I bring them from the past: From true hearts broken, gentle spirits torn, From crush'd affections, which, though long o'erborne, I bring them from the tomb; O'er the sad couch of late repentant love, I come with all my train : Who calls me lonely?-Hosts around me tread, Looks from departed eyes, These are my lightnings !—filled with anguish vain, I, that with soft control Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song, The searcher of the soul ! I, that shower dewy light Through slumbering leaves, bring storms!-the tempest birth Of memory, thought, remorse :-be holy, Earth! I am the solemn Night! THE HEBREW MOTHER. THE rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain, She led him; and her silent soul, the while, Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think So passed they on, And softly parting clusters of jet curls At last the fane was reached, The earth's one sanctuary; and rapture hushed Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm "Alas! my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me, And silver cords again to earth have won me, How shall I hence depart? How the lone paths retrace, where thou wert playing So late along the mountains at my side? And I, in joyous pride, By every place of flowers my course delaying, And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted! Will it not seem as if the sunny day Turned from its door away, While, through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted, Under the palm-trees thou no more shall meet me, When from the fount at evening I return, With the full water-urn! Nor will thy sleep's low, dove-like murmurs greet me, And watch for thy dear sake! "And thou, wilt slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee, Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed ? Wilt thou not vainly spread Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, "What have I said, my child?—will He not hear thee And, in the hush of holy midnight near thee, "I give thee to thy God!-the God that gave thee, A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart! And, precious as thou art, And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee, And thou shalt be His child! Therefore, farewell!-I go! my soul may fail me, But thou, my firstborn! droop not, nor bewail me,- The Rock of Strength,-farewell!" THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT. 'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound! And the knight look'd down from the Paynim's tower, Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill, "I knew 'twas a trumpet's note! And I see my brethren's lances gleam, And their pennons wave, by the mountain stream, And their plumes to the glad wind float! Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill, Cease! let them hear the captive's voice,-be still! "I am here, with my heavy chain! And I look on a torrent, sweeping by, And an eagle, rushing to the sky, And a host, to its battle plain! Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill, Cease! let them hear the captive's voice,-be still! "Must I pine in my fetters here? With the wild wave's foam, and the free bird's flight, And the tall spears glancing on my sight, And the trumpet in mine ear? Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill, They are gone! they have all pass'd by! Sound again, clarion! clarion, pour thy blast! THE TRUMPET. THE trumpet's voice hath roused the land, Light up the beacon-pyre! A hundred hills have seen the brand, A hundred banners to the breeze Their gorgeous folds have cast; The chief is arming in his hall, The peasant by his hearth; The mourner hears the thrilling call, The mother on her firstborn son They come not back, though all be won, The bard hath ceased his song, and bound E'en for the marriage altar crowned, The lover quits his bride! And all this haste, and change, and fear, By earthly clarion spread! How will it be when kingdoms hear THE RETURN TO POETRY. ONCE more the eternal melodies from far, |