vesper Star of Heaven appear. It shall be crowned with light ! — But Oh ! the timo is come ! and we must part ! And dearest sister ! I must say adieu / But thy dear picture is upon my heart Transcribed ! — Sister ! Adieu ! 1 61 # »• • Wr ,f ^ - ■ ^ .•T#; Eleg les, Gi THE DEPARTED CHILD. (died in OCTOBER, AGED THREE YEARS AND SIX MONTHS.) " The iweet roie gathered into the wreath of heaven." [ Lays of Many Lands. 'Tis fled forever from llie shores of Time, And crossed tije narrow, friglilful sea of Death, Within the arms of Jesus now it rests, The soul's desired haven, quite secure From storms and tempests, and the ills of life, Forever blooming. — Many a weary hour, With anxious eye, and heart of bursting grief, Its mother passed beside its downy couch, Watching the life-pulse of her dying babe, As fast it ebbed away. — Death gently came. As comes some spirit of a sphere of light To whisper bliss immortal to the soul Of one, who has long trod the way to heaven ; And while it lay all calmly, as in dreams. He rent the veil mysterious, which had shut Its gaze from immortality and God. Long on its mother it had fixed its eyes. Then smiled and shut them, as if now it felt. That she had come to watch its weary hours. And when Death closed its dreams of mortal things. On its pale features lingered yet a smile. That told how beautiful and full of bliss. Could things of earth be, as they pass to heaven ! — This withered rose had just begun to bloom — But yesterday and it was numbered here, Though almost faded. Now its fragrance fills The Elysian fields ; and with their sinless hands The angels rear the flowret ; and with dews That glisten in the beams of heav'n's Sun, Far brighter than earth's priceless jewels are, .) THE DEPARTED CHILD. 65 They water its young leaves, and teach its bloom To rise as grateful incense to their God. — And, Parents ! as I see the tender tear Start quickly to the eye, I foel for you, But would not have it stay. If Jesus wept For friends departed when he journeyed here, 'Tia not denied of heav'n, that ye should weep— 'Twould be inhuman not to mourn the dead !— The soul's deep feelings are unchangeable , As yon celestial orb that gives us light ! — *■ Then mourn ye for your dead ! 'Tis lovelier far, As sleepeth it in smiles, than language knows ! Ye grieve to see it taken thus away, As it began to fill your cup of life With bliss a parent knows. But ye must feel It is the hand of God that chastens you, Or from you takes the treasures of your heart.-^ And ye may know that it is auturhn now, And in his store-house God is gathering, A handful at a time, life's early fruit. And this was sown, though for the harvest-hour It did not ripen. 'Twas a chosen flower. And thus God kindly sent His angel. Death, To pluck it from its tender, parent-stem, Where many a storm might beat to wadte its form ; And far to heav'nly climes he bore that flower, To bloom amid the Paradise of God. — This is a picture of our transient life ! — See here a flow'r springs up, another there. And then to show us how earth's beauteous things Will Fade away and die, there comes a frost. That blights them in their bloom, and thus we're left To fix the heart on things that never fade. — These dispensations of Wise Providence Are doubtless for our good, we often need. To warn us of our exit from this world. — Almighty Father ! if Thou thinkest best. Take us away from earth ! Thou can'st not err ! f2 *» XT ^Wi' f 0*.. i 1 . : . 66 ; • THE DEAD INFANT. •' Seed sown by God to ripen for the harvest."