« AnteriorContinuar »
For lo ! the day, th' immortal day,
And pour'd the noon of light ! Rapture ! be kindling, mounting, glowing, While from thine eye the tear is flowing,
Pure, warın, and bright!
'Twas on this day-oh, love divine !
The Orient Star's effulgence rose; Then waked the Morn, whose eye benign
Shall nezer, never close !
Proud Castle ! though the days are flown
Emanuel ! Prince of Peace !
Bade discord cease !
Wake the loud pæan, tune the voice,
Children of heaven and sons of earth ! Seraphs and men ! exult, rejoice,
To bless the Saviour's birth !
Nor wilt thou, Spring! refuse to breathe
Soft odours on this desert air; Refuse to twine thine earliest wreath,
And fringe these towers with garlands fair!
Devotion ! light thy purest fire ! Transport ! on cherub wing aspire ! Praise ! wake to Him thy golden lyre,
Strike every thrilling chord ! While, at the Ark of Mercy kneeling, We own thy grace, reviving, healing,
Redeemer ! Lord !
Sweets of the wild, oh ! ever bloom
Unheeded on this ivied wall !
While mental peace, o'er every prospect bright, THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS. Throws mellowing tints and harmonising light!
Lo ! borne on clouds, in rushing might sublime, WHENCE are those tranquil joys in mercy given, Stern Winter, bursting from the polar clime, To light the wilderness with beams of heaven? Triumphant waves his signal-torch on high, To soothe our cares, and through the cloud diffuse The blood-red meteor of the northern sky! Their temper'd sunshine and celestial hues ? And high through darkness rears his giant-form, Those pure delights, ordain'd on life to throw His throne the billow, and his flag the storm! Gleams of the bliss ethereal natures know?
Yet then, when bloom and sunshine are no more, Say, do they grace Ambition's regal throne, And the wild surges foam along the shore, When kneeling myriads call the world his own ? Domestic Bliss, thy heaven is still serene, Or dwell with Luxury, in th'enchanted bowers Thy star unclouded, and thy myrtle green ! Where taste and wealth exert creative powers ? Thy fane of rest no raging storms invade
Sweet peace is thine, the seraph of the shade! Favour'd of heaven ! O Genius! are they thine, Clear through the day, her light around thee When round thy brow the wreaths of glory shine; glows, While rapture gazes on thy radiant way,
And gilds the midnight of thy deep repose ! Midst the bright realms of clear and mental day? -Hail, sacred Home ! where soft Affection's hand No! sacred joys ! 'tis yours to dwell enshrined, With flowers of Eden twines her magic band ! Most fondly cherish'd, in the purest mind; Where pure and bright the social ardours rise, To twine with flowers those loved, endearing ties, Concentring all their holiest energies !-On earth so sweet—so perfect in the skies ! When wasting toil has dimm'd the vital flame,
And every power deserts the sinking frame, Nursed in the lap of solitude and shade, Exhausted nature still from sleep implores The violet smiles, embosom'd in the glade
The charm that lulls, the manna that restores ! There sheds her spirit on the lonely gale,
Thus, when oppress'd with rude, tumultuous cares, Gem of seclusion ! treasure of the vale !
To thee, sweet Home ! the fainting mind repairs; Thus, far retired from life's tumultuous road, Still to thy breast, a wearied pilgrim, flies, Domestic Bliss has fixed her calm abode
Her ark of refuge from uncertain skies ! Where hallow'd Innocence and sweet Repose May strew her shadowy path with many a rose. Bower of repose ! when, torn from all we love, As, when dread thunder shakes the troubled sky, Through toil we struggle, or through distance rove; The cherub, Infancy, can close its eye,
To thee we turn, still faithful, from afarAnd sweetly smile, unconscious of a tear,
Thee, our bright vista! thee, our magnet-star ! While viewless gels wave their pinions near; And from the martial field, the troubled sea, Thus, while around the storms of Discord roll, Unfetter'd thought still roves to bliss and thee ! Borne on resistless wing from pole to pole, While War's red lightnings desolate the ball, When ocean-sounds in awful slumber die, And thrones and empires in destruction fall; No wave to murmur, and no gale to sigh; Then calm as evening on the silvery wave, Wideo'er the world when Peace and Midnight reign, When the wind slumbers in the ocean cave, And the moon trembles on the sleeping main ; She dwells unruffled, in her bower of rest,
At that still hour, the sailor wakes to keep, Her empire Home!-her throne, Affection's breast ! Midst the dead calm, the vigil of the deep !
