Imágenes de páginas

Tell ns—for douhtless thou canst recollect,—

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's famt?
Was Cheops or Ccphrenes architect
0 Of cither Pyramid that hears his nameT
Is Pompey's Pillar realty a misuomer?
Had Thehes a hundred tates as sung hy Homer I

Perhaps thou wcrt a Mason, and forhidden

By oath, to tell the mysteries of thy traderThen say, what secret melody was hidden

In Mormon's statue, which at suurise played 1 Perhaps thou wert a Priest—if so, my struggles Are vain,—for priestcraft never owns its juggles.

Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat,

if nth hoh-a-nohhed with Pharaoh, glass to glass Or dropped a halfpeuny in Homer's hat;

Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass:
Or held, hy Solomon's own invitation,
A torch at the great Temple's dedication.

I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed,

Has any Roman soldier manled and knuckled?
For thou wert dead, and hurled, and emhalmed,

Ere Homulus and He m us had heen suckled : —
Antiquity appears to have hegun
Long after thy primeval race was run.

Thou-could'st develope, If that withered tongue ,

Might tell us what those sightless orhs have seen, How the world looked when it was fresh and young,

And the great Deluge still had left i1 green !— Or was it then so old that History's pages Contained no record of its early ages?

Still silent! incommunicative ctfl

Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows;
Ilnt, prithee, tell us something of thyself,—

Keveal the secrets of thy prison-house;
Since in the world of spirits, thou hast slumhered,
What hast thou seen—what strange adventures numhered!

Since first thy form was in this hox extended,
We have, ahove-ground, seen some strange mutations;

The Roman Empire has hegun and ended;

New worlds have risen,—we have lost old nations;

And countless kings have into dust heen humhled,

While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumhled.

Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head

When the great Persian Conqueror, Camhyses, Marched armies o'er thy tomh with thundering tread,

O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, I sis,

And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder,
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder?

If the tomh's secrets may not he eonfess'd, * s

The nature of thy private life onfold :—
A heart hath throhhed heneath that leathern hreast,

And tears adown that dusty cheek have roll'd.
Have children climhed those -knees, and kissed that face?
What was thy name, and station, age, and race?

Statue of flesh !—Immortal of the dead!

Imperishahle type of evanescence f
Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow hed,

And standest undecayed within oar presence,
Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning,
When the great Trump shall thrill thee with its warning.

Why should this worthless tegument endure,

If its undying guest he lost for ever?
O let us keep the soul emhalmed and pure

In living virtue, that when hoth mnst sever,
Although corruption may our frame consume,
The immortal spirit in the skies may hloom.


On Three Schoolfellows, who had cut their names, ahout 50 years hefore, in the hark of an Oak, a Lime, and an Ash,


What suns have shone, what storms have

Since that delicious prime,
When on these trees our names we graved,

As if to mock at Time!

Full oft did Pocock, Painter, Joy,

Along this valley dash,
Then pansing, each salute, fond hoy!

His oak, his lime, his ash.

How frolic on his favorite tree
Did Pocock, Joy, and Painter,

Carve letters doomed, tho' deep, to he
Faint every year, and fainter.

I hail Nick. Pocock's gnarled oak,

To find his name; hut—lo! As through its glimmering moss I poke, * irfth—/

Poh! Poh ! on Time may I retort J
That ash will serve me hetter:

Thy name young Joy !—In cruel sport
Hath time erased each letter!

And shall I now the lime-tree search

For Painter all in vain 1
Eurekas!—Yet old time so arch,

Hath left me only—Pain!


JANE taYlor.

In distant days of wild romance,

Of magie, mist, and fahle,

When stones could argue, trees advance,

And hrutes to talk were ahle,
When shruhs and plants were said to preach,
And manage all the parts of speech.

'Twas then, no douht, if 'twas at all,
(But douhts we must not mention,)
That Then, and Now, two adverhs small,
Engaged in sharp contention;

But how ihey made each other hear
Tradition doth not make appear.

