Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

are there here celestial springs living waters, whence he drew?

d here he suffer'd!-this recess here even Nature fail'd to cheer, as witness'd oft his deep distress, ad precious drops have fallen here !

ere are no richly sculptur'd urns
he consecrated dust to cover;
Fat Nature smiles and weeps, by turns,
n memory of her fondest lover.

THE DEAD BIRD.

ANON.

Tis her first grief!-The bird is dead.
How many a mournful word she said!
How many a tear was o'er it shed!

The anguish of the shock is past,
But Memory's thoughts those eyes o'ercast;
As, like the violet gemmed with dew,
Glitters through tears their lovely blue.

'Tis her first grief!-Motionless there
Is stretched the fondling of her care;
No longer may she hear his voice,
No longer in his sports rejoice;

And scarcely dare she lift her eyes,
To where her lifeless treasure lies.
But yesterday who could forsee
That such a change as this might be,
That she should call and he not hear,-
That bird who knew and loved her dear;
Who, when her finger touched the cage,
'Gainst it a mimic war would wage;
Who pecked the sweetmeat from her hand,
And on her ringlets took his stand!
As all these recollections rise,
Again does sorrow drown the eyes,
The little bosom swell with sighs;-
"Another bird!-No, never! never!
Empty shall be that cage for ever."

[ocr errors]

Tis her first grief!—and it will fade
Or ere the next sun sinks in shade.
Ah! happy age, when smile and tear
Alternate in the eyes appear!
When sleep can every care remove,
And morn's light wake to hope and love.
But Childhood flies like spring-time's hour,
And deepening shadows o'er youth lour!
Even thou, fair girl, must one day know
Of life the painfulness and wo,
The sadness that sleep cannot cure,
Griefs that through nights and days endure;
Those natural pangs to mortals given,
To wean us from this earth, and lead our
thoughts to heaven.

THE HOUSEHOLD SPANIEL.

ANON.

POOR Oscar! how feebly thou crawl'st to the door,
Thou, who wert all beauty and vigour of yore;

How slowly thou stealest the sunbeams to find,

And thy straw-sprinkled pallet—how crippled and blind!

Thy hairs now are silvered, thou hearest my voice,
And thy slow-wagging tail says thou yet canst rejoice;
But how different art thou from the Oscar of old,
So sleek and so gamesome, so swift and so bold!

At sunrise I waken'd to hear thy lov'd bark,
With the coo of the house-dove, the song of the lark;
And out to the green fields 'twas ours to repair,
When bright was the blue sky and fresh was the air.

How then wouldst thou gambol and start from my feet,
To scare the wild birds from their sylvan retreat;
Or plunge in the smooth stream, and bring to my hand
The twig or the wild flower I threw from the land.

On the moss-sprinkled stone if I sat for a space,

Thou wouldst cower on the greensward and look in my face;
In wantonness pluck up the blooms in thy teeth,
And toss them in ether, or tread them beneath.

Then I was a schoolboy all thoughtless and free,
And thou wert a whelp full of gambol and glee;
Now dimm'd is thine eyeball, and gray is thy hair;
And I am a man, doom'd to thought and to care.

Thou bring'st to my mind all the pleasures of youth,
When Hope was the mistress, not handmaid, of Truth ;
When Earth look'd an Eden, when Joy's sunny hours
Were cloudless, and Life's path besprinkled with flowers.

Now summer is fading, soon tempest and rain

Shall harbinger desolate winter again;

And thou all unable the cold to withstand,

Shalt die when the snow-flakes fall white o'er the land.

Then thy grave shall be dug 'neath the old cherry-tree,
And in spring-time 'twill shed down its blossoms on thee;
So when a few fast-fleeting seasons are o'er
Thy faith and thy love shall be thought of no more.

Then all who caress'd thee, and loved, shall be laid,
Life's pilgrimage o'er, in the tomb's dreary shade;
Other steps shall be heard on these floors, and the past
Like a shadow be quite from the memory cast.

Improvements will follow; old walls be thrown down;
Old trees be removed, when old masters are gone;
And the gardener, when delving, shall marvel to see
White bones where once blossom'd the old cherry-tree. `

Frail things! could we read but the objects around,
In the meanest some deep-lurking truth might be found,
Some type of our weakness, some warning to show
How uncertain the sands are we build on below!