— A7opstocA. Can this be death ! so beautiful, And yet so icy cold and chill, That here I gaze with strange delight On what may mock the painter's skill 1 AUcene too beautiful to tell. And none but silent thought can feel The heav'nly calm, the smile of death, The charms that o'er my bosom steal ! The smiling eye, the snowy brow, Veiled by its bright and silken hair, Had not so deep a charm before. Formed not a scene so heav'nly fair. — One hour ago, and all was bright, As life could make an earthly scene, For life itself was laughing there. With thoughtless joy and guileless mien. — The mother's heart was joyed to see Her infant budding into bloom j But she, as mothers do, forgot, It might be budding for the tomb. ' And it is gone, but not for aye. To the dark tomb where all must go ; The spirit. is to heav'n recalled. While its light form lies here below. And there it blooms forever fair Within the paradise above ; A flower within some angel-bower. Where all is pure, transcendent love. Then why should mortals mourn its fate. Since it is wreathed with bowers of light l The mother mourn her faded joy. That death her bosom's flower should bliffht 1 4 > ^ .»• K V ^ ,#» '# A i > THE MOTHER AT TH£ GRAVE OF HER BABE. 'Twas only like some fav'rite flower, Its guardian angel wished to see, Before earth's blighting storms come on, Transplanted in its purity. — Mourn not the dead with sighs and tears I Who'd weep not when an infant dies l Away ! — I'd scorn the frozen heart, That had no tears, or aching sighs ! Then mourn ye, parents ! for your dead. So beautiful ! so cold and still ; Your Father, God, denies not tears ; But do not murmur — 'tis His will I 67 'V ;] THE MOTHER AT THE GRAVE OF HER BABE, " Truly, unnatural and degraded must he be, who is insensible to his mother's love ; — that love, which nourished his infancy, guid- ed his youth, and shielded his life from a thousand ills. The love of a father may indeed be ardent and strung, but it has not that magic and tendernMs which a mother's knows. The coldness of the world may sweep over it, with all its blighting p^iwers, and yet ir is not dimmed ; the object which it first wooed and joyed to see bloom in its ardeur, it still elingsto^ and will, till death bintself chills its holy fire. — I never shall forget the feeling incident which I once knew of a mother, who bad lost her only boy of two years old, going continu- ally to itsgcave in the evening to weep, and vninly endeavoured to call it back to her arms, until religion persuaded her, that she would meet it in heaven.'' — EUnant Extracts. Lovliest ! I have looked in vain, ^ And wilt thou never wake again \ Is thy voice forever stilled ? And is thy hettrt forever chilled ? a And is thy bright and lovely eye 1 Closed upon the glorious sky ? Wilt thou never, never, waken ? — W^hithfi** is thy spirit taken % — # .* •# it tL *■/ tr *.. ■^r' 68 THE MOTHUR AT THE GRAVE OF HER BABE. I cannot bear lo have thee stay From me, in this abode of clay ! It grieves me that thy raiment-fold Will spot with earth's corruptive mould ; It grieves me that the reptile-worm Will feed upon thy lovely form — Listen to the voice, that's telling Thee, to leave thy doleful dwelling ! Lisften, love ! the moon is high, And soft the breezes round me sigh, And stars are shining pure, and bright, But thou art not with me to-night ; — Oil ! dearest ! wake ! arise and come To me, thy own beloved home ! I cannot have my babe lie sleeping Where chill storms are o'er him sweeping Ah ! vain to call ! my darling's ear His mother's voice no more can hear ; But, could I have his lovely form I'd shield it from life's chilling storm ; But now his lovely eye is hid With all his smiles the grave amid, And there Death his watch Is keeping O'er the bed where he is sleepmg. Then, sleep, my babe ! since thy calm rest Will ne'er be on thy mother's breast ! Nor wilt thou know the fervent prayer, I've breathed for thee, reposing there ; — Sleep on ! thine is an end. ess rest, Far softer than thy mother's breast ! Thy face with glorious smiles is glov/ing Where rapturous bliss from God is flowing ! • • I ^ ,«' # ♦. # Jt. ♦ * ;^ 69 THE FLOWER HA§ FADED. Stanzas written on the death of Miss M. J , died in this city 19th September, 1838, aged 17. .