188

Thither the brook pursues its way

And tinkling rill; There all are equal-side by side, The poor man and the son of pride

Lie calm and still.

This world is but the rugged road
Which leads us to the bright abode
Of peace above;

So let us choose that narrow way,
Which leads no traveller's foot astray,

From realms of love.

Our birth is but the starting place,
Our life the running of the race;

We reach the goal,

When, in that mansion of the blest,
Death leads to its eternal rest
The weary soul.

Behold of what delusive worth
The bubbles we pursue on earth,

The shapes we chase
Amid a world of treachery;
They vanish ere death shuts the eye,
And leave no trace.

Time steals them from us--chances strange,
Disastrous accident and change

That comes to all,

ven in the most exalted state, Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate, The strongest fall.

Tell me the charins that lovers seek In the clear eye and blushing cheek,

The hues that play

O'er rosy lip, and brow of snow;
When hoary age approaches slow,
Ah, where are they?

The cunning skill, the curious arts,
The glorious strength that youth imparts,
In life's first stage,-

These shall become a heavy weight,
When time swings wide his outward gate
To weary age.

Where are the high-born dames-and where
Their gay attire and jewell'd hair,

And odours sweet?

Where are the gentle knights that came
To kneel and breathe love's ardent flame
Low at their feet?

Where is the song of Troubadour;
Where are lute and gay tambour,

They loved of yore?

Where the merry dance of old,
The flowing robes inwrought with gold,
The dancers wore?

So many a duke of royal name,
Marquis and count of spotless fame,

And baron brave,

That might the sword of empire wield,
All these, O death! thou hast concealed
In the dark grave!

Their deeds of mercy or of arms,
In peaceful days or wars' alarms,—
When thou dost show,

O Death! thy stern and cruel face,
One stroke of thy all powerful mace,
Can overthrow.

SACRED HARMONY.

Widow and orphan, helpless left-
Go thou, and shelter them.

Thy neighbour?-yonder toiling slave,
Fettered in thought and limb,
Whose hopes are all beyond the grave-
Go thou, and ransom him.

Where'er thou meet'st a human form
Less favour'd than thy own,
Remember 'tis thy neighbour worm,
Thy brother or thy son.

Oh! pass not, pass not heedless by,
Perhaps thou canst redeem
The breaking heart from misery-
Go, share thy lot with him.

191

WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR?

ANON.

THY neighbour? it is he whom thou
Hast power to aid and bless--
Whose aching heart or burning brow
Thy soothing hand may press.

Thy neighbour?-'tis the fainting poor,
Whose eye with want is dim,
Whom hunger sends from door to door-
Go thou, and succour him.

Thy neighbour?-'tis that weary man,
Whose years are at their brim,

But low with sickness, cares, and pain-
Go thou, and comfort him.

Unnumber'd hosts, that threaten'd nigh, Pennon and standard flaunting high,

And flag display'd,

High battlements entrench'd around, Bastion, and moated wall, and mound,

And palisade,

And cover'd trench secure and deep, All these cannot one victim keep, O Death! from thee: When thou dost battle in thy wrath, And thy strong shafts pursue their path Unerringly.

WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR!

ANON.

THY neighbour? it is he whom thou
Hast power to aid and bless-
Whose aching heart or burning brow
Thy soothing hand may press.

Thy neighbour?-'tis the fainting post,
Whose eye with want is dim,
Whom hunger sends from door to door-
Go thou, and succour him.
Thy neighbour?-'tis that weary man,
Whose years are at their brim,
But low with sickness, cares, and pain-
Go thou, and comfort him.

Thy neighbour !-'tis the heart bereft
Of every earthly gem;

Widow and orphan, helpless left-
Go thou, and shelter them.

Thy neighbour?-yonder toiling slave,
Fettered in thought and limb,
Whose hopes are all beyond the grave-
Go thou, and ransom him.

Where'er thou meet'st a human form
Less favour'd than thy own,
Remember 'tis thy neighbour worm,
Thy brother or thy son.

Oh! pass not, pass not heedless by,
Perhaps thou canst redeem
The breaking heart from misery—
Go, share thy lot with him.

AN EVENING WALK IN BENGAL.

HEBER.

OUR task is done !-on Gunga's breast
The sun is sinking down to rest:
And, moor'd beneath the tamarind bough,
Our bark has found its harbour now,
With furled sail, and painted side,
Behold the tiny frigate ride.
Upon her deck 'mid charcoal gleams,
The Moslems' savoury supper steams,
While all apart, beneath the wood,
The Hindoo cooks his simpler food.

