But youth looks upward to the window shine,
Warming with rose and purple and the swim
Of gold, as if thought-tinted by the stains
Of gorgeous light through many-colour'd panes ;

Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath
Enrobed his angels,—and with absent eyes
Hearing of Heav'n, and its directed path,
Thoughtful of slippers,—and the glorious skies
Clouding with satin,-till the preacher's wrath
Consumes his pity, and he glows, and cries
With a deep voice that trembles in its might,
And earnest eyes grown eloquent in light:

"Oh, that the vacant eye would learn to look
On very beauty, and the heart embrace
True loveliness, and from this holy book

Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace
Of love indeed! Oh, that the young soul took
Its virgin passion from the glorious face
Of fair religion, and address'd its strife,
To win the riches of eternal life!

"Doth the vain heart love glory that is none,
And the poor excellence of vain attire?
Oh go, and drown your eyes against the sun,
The visible ruler of the starry quire,

Till boiling gold in giddy eddies run,

Dazzling the brain with orbs of living fire; And the faint soul down-darkens into night, And dies a burning martyrdom to light.

"Oh go, and gaze,-when the low winds of ev'n Breathe hymns, and Nature's many forests nod

Their gold-crown'd heads; and the rich blooms of heav'n Sun-ripen'd give their blushes up to God;

And mountain-rocks and cloudy steeps are riv'n
By founts of fire, as smitten by the rod
Of heavenly Moses,-that your thirsty sense
May quench its longings of magnificence !

"Yet suns shall perish-stars shall fade awayDay into darkness-darkness into death

Death into silence; the warm light of day,

The blooms of summer, the rich glowing breath Of even-all shall wither and decay,

Like the frail furniture of dreams beneath The touch of morn-or bubbles of rich dyes That break and vanish in the aching eyes."

They hear, soul-blushing, and repentant shed

Unwholesome thoughts in wholesome tears, and pour Their sin to earth,—and with low drooping head Receive the solemn blessing, and implore Its grace-then soberly with chasten'd tread, They meekly press towards the gusty door, With humbled eyes that go to graze upon The lowly grass-like him of Babylon.

The lowly grass !-O water-constant mind!
Fast-ebbing holiness !-soon-fading grace
Of serious thought, as if the gushing wind
Through the low porch had wash'd it from the face
For ever!-How they lift their eyes to find
Old vanities!-Pride wins the very place
Of meekness, like a bird, and flutters now
With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow!

And lo! with eager looks they seek the way
Of old temptation at the lowly gate;

To feast on feathers, and on vain array,

And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering state

Of jewel sprinkled locks.—But where are they,
The graceless haughty ones that used to wait
With lofty neck, and nods, and stiffen'd eye?—
None challenge the old homage bending by.

In vain they look for the ungracious bloom
Of rich apparel where it glow'd before,—
For Vanity has faded all to gloom,

And lofty Pride has stiffen'd to the core,
For impious Life to tremble at its doom,-
Set for a warning token evermore,
Whereon, as now, the giddy and the wise
Shall gaze with lifted hands and wond'ring eyes.

The aged priest goes on each Sabbath morn,

But shakes not sorrow under his grey hair
;
The solemn clerk goes lavender'd and shorn,
Nor stoops his back to the ungodly pair;—
And ancient lips that pucker'd up in scorn,
Go smoothly breathing to the house of pray'r;
And in the garden-plot, from day to day,
The lily blooms its long white life away.

And where two haughty maidens used to be,

In pride of plume, where plumy Death had trod, Trailing their gorgeous velvets wantonly,

Most unmeet pall, over the holy sod ;There, gentle stranger, thou may'st only see

Two sombre Peacocks.- -Age, with sapient nod Marking the spot, still tarries to declare

How they once lived, and wherefore they are there.

THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER.

SUMMER is gone on swallow's wings,
And Earth has buried all her flowers:
No more the lark,-the linnet-sings,
But Silence sits in faded bowers.
There is a shadow on the plain
Of Winter ere he comes again,—
There is in woods a solemn sound
Of hollow warnings whisper'd round,
As Echo in her deep recess

For once had turn'd a prophetess.
Shuddering Autumn stops to list,
And breathes his fear in sudden sighs,
With clouded face, and hazel eyes

That quench themselves, and hide in mist.

Yes, Summer's gone like pageant bright;
Its glorious days of golden light
Are gone the mimic suns that quiver,
Then melt in Time's dark-flowing river;
Gone the sweetly-scented breeze
That spoke in music to the trees;
Gone-for damp and chilly breath,
As if fresh blown o'er marble seas,
Or newly from the lungs of Death.
Gone its virgin roses' blushes,
Warm as when Aurora rushes
Freshly from the god's embrace,

With all her shame upon her face.

Old Time hath laid them in the mould;

Sure he is blind as well as old,

Whose hand relentless never spares

Young cheeks so beauty-bright as theirs!
Gone are the flame-eyed lovers now
From where so blushing-blest they tarried
Under the hawthorn's blossom-bough,
Gone; for Day and Night are married.

T

Alas! that negro breasts should hide

The lips that were so rosy red,

At morning and at even-tide!

Delightful Summer! then adieu
Till thou shalt visit us anew:
But who without regretful sigh
Can say, adieu, and see thee fly?
Not he that e'er hath felt thy pow'r,
His joy expanding like a flow'r,
That cometh after rain and snow,
Looks up at heaven, and learns to glow:-
Not he that fled from Babel-strife
To the green sabbath-land of life,

To dodge dull Care 'mid cluster'd trees,
And cool his forehead in the breeze,―
Whose spirit, weary-worn, perchance,
Shook from its wings a weight of grief,
And perch'd upon an aspen leaf,

Farewell!-on wings of sombre stain,
That blacken in the last blue skies,
Thou fly'st; but thou wilt come again
On the gay wings of butterflies.
Spring at thy approach will sprout
Her new Corinthian beauties out,
Leaf-woven homes, where twitter-words
Will grow to songs, and eggs to birds;
Ambitious buds shall swell to flowers,
And April smiles to sunny hours.
Bright days shall be, and gentle nights
Full of soft breath and echo-lights
As if the god of sun-time kept
His eyes half-open while he slept.
Roses shall be where roses were,
Not shadows, but reality;