No gleaming shores his dim horizon bound, For her, sweet Nature wears her loveliest blooms, All heaven and sea-and solitude--around ! And softer sunshine every scene illumes.
Then, from the lonely deck, the silent helm, When Spring awakes the spirit of the breeze, From the wide grandeur of the shadowy realm, Whose light wing undulates the sleeping seas; Still homeward borne, his fancy unconfined, When Summer, waving her creative wand, Leaving the worlds of ocean far behind, Bids verdure smile, and glowing life expand; Wings like a meteor-flash her swift career, Or Autumn's pencil sheds, with magic trace, To the loved scenes, so distant, and so dear! O'er fading loveliness, a moonlight grace; Oh! still for her, through Nature's boundless reign, Lo! the rude whirlwind rushes from its cave, No charm is lost, no beauty blooms in vain ; And Danger frowns—the monarch of the wave!
Lo! rocks and storms the striving bark repel, And Death and Shipwreck ride the foaming swell!
In that blest moment, all the past forget Hours of suspense and vigils of regret!
Child of the ocean ! is thy bier the surge, Thy grave the billow, and the wind thy dirge? Yes! thy long toil, thy weary conflict o'er, No storm shall wake, no perils rouse thee more ! Yet, in that solemn hour, that awful strife, The struggling agony for death or life, E'en then thy mind, embittering every pain, Retraced the image so beloved-in vain ! Still to sweet Home thy last regrets were true, Life's parting sigh—the murmur of adieu !
And oh ! for him, the child of rude alarms, Rear'd by stern danger in the school of arms ! How sweet to change the war-song's pealing note For woodland-sounds in summer air that float ! Through vales of peace, o'er mountain wilds to roam, And breathe his nativegales, that whisper-Home!
Can war's dread scenes the hallow'd ties efface, Each tender thought, each fond remembrance
chase? Can fields of carnage, days of toil, destroy The loved impression of domestic joy?
Hail, sweet endearments of domestic ties, Charms of existence ! angel sympathies ! Though Pleasure smile, a soft Circassian queen ! And guide her votaries through a fairy scene, Where sylphid forms beguile their vernal hours With mirth and music in Arcadian bowers; Though gazing nations hail the fiery car That bears the Son of Conquest from afar, While Fame's loud pæan bids his heart rejoice, And every life-pulse vibrates to her voice;Yet from your source alone, in mazes bright, Flows the full current of serene delight!
Ye daylight dreams ! that cheer the soldier's
breast, In hostile climes, with spells benign and blest, Soothe his brave heart, and shed your glowing ray O'er the long march through Desolation's way; Oh! still ye bear him from th’ ensanguined plain, Armour's bright flash, and Victory's choral strain, To that loved Home where pure affection glows, That shrine of bliss ! asylum of repose ! When all is hush'd—the rage of combat past, And no drcad war-note swells the moaning blast; When the warm throb of many a heart is o'er, And many an eye is closed to wake no more; Lulld by the night-wind, pillow'd on the ground, (The dewy deathbed of his comrades, round !) While o'er the slain the tears of midnight weep, Faint with fatigue, he sinks in slumbers deep! Een then, soft visions, hovering round, portray The cherishd forms that o'er his bosom sway; He sees fond transport light each beaming face, Meets the warm tear-drop and the long embrace ! While the sweet welcome vibrates through his
heart, "Hail, weary soldier !-never more to part !”
On Freedom's wing, that every wild explores, Through realms of space, th' aspiring eagle soars ! Darts o'er the clouds, exulting to admire, Meridian glory-on her throne of fire ! Bird of the Sun ! his keen unwearied gaze Hails the full noon, and triumphs in the blaze; But soon, descending from his height sublime, Day's burning fount, and light's empyreal clime, Once more he speeds to joys more calmly blest, Midst the dear inmates of his lonely nest !