Come walk with me the jungle through;
If yonder hunter told us true,

Far off in desert dank and rude,
The tiger holds his solitude;
Nor (taught by recent harm to shun
The thunders of the English gun)
A dreadful guest but rarely seen,
Returns to scare the village green.
Come boldly on, no venom'd snake
Can shelter in so cool a brake;
Child of the sun! he loves to lie
'Mid Nature's embers, parch'd and dry,
Where o'er some tower in ruin laid,
The peepul spreads its haunted shade,
Or round a tomb his scales to wreathe,
Fit warder in the gate of death!
Come on! Yet pause! behold us now
Beneath the bamboo's arched bough,
Where gemming oft that sacred gloom,
Glows the geranium's scarlet bloom,
And winds our path through many a bower
Of fragrant tree and crimson flower;
The ceiba's crimson pomp display'd
O'er the broad plantain's humbler shade,
And dusk anana's prickly blade;
While o'er the brake, so wild and fair,
The betel waves his crest in air.
With pendent train and rushing wings,
Aloft the gorgeous peacock springs;
And he, the bird of hundred dyes,
Whose plumes the dames of Ava prize.
So rich a shade, so green a sod,
Our English fairies never trod;
Yet who in Indian bower has stood,

But thought on England's good green wood?
And bless'd beneath the palmy shade,
Her hazel and her hawthorn glade,

SACRED HARMONY.

And breathed a prayer (how oft in vain) To gaze upon her oaks again.

A trace to thought! the jackal's cry Resounds like silvan revelry: And through the trees yon falling ray Will scantly serve to guide our way. Yet mark! as fade the upper skies, Each thicket opes ten thousand eyes; Before, beside us, and above, The fire-fly lights his lamp of love, Retreating, chasing, sinking, soaring, The darkness of the copse exploring; While to this cooler air confess'd The broad Dhatura bares her breast Of fragrant scent and virgin white, A pearl around the locks of night! Still as we pass, in soften'd hum, Along the breezy alleys come The village song, the horn, the drum. Still as we pass, from bush and brier, The shrill cigala strikes his lyre; And what is she, whose liquid strain Thrills through yon copse of sugar-cane! I know that soul-entrancing swell! It is-it must be-Philomel.

Enough, enough, the rustling trees Announce a shower upon the breeze,The flashes of the summer sky Assume a deeper, ruddier dye;

Yon lamp that trembles on the stream, From forth our cabin sheds its beam And we must early sleep, to find Betimes the morning's healthy wind

Far off in desert dank and rude,
The tiger holds his solitude;

Nor (taught by recent harm to shun
The thunders of the English gun)
A dreadful guest but rarely seen,
Returns to scare the village green.
Come boldly on, no venom'd snake
Can shelter in so cool a brake;
Child of the sun! he loves to lie
'Mid Nature's embers, parch'd and dry,
Where o'er some tower in ruin laid,
The peepul spreads its haunted shade,
Or round a tomb his scales to wreathe,
Fit warder in the gate of death!

Come on! Yet pause! behold us now
Beneath the bamboo's arched bough,
Where gemming oft that sacred gloom,
Glows the geranium's scarlet bloom,
And winds our path through many a bower
Of fragrant tree and crimson flower;
The ceiba's crimson pomp display'
O'er the broad plantain's humbler shade
And dusk anana's prickly blade;
While o'er the brake, so wild and fait,
The betel waves his crest in air.
With pendent train and rushing wings,
Aloft the gorgeous peacock springs;
And he, the bird of hundred dyes,
Whose plumes the dames of Ava prize.
o rich a shade, so green a sod,
Jur English fairies never trod;
Yet who in Indian bower has stood,
But thought on England's good green wed
And bless'd beneath the palmy shade,
Her hazel and her hawthorn glade,

And breathed a prayer (how oft in vain)
To gaze upon her oaks again.

A truce to thought! the jackal's cry
Resounds like silvan revelry;
And through the trees yon falling ray
Will scantly serve to guide our way.
Yet mark! as fade the upper skies,
Each thicket opes ten thousand eyes;
Before, beside us, and above,
The fire-fly lights his lamp of love,
Retreating, chasing, sinking, soaring,
The darkness of the copse exploring;
While to this cooler air confess'd
The broad Dhatura bares her breast
Of fragrant scent and virgin white,
A pearl around the locks of night!
Still as we pass, in soften'd hum,
Along the breezy alleys come
The village song, the horn, the drum.
Still as we pass, from bush and brier,
The shrill cigala strikes his lyre;
And what is she, whose liquid strain
Thrills through yon copse of sugar-cane?
I know that soul-entrancing swell!
It is-it must be-Philomel.

Enough, enough, the rustling trees Announce a shower upon the breeze,The flashes of the summer sky Assume a deeper, ruddier dye; Yon lamp that trembles on the stream, From forth our cabin sheds its beam And we must early sleep, to find Betimes the morning's healthy wind