#' Youth and the opening rose ' May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee ; but thou art not of those Who wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. IMrs. Hemans. 'Tis for the dead I hear those dirge-like tones upon the air, A solemn pealing, for life's flowret faded, A rose that grew beneath affection's care, And screened from many an ill, and sweetly shaded Until Death's hour.— And now it comes, That tolling for the dead ; and now a band Gro forth to bear it to its home of rest, To slumber, and for aye, beneath a land. Where it grew up and faded, but was blessed, And joyed to bloom. But ever thus. The fairest things of earth, that we love dear. Bloom like the raptures which hope often brings ; Then in their loveliness from life's bright sphere, Vanish like Eden's bird, with stricken wings, At once to die ! This is our lot, Tu \ ish, and hope, and love — and hope in vain, With tears and anguish, for that spirit-power. Whose mandate is of heav'n, the earth his reign, Spares not the one that rears it, or the flower To mourn his fate. — * But yet there's hope — But 'tis where the soft light of ev'ning's hour, And the sun's radiant beaming never fell, -4' f» ir. t *. r w IT % 70 THE DISPARTED. Nor moonlight, or. the dew upon the flower,- — And there 'tis 'l^delesp, and too bright to tell, ' And blooms in love. And ye, who weep The ilowret faded, that adorned your path, Quench not the love ye knew, nor stay the tear. But know ye that it blooms, where Death's fell wrath Shall never fade it more ; — and may ye hear And join the melody of thaH^l^at land. Poured forth from golden harps, by ahgel-hand, Where now it blooms ! i • r THE DEPARTED. Written immediately aftr; hearing of the death of a beautiful and talented young lady, who died after a few days' illneis. aged 15. O, tell me not now, that the roses of life, "While they beateouslybloom, with a blight are not rife ! O yes ! while their beauty is cast on the heart. Death lurks 'neath their leaflets — they fade and depart ! Ever thus in the garden of Hope, with its dawn. The flowVs we love best soon are v;ithered. and gone ; Like the rainbow's bright beauties they fade, and behind, Naught is left but the fragrance they leave on the mind ! Like a rose she has blighted, and passed from her • home, Wb vi*as yesterday here in her joy and her bloom— Like a fairy that sports amid earth's sleeping flbwers, When the sunlight is gone, by tne moon's silver hours, Shining on till it seemed that a spirit-bound spell Had enticed it to earth and there ever to dwell : And thus 'mid her home, would earth's loved oneiong stay, r But life and its pleasures depart in a day ! — § «■- !l ■'Ik.,; *t ♦ ♦ 'it: :*^ -t % rff. THE DEPARTED. i 71 Still we ask not the thoughtless, \ Oh ! why BhouJ|^;we think Tfatis to live here with time, if we sport on its brink ! Let us knoHir ! let us feel ! that we live but a day, And life, like the rainbow, may vanish away — But ah ! — and the thought, how it gladdens tl^ heart ! Again we shall meet, never more to depart ! Then the sister! the daughter ! the loved one of time ! Ye shall meet with the blest in a happier clime ! ■I FINIS t * * '• i %' :%j ti'- a * # ^l» ^^ #*♦ ^ '0' fc. % •.ii.-%^ 1^ V * % '^... ':^i^^ y ,Vv.ir' > t. ^ £ # *.^^: : . L I N iD -JE'-^. >"<5 *''^''^' t.^-i**'^* ;. Abraham offering his Soa Isaac; .;Vi ,,. ; ^./.* • Biitli of 'the Saviour , ; ^^^ ^>* " ^^P^ -] ^/"'t J Thi) Sleep of Deat^. > .' -.^^/^ .^ Bftyond the Tomb , -^ *• ^Va^^ Td-tbe Bepf^lnd^pit't of a Friend ^ r ^-^^ .^ CsSRletoMvj -> » '•* ,-: .-. lWLyre.^nd:B6wl*-^ , » ;; *./ i^^ ''';^ i^ BequibmfbrSummet '^ \ '# ^t Ai|t?imnal JJvening Kefleqtjon^ > ^ The Timid Flbv/er ' ^f^#*i-* ^ « T^ Sea Shell - * .. 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