Thus Genius, mounting on his bright career Through the wide regions of the mental sphere, And proudly waving in his gifted hand, O'er Fancy's worlds, Invention's plastic wand, Fearless and firm, with lightning-eye surveys The clearest heaven of intellectual rays ! Yet, on his course though loftiest hopes attend, And kindling raptures aid him to ascend, (While in his mind, with high-born grandeur
fraught, Dilate the noblest energies of thought ;) Still, from the bliss, ethereal and refined, Which crowns the soarings of triumphant mind, At length he flies, to that serene retreat, Where calm and pure the mild affections meet; Embosom'd there, to feel and to impart The softer pleasures of the social heart !
And lo! at last, released from every toil, He comes !-the wanderer views his native soil ! Then the bright raptures words can never speak Flash in his eye and mantle o'er his cheek ! Then Love and Friendship, whose unceasing
prayer Implored for him each guardian-spirit's care ; Who, for his fate, through sorrow's lingering year, Had proved each thrilling pulse of hope and fear;
Ah! weep for those, deserted and forlorn, From every tie by fate relentless torn;
See, on the barren coast, the lonely isle,
Where winter triumphs, through the polar night,
Thence, roving wild through many a depth of
shade, Where voice ne'er echo'd, footstep never' stray'd, He fondly seeks, o'er cliffs and deserts rude, Haunts of mankind midst realms of solitude ! And pauses oft, and sadly hears alone The wood's deep sigh, the surge's distant moan ! All else is hush'd ! so silent, so profound, As if some viewless power, presiding round, With mystic spell, unbroken by a breath, Had spread for ages the repose of death! Ah! still the wanderer, by the boundless deep, Lives but to watch—and watches but to weep! He sees no sail in faint perspective rise, His the dread loneliness of sea and skies ! Far from his cherish'd friends, his native shore, Banish'd from being--to return no more; There must he die !-within that circling wave, That lonely isle—his prison and his grave !
And thus, Affection, can thy voice compose The stormy tide of passions and of woes; Bid every throb of wild emotion cease, And lull misfortune in the arms of peace !
Lo! through the waste, the wilderness of snows, With fainting step, Siberia's exile goes ! Homeless and sad, o'er many a polar wild, Where beam, or flower, or verdure never smiled; Where frost and silence hold their despot-reign, And bind existence in eternal chain ! Child of the desert ! pilgrim of the gloom ! Dark is the path which leads thee to the tomb ! While on thy faded cheek the arctic air Congeals the bitter tear-drop of despair ! Yet not that fate condemns thy closing day In that stern clime to shed its parting ray; Not that fair nature's loveliness and light No more shall beam enchantment on thy sight; Ah! not for this—far, far beyond relief, Deep in thy bosom dwells the hopeless grief; But that no friend of kindred heart is there, Thy woes to mitigate, thy toils to share ; That no mild soother fondly shall assuage The stormy trials of thy lingering age; No smile of tenderness, with angel power, Lull the dread pangs of dissolution's hour; For this alone, despair, a withering guest, Sits on thy brow, and cankers in thy breast ! Yes! there, e'en there, in that tremendous clime, Where desert grandeur frowns in pomp sublime;
Oh! mark yon drooping form, of aged mien, Wan, yet resign'd, and hopeless, yet serene ! Long ere victorious time had sought to chase The bloom, the smile, that once illumed his face, That faded eye was dimmd with many a care, Those waving locks were silver'd by despair ! Yet filial love can pour the sovereign balm, Assuage his pangs, his wounded spirit calm ! He, a sad emigrant! condemn'd to roam In life's pale autumn from his ruin'd home, Has borne the shock of Peril's darkest wave, Where joy- and hope — and fortune — found a
grave ! 'Twas his to see Destruction's fiercest band Rush, like a Typhon, on his native land, And roll triumphant on their blasted way, In fire and blood, the deluge of dismay ! Unequal combat raged on many a plain, And patriot-valour waved the sword in vain ! Ah! gallant exile ! nobly, long, he bled, Long braved the tempest gathering o'er his head ! Till all was lost! and horror's darken'd eye Roused the stern spirit of despair to die !
Ah! gallant exile ! in the storm that roll'd Far o'er his country, rushing uncontrollid, The flowers that graced his path with loveliest
bloom, Torn by the blast, were scatter'd on the tomb ! When carnage burst, exulting in the strife, The bosom ties that bound his soul to life, Yet one was spared ! and she, whose filial smile Can soothe his wanderings and his tears beguile, E'en then could temper, with divine relief, The wild delirium of unbounded grief;