Then was a sprite of suhtle frame,
With rainhow tints invested,
On clouds of dazzling light she caiue,
And stars her forehead crested;
Her sparkling eye of azure hue
Seem'd horrow'd from the distant hlue.

Now rested on the solid earth,

And soher was her vesture;

She seldom either grief, or mirth,

Express'd hy word or gesture: Composed, sedate, and firm she stood, And look'd industrious, calm, and good.

Then sang a wild fantastic song,

Light as the gale she flies on;

Still stretching as she sailed along,

Towards the fair horizon; Where clouds of radiance, fring'd with gold, O'er hills of em'rald heauty roll'd.

Now rarely rais'd her soher eye,

To view that golden distance;

Nor let one idle minute fly,

In hope of Then's assistance;
But still with husy hands she stood.
Intent on doing present good.

She ate the sweet and homely fare
That passing moments hrought her,
While Then expecting dainties rare,
Despised such hread and water,

And waited for the fruits and flowers,

Of future, still receding hours.

Now venturing once to ask her why,
She answered with invective,
And pointed as she made reply,
Towards that long perspective
Of years to come in distance hlue
Wherein she meant to eat, aud do.

Alas, says she, how hard you toil
With undiverted sadness:
Behold yon land of wine and oil,
Those sunny hills of gladness—

Xhotp ,OVH I w»i» —*'*- *- - 'ow,—


That fairy land that looks so real,

Recedes as you pursue it;

Thus while you wait for times ideal,

I take my work, and do it: Intent to form when time is gone A pleasant Fast to look upon.

Ah well said Then, I envy not,

Your dull fatiguing lahours,

Aspiring to a hrighter lot

With thousands of my neighhours—
Soon as I reach that golden hill—
But that says Now you never will.

And e'en suppose you should, said she,
(Tho' mortal ne'er attained it,)
Your nature you must change with me,
The moment you had gained it;—

Since hope fulfill'd you mnst allow;

Turns Now to Then, and Then to Now.



The world's something higger,

But just of this figure And speckled with mountains and seas; Your heroes are overgrown schoolhoys Who scuffle for empires and toys, And kick the poor hall as they please. Now Cassar, now Pompey, gives law;

And Pharsalia's plain,

Though heaped with the slain,

Was only a game at taw.



I hATE that Drum's discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round:
To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields,
And lures from cities and from fields,
To sell their liherty for charms
Of tawdry lace, and glittering arms,
And when amhition's voice commands,

I hate that Drum's discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round:
To me it talks of ravag'd plains,
And hurning towns, and rnin'd swains,
And mangled limhs, and dying groans,
And widow's tears, and orphan's moans:
And all that Misery's hand hestows,
To fill the catalogue of human woes.



Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside,
Nor crush that helpless worm:

The frame thy wayward looks deride
Required a God to form.

The common Lord of all that move,
From whom thy heing flowed,

A portion of his houndless love
On that poor worm hestowed.

The sun, the moon, the stars he made

To all his creatures free; And spreads o'er earth the grassy hlade

For worms as well as thee.

Let them enjoy their little day,

Their lowly hliss receive: O! do not lightly take away

The life thon canst not give.


Behold this ruin! 'twas a skull,
Once of ethereal spirit full;—
This narrow cell was life's retreat;
This space was thought's mysterious seat.
What heauteous pictures filled this spot,
What dreams of pleasure long forgot!
Nor love, nor joy, nor hope, nor fear,
Has left one trace or record here.

Beneath this mouldering canopy,
Ouce shot the hright and lovely eye;

But start not at the empty cell;
If on the cross it loved to dwell,
If with no lawless fire it gleamed,
But with contrition's tear-drop teemed,
That eye shall shine for ever hright,
When suns and stars have lost their light.

