« AnteriorContinuar »
And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er,
Like ashes by a breeze; And gorgeous robes—but oh! that shore
Had sadder things than these!
We saw the strong man still and low,
A crush'd reed thrown aside;
Not without strife he died.
Till then we had not wept-
That there a mother slept!
For her pale arms a babe had press'd
With such a wreathing grasp, Billows had dash'd o'er that fond breast,
Yet not undone the clasp.
tresses had been flung
the fair child's form, Where still their wet long streamers hung
All tangled by the storm.
And beautiful, midst that wild scene,
Gleam'd up the boy's dead face,
In melancholy grace.
With half-shut violet-eye-
Naught of her agony!
O human love! whose yearning heart,
Through all things vainly true, So stamps upon thy mortal part
Its passionate adieu-
There is some home for thee,
The moaning of the sea !
The trumpet's voice hath roused the land
Light up the beacon pyre!
And waved the sign of fire.
Their gorgeous folds have cast-
A king to war went past.
The chief is arming in his hall,
The peasant by his hearth;
And rises from the earth.
Looks with a boding eye-
Whose young hearts leap so high.
The bard hath ceased his song, and bound
The falchion to his side;
E'en, for the marriage altar crown'd,
The lover quits his bride.
By earthly clarion spread!
The blast that wakes the dead?
AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL.
“Now in thy youth, beseech of Him
Who giveth, upbraiding not,
And his love be unforgot;
Hush ! 'tis a holy hour. The quiet room
Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom
And the sweet stillness, down on fair young heads, With all their clustering locks, untouch'd by care, And bow'd, as flowers are bow'd with night, in
Gaze on—'tis lovely! Childhood's lip and cheek,
Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought! Gaze-yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,
And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought?Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky, What death must fashion for eternity!
O joyous creatures ! that will sink to rest,
Lightly, when those pure orisons are done, As birds with slumber's honey-dew opprest,
Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sunLift up your hearts! though yet no sorrow lies Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes.
Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled
springs Of hope make melody where'er ye tread, And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings
Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread; Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low, Is woman's tenderness—how soon her woe!
Her lot is on you—silent tears to weep,
To pour on broken reeds—a wasted shower!
Her lot is on you—to be found untired,
Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,
And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain; Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay, And, oh! to love through all things. Therefore pray!
And take the thought of this calm vesper time,
With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light, On through the dark days fading from their prime,
As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight! Earth will forsake-Oh! happy to have given Th' unbroken heart's first fragrance unto heaven.
THE HOUR OF DEATH.
“Il est dans la Nature d'aimer à se livrer à l'idée même qu'on redoute."
LEAVES have their time to fall,
And stars to set-but all,
Day is for mortal care,
Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayerBut all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth.
The banquet hath its hour-
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears—but all are thine.
Youth and the opening rose
And smile at thee—but thou art not of those
Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,