Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

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
The love my soul forgot!

"Thy silver hairs I see,
So still, so sadly bright!
And father, father! but for me,
They had not been so white!

I bore thee down, high heart! at last,
No longer could'st thou strive ;--
Oh! for one moment of the past,
To kneel and say—'forgive!'

"Thou wert the noblest king,
On royal throne ere seen;

And thou didst wear in knightly ring,
Of all, the stateliest mien;

And thou didst prove, where spears are proved,
In war, the bravest heart-
Oh! ever the renown'd and loved
Thou wert-and there thou art!

"Thou that my boyhood's guide
Didst take fond joy to be!-
The times I've sported at thy side,
And climb'd thy parent knee !
And there before the blessed shrine,
My sire! I see thee lie,-

How will that sad still face of thine
Look on me till I die ! "

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM
FATHERS.

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
On the wild New England shore.

[ocr errors]

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came,
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

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
Amidst that pilgrim-band-
Why had they come to wither there
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?-
They sought a faith's pure shrine '

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 come o'er the mountains with light and song!
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves, opening as I pass.

I have breathed on the south, and the chestnut flowers

By thousands have burst from the forest-bowers,
And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes,
Are veil'd with wreaths on Italian plains;-
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb!

I have look'd o'er the hills of the stormy north,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth,
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,

And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free,
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,

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,
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging spray o'er the forest-boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves!

Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie may be now your home.
Ye of the rose lip and dew-bright eye,
And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly!
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay.

Away from the dwellings of care-worn men,
The waters are sparkling in grove and glen!
Away from the chamber and sullen hearth,
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth!
Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

But ye!-ye are changed since ye met me last! There is something bright from your features pass'd!

« AnteriorContinuar »