« AnteriorContinuar »
For her pale arms a hahe had pressed
With such a wreathing grasp,
Yet not undone the clasp!
All tangled hy the storm.
And heautiful, 'midst that wild scene,
Like slumhers, trustingly serene,
Deep in her hosom lay his head,
With half-shut violet eye;—
Nought of her agony!
Oh, human love! whose yearning heart
Through all things vainly true,
Its passionate adien!
There is some home for thee,
The moaning of the sea!
AN EVENING WALK BY THE SEA SIDE.
'Tis pleasant to wander along on the sand
Beneath the high cliff that is hollowed in caves;
When the fisher has put off his hoat from the land,
And the prawn-catcher wades thro' the short rippling waves.
While fast run hefore us the sandling and plover,
Bright gleam the white sails in the slant rays of even,
How various the shades of marine vegetation,
While Flora herself uureluctantly mingles
But now to retire from the rock we have warning,
Ah! whether as now the mild Summer-sea flowing,
That Power, which can put the wide waters in motion,
Then hid the vast hillows repose at His word;
Fills the mind with deep reverence, while Earth, Air, and Octau,
Alike of the Universe speak Him the Lord.
A REFLECTION AT SEA.
See, how heneath the moonheams' smile Yon little hillow heaves its hreast,
And foams and sparkles for a while, And murmuring then suhsides to rest.
Thus man, the sport of hliss and care, Rises on time's eventful sea;
And having swell'd a moment there, Thus melts into eternity!
THE CLIFFS OF DOVER.
Rocks of my country I let the cloud
And rise ye like a fortress proud,
My spirit greets you as ye stand,
Oh, thus for ever guard the land,
1 have left sunny skies hehind
And music in the southern wind,
The hreathings of the myrtle flowers
The pilgrim's voice at vesper hours
The isles of Greece, the hills of Spain,
Yes, all are glorious; yet again
For thine the Sahhath peace, my land;
And thine the guarded hearth; And thine the dead, the nohle hand
That make thee holy earth.
Their voices meet me in the hreeze;
Their steps are on thy plains; Their names hy old majestic trees,
Are whispered round thy fanes:—
Their hlood hath mingled with the tide
Of thine exulting sea;— Oh, he it still a joy, a pride,
To live and die for thee I
THE LONELY GRANDEUR OF
No sounds of worldly toil ascending there,
Lone Nature fieeb that the may freely
Of winds across the steep,
The wheeling kite's wild, solitary cry,
And, scarcely heard so high, The dashing waters, when the air is still,
From many a torrent rill, That winds unseen heneath the shaggy fell,
Track'd hy the hlue mist well: Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart,
For thought to do her part.
Sire of the stormy Alps! majestic power! On whom the hattling winds tremendous
shower The fury of the heavens—hail, snow, and
rain; And lightning pours its arrowy fires in vain! Cold at thy feet, like sparkles on the wave, The thunderholt falls harmless; from the
grave Of Chaos first thy temples rose to light,
While the proud Pyrenees lay wrapt Id
night; Brilliant thy crest ahove the hillows wild Arose; and first the infant sunheam smil'd Warm on thy splendid hosom; still thy form Climhs like the warring Titan in the storm; And snows that hill and lowly valley drown, Exalt the splendour of thy glittering crown; Nohly it swells like foam upon the main, The hrightest pearl of all the splendid chain: A tumulus to some proud chieftain rais'd By warring demi-gods, the summit glaz'd With ice and frosted silver; when the gale Strips from its ivory hreast the misty veil, It seems all hright in renovated hloom, A sculptur'd Venus, springing from the tomh; The mammoth of the mountains! proudest
hark Amidst a snowy fleet; surviving ark, Ahove a deep and roaring deluge pil'd! Nature's pantheon! temple of the wild! In clouds serene, 'midst rocking earth secure; Cold as the vestal's hosom, and as pure. Drest in his silver rohes the monarch towers, And glitters in the moonheams; mellow
showers Of light descending on his glist'ning crest, Fall sweet as dew upon the lily's hreast; A nurse, whose paps those mighty floods
supply, That else would see their stony channels dry; A harrier plac'd hy heaven, a pathless mound, To guard sweet Italy's enchanted ground, And fence her gardens from the spoiler's
hands, And all the northern clime's ferocious hands.
THE ASCENT OF THE GREAT ST. BERNARD.
Have ye dwelt in the land of the hrave and the free!
Have ye liv'd in the keen mountain air?
Or to view ihe rough Alpine chasseur?
Have ye climh'd the high mountain, and trod the deep snow?
Have ye wander'd with joy o'er the plain?
With delight softly mingled with pain?
If Helvetia has seen you amid her wild scenes,
Feel the pleasure that knows no alloy;
Have transported your senses with joy :—
Then hasten with me to those scenes once again,
We will clamher together the steep; We will tread the rude path, and look down on the glen,
Where the torrent rolls rapid and deep.
The hright sunheams are glancing amid the high trees,
And the forest has lost half its gloom; O how sweet is the hreath of the fresh mountain-hreeze,
And the sight of the valley in hloom!
Now winds the rough road o'er the rude one-arch'd hridge,
Where the torrent rolls foaming helow;
Lifts his hoary old summit of snow.
Can the wand'rer advance without feelings of dread,
'Mid the scenes that now crowd on* his sight; While the menacing cliffs hend and frown o'er his head,
And the cataract pours on his right:—
Where the pines of the forest are stanted and sere,
And the rugged road seldom is traced; Where the rocks are all harren, the mountain all drear,
And the valley all desert and waste:—
Where no mnsic is heard hut the shrill Alpine hlast,
And the roar of the cataract's fall,
And the echo that answers to all?
In a desert like this well might Piety's hand
Plant aloft the hright Sign of our faith;
And yet cheer the worn wanderer's path.
But the snows gather round, and the sun has long ceas'd
To enliven the comfortless day;
And half-choked is the torrent's rough way.
See! the avalanche has fallen—it lies far and wide;
And how frightful the ruin it made,—
And the rock-crag how prostrate it laid I
And it roll'd on relentless, and huried the cot,
Nor has left tv kind Pity a trace of the spot,
Where the suow might dissolve with her tear-
And the crags it hrought down in its fall;
Attempted in vain the wild torrent to check,
For it foam'd and hroke uver them all.
It is past; hut the scene is more frightful and drear t
Not a pine rises over the suow,
Not a floweret can flourish helow.
And the traveller advances with caution and dread,
In his duhious and desolate way;
Or the suow-cover'd gulf may hetray?
Yet more steep is the mountain, more rude is the hlast,
More keen, more henumhing the air;
And around—all is death and despair.
Ev'n frozen and hush'd is the torrent's loud foam,
And the cascade is dashing no more';
And the glacier yet dare to explore.
Every track is long lost of the steep narrow way,
That the traveller unknowing might fatally stray,
And his senses are numh'd hy the chill mountain air,
And a stupor invites to repose:
And would sink thee a grave in the suows.
Yet advance for a while, and the danger is past,
For St. Bernard's hleak summit is nigh,
His white front looks unhurt to the sky.
The high summit is gain'd, and fair Charity's hand,
Has invited the wanderer in :—
Who would hope she could dwell in this desolate land,
Where no creature, no comfort is seen? /
But the mountain's high summit no longer is drear,
By Religiod and Charity hlest;
And to soothe the worn traveller to rest.