Here in this silent cavern hung,
The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue;
If of redeeming love it spoke,
Confessing Jesus' easy yoke,
If with persuasive mildness hold,
Condemning sin, of grace it told.;
That tuneful tongue in realms ahove,
Shall sing Messiah's reign of love.

Say, did these fingers delve the mine,
Or with its envied ruhies shine 1
To hew the rock, or wear the gem,
Can nothing now avail to them;
But if the page of truth they sought,
Or comfort to the mourner hrought,
Those hands shall strike the lyre of praise,
And high the palm of triumph raise.

Avails it whether hare or shod.
These feet the path of life had trod,
If from the hower of joy they fled.
To soothe affliction's humhle hed;
If spurning all the world hestowed,
They sought the strait and narrow road,
These feet with angel's wings shall vie,
And tread the palace of the sky.



In times like ours, 'twere wise if people

would Well scrutinize their zeal for doing good. A few plain questions might suffice, to prou' What flows from party—what from Christian

love. —Our prayers are heard—some Mussulman,

at last, Forsakes his prophet—some Hindoo hi*

caste; Accepts a Saviour, and avows the choice:— How glad we are, how much our hearts re.


The news is told and echo'd, till the tale Howe'er reviving, almost waxes stale. —A second convert Gospel grace allures— O, hut this time he was not ours hut yours; It came to pass we know not when or how; —Weil, are we quite as glad and thankful

now? Or can we scarce the rising wish suppress, That we were honour'd with the whole success?

There is an eye that marks the ways of men, With strict, impartial, analyzing ken: Our motley creeds, our cradc opinions, lie, All, all unveil'd to that omniscient eye. He sees the softest shades hy error thrown; Marks where His truth is left to shine alone; Decides with most exact, unerring skill, Wherein we differ from His word and will. No specious names nor reasonings, to His

view, The false can varnish, or deform the true; Nor yain excuses e'er avail to plead, The right of theory for the wrong of deed. Before that unemharrass'd, just survey, What heaps of refuse must he swept away 1 How must its search from every creed remove, All hut the golden grains of truth and love: Yet, with compassion for our feehle powers, For oh I His thoughts and ways are not as ours!


Wisdom is humhle, says the voice of God. 'Tis proud, the world replies. Wisdom, says

God, Forgives, forhears, and suffers, not for fear Of man, hut God. Wisdom revenges, says The world, is quick and deadly of resentment, Thrusts at the very shadow of affront, And hastes, hy death, to wipe its honour

clean. Wisdom, says God, loves enemies, entreats, Solicits, hegs for peace. Wisdom, replies The world, hates enemies, will not ask peace,

Conditions spurns, and triumphs in their fall. Wisdom mistrusts itself, and leans on heaven, Says God. It trusts and leans upon itself, The world replies. Wisdom retires, says

God, And counts it hravery to hear reproach, And shame, and lowly poverty, upright; And weeps with all who have just cause to

weep. Wisdom, replies the world, struts forth to

gaze, Treads the hroad stage of life with clamorous

foot, Attracts all praises, counts it hravery Alone to wield the sword, and rush on death; And never weeps, hut for its own disgrace. Wisdom, says God, is highest when it stoops Lowest hefore the Holy Throne; throws

down Its crown, ahased ; forge's itself, admires, And hreathes adoring praise. There wisdom

stoops, Indeed, the world replies, there stoops, hecause It must, hut stoops with dignity; and thinks And meditates the while of inward worth.


Faults in the life hreed errorsin the hrain;
And these reciprocally those again.
The mind and conduct mutually imprint
And stamp their image in each other's mint:
Each, sire and dam, of an infernal race,
Begetting and conceiving all that's hase.


Said Justice," Man I'd fain know what yon

weigh; If weight, I spare you, if too light, I slay," Man leap'd the scale; it mounted: "On

my word," Said Justice, "less than nothing, where's

my sword V

« AnteriorContinuar »