Our fathers have pass'd, and are laid in the mould;
Year passes on year, and the young become old:
Time, though a stern teacher, is partial to none;

And the friends whom we loved pass away one by one!

THE WOUNDED FAWN.

MARVELL.

THE wanton troopers riding by,
Have shot my fawn, and it will die.
Ungentle men! they cannot thrive
Who killed thee: thou ne'er didst, alive,
Them any harm alas! nor could,
Thy death yet do them any good.
I'm sure I never wish'd them ill;
Nor do I for all this-nor will-
But, if my simple prayers may yet
Prevail with Heaven to forget
Thy murder, I will join my tears
Rather than fail. But, O my fears!
It cannot die so: Heaven's King
Keeps register of every thing;
And nothing we may use in vain,
Ev'n beasts must be with justice slain;
Else men are made their deodands;
Though they should wash their guilty hands
In this warm life-blood, which doth part
From thine, and wound me to the heart!
Yet could they not be clean: their stain
Is dy'd in such a purple grain.
There is not such another in
The world, to offer for their sin.

With sweetest milk, and sugar, first

I it at my own fingers nurst;
And as it grew, so every day

It waxed more white and sweet than they.
It had so sweet a breath! and oft
It blush'd to see its foot more soft
And white, than-shall I say my hand?
Nay, any lady's of the land.

It is a wondrous thing, how fleet
'Twas on those little silver feet!
With what a pretty skipping grace
It oft would challenge me the race;
And when't had left me far away,
'Twould stay, and run again, and stay:
For it was nimbler much than hinds;
And trod as if on the four winds.

I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness: And all the spring-time of the year It only loved to be there.

Among the bed of lilies, I

Have sought it oft, where it should lie;
Yet could not, till itself should rise,
Find it although before my eyes:
For, in the flaxen lilies' shade,
It like a band of lilies laid.
Upon the roses it would feed,
Until its lips e'en seem'd to bleed;
And then to me would boldly trip,
And print those roses on my lip.
But all its chief delight was still
On roses thus itself to fill;
And its pure virgin-limbs to fold
In whitest sheets of lilies cold.

HUMAN LIFE.

ROGERS.

THE lark has sung his carol in the sky; The bees have hummed their noontide lullaby.

Still in the vale the village-bells ring round, Still in Llewellen-hall the jests resound: For now the caudle-cup is circling there, Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer,

And crowding, stop the cradle, to admire The Babe, the sleeping image of his Sire.

A few short years-and then these sounds shall hail

The day again, and gladness fill the vale;
So soon the child a youth, the youth a man,
Eager to run the race his fathers ran.
Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sir-
loin ;

The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine :

And basking in the chimney's ample blaze Mid many a tale told of his boyish days, The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled, "Twas on these knees he sate so oft and smiled."

And soon again shall music swell the breeze; Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees,

[blocks in formation]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

Then, more distinct the clank of horses' Jeer at him as they pass; and in high glee, In strain like this pursue their ghastly colloquy.

feet

Is heard; and the red torch's smoky blaze Doth o'er full many a livid carcass fleet, Which prone and nodding on the death-cart lays;

Yet nought that hideous load the driver stern affrays.

Hark! to his hollow tones :-" Bring forth your dead!"

"They've digged us now," quoth Death, "without the wall

A huge dry gulf; within whose gaping

maw,

Careless of knell, or prayer, or wonted pall, The living stow the dead-last night I saw The burier tumble with the buried o'er

And forth they bring their dead;-the The dizzy brink: methinks, a goodlier sight

father brings

His last sweet child, and on the pile 'tis laid

Next withered age: the brother coldly

flings

I scarce behold, when Earthquake, and red War,

Harness their savage limbs; and in their might,

His sister there-self-love hath snapped The fear-pale nations scare with carnage and

the strings

Of the fond heart: no kindly thoughts re

main.

Again the driver's hand the dead-bell rings And the car rumbles onward; and again The triple-tithe of Death, it gathers home amain.

affright."

[blocks in formation]
« AnteriorContinuar »