Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee-but thou art not of those That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. We know when moons shall wane, When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain But who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when Spring's first gale Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST. "But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves; for the wind was contrary." St. Matthew, xiv. 24. FEAR was within the tossing bark, And men stood breathless in their dread, But One was there, who rose and said And the wind ceased-it ceased! that word And slumber settled on the deep, Thou that didst rule the angry hour, They find the red cup-moss where they climb, And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme; And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know Lady, kind lady, oh! let me go." "Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell, Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well; Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, Harps which the wandering breezes tune; My mother sings, at the twilight's fall, "Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest, "Is my mother gone from her home away? Lady, kind lady! oh! let me go." 'Fair child! thy brothers are wanderers now, "Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill? Joy, when the soft air's glowing sigh Bears on the breath of Araby. Oh! welcome are the winds that tell Where far away the jasmines dwell, The sailor at the helm they meet, That woo him, from the mournful main, They woo him, whispering lovely tales And fount's bright gleam in island-vales And oh ye masters of the lay! Come not e'en thus your songs, That meet us on life's weary way Amidst her toiling throngs? Yes! o'er the spirit thus they bear A current of celestial air! Their power is from the brighter clime Their tones are of the world which time They call us with a voice divine Back to our early love, Our vows of youth at many a shrine Whence far and soon we rove: -Welcome, high thought and holy strain, That make us Truth's and Heaven's again!' THE BREEZE FROM LAND. "As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mezambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the Blest; with such delay Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league, Cheered with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles." Paradise Lost. Joy is upon the lonely seas, Forth to the billow and the breeze BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 'Twas night in Babylon: yet many a beam, Of lamps far-glittering from her domes on high, Shone, brightly mingling in Euphrates' stream, With the clear stars of that Chaldean sky, Whose azure knows no cloud :-each whispered sigh Of the soft night-breeze through her terracebowers Bore deepening tones of joy and melody, O'er an illumined wilderness of flowers; And the glad city's voice went up from all her towers. But prouder mirth was in the kingly hall, Where, 'midst adoring slaves, a gorgeous band Written immediately after reading the "Remarks on the Character and Writings of Milton," in the Christian Examiner. And nearer yet the trumpet's blast is swelling, Ere one bright star be faded from the sky, Empire is lost and won, Belshazzar with the slain. And what have ye found in the monarch's dome, Weeps by her dead, supremely desolate! Her guilt is full, her march of triumph o'er;-What widowed land shall now her widowhood deplore! Sit thou in silence! Thou that wert enthroned On many waters! thou whose augurs read, The language of the planets, and disowned The mighty name it blazons!-Veil thy head, Daughter of Babylon! the sword is red From thy destroyers' harvest, and the yoke Is on thee, O most proud!-for thou hast said, "I am, and none beside !"-Th' Eternal spoke, Thy glory was a spoil, thine idol-gods were broke. But go thou forth, O Israel! wake! rejoice! Be clothed with strength, as in thine ancient day! Renew the sound of harps, th' exulting voice, The mirth of timbrels!-loose the chain, and say God hath redeemed his people !—from decay The silent and the trampled shall arise; -Awake; put on thy beautiful array, Oh long-forsaken Zion! to the skies Send up on every wind thy choral melodies! Since last ye traversed the blue sea's foam? "We have found a change, we have found a pall, And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall, And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt,Nought looks the same, save the nest we built." Oh! joyous birds, it hath still been so; Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go! But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep, And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep. Say what have ye found in the peasant's cot, Since last ye parted from that sweet spot? "A change we have found there-and many a change! Faces and footsteps and all things strange! Nought looks the same, save the nest we made!" Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth, BREATHINGS OF SPRING. Thou giv'st me flowers, thou giv'st me songs ;-bring back And lift thy head!-Behold thy sons returning, The love that I have lost! more, City of God! shall pass the bridal train, restore ! THE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. BIRDS, joyous birds of the wandering wing! Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring? "We come from the shores of the green old Nile, From the land where the roses of Sharon smile, WHAT wak'st thou, Spring ?-sweet voices in the woods, And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute; Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes, The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee, Ev'n as our hearts may be. And the leaves greet thee, Spring!-the joyous leaves, Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade, Where each young spray a rosy flush receives, When thy south-wind hath pierced the whis pery shade, And happy murmurs, running through the grass. Tell that thy footsteps pass. |