He stoop'd-and kiss'd the frozen cheek And the heavy hand of clay Till bursting words-yet all too weak--Gave his soul's passion way. "Oh, father! is it vain, This late remorse and deep? Speak to me, father! once again, I weep-behold, I weep! Alas! my guilty pride and ire! Were but this work undor.e I would give England's crown, my sire! To hear thee bless thy son. "Speak to me! mighty grief Ere now the dust hath stirr'd! Hear me, but hear me !-father, chief, My king! I must be heard!Hush'd, hush'd-how is it that I call, And that thou answerest not? When was it thus, woe, woe for all "Thy silver hairs I see, I bore thee down, high heart! at last, "Thou wert the noblest king, And thou didst wear in knightly ring, And thou didst prove, where spears are proved, "Thou that my boyhood's guide How will that sad still face of thine THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM THE breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods, against a stormy sky Their giant branches toss'd; And the heavy night hung da:x The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moor'd their bark Not as the conqueror comes, Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear, They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea! And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free! The ocean-eagle soar'd From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roar'dThis was their welcome home! There were men with hoary hair There was woman's fearless eye, There was manhood's brow, serenely high, What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?- Aye, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstain'd what there they foundFreedom to worship God! THE VOICE OF SPRING. I COME, I come! ye have called me long, I have breathed on the south, and the chestnut flowers By thousands have burst from the forest-bowers, I have look'd o'er the hills of the stormy north, And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free, And the moss looks bright where my foot hath been. I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, And call'd out each voice of the deep blue sky; From the night-bird's lay through the starry time, In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, To the swan's wild notes by the Iceland lakes, When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks. From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain, They are sweeping on to the silvery main, Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come! Away from the dwellings of care-worn men, But ye!-ye are changed since ye met me last! There is something bright from your features pass'd! |