Silent-save when breeze's moan
Comes through flowers or fretted stone;
And the wild-rose waves around thee,
And the long dark grass hath bound thee,
-Sleep'st thou, as the swain might sleep,
In his nameless valley deep?
No! brave heart! though cold and lone,
Kingly power is yet thine own!
Feel I not thy spirit brood
O'er the whispering solitude?
Lo! at one high thought of thee,
Fast they rise, the bold, the free,
Sweeping past thy lowly bed,
With a mute, yet stately tread.
Shedding their pale armour's light
Forth upon the breathless night,
Bending every warlike plume
In the prayer o'er saintly tomb.
Is the noble Douglas nigh,
Arm'd to follow thee, or die?
Now, true heart! as thou wert wont
Pass thou to the peril's front!
Where the banner-spear is gleaming,
And the battle's red wine streaming,
Till the Paynim quail before thee,
Till the cross wave proudly o'er thee.
-Dreams! the falling of a leaf
Wins me from their splendours brief;
Dreams, yet bright ones! scorn them not,
Thou that seek'st the holy spot;
Nor, amidst its lone domain,
Call the faith in relics vain!
"The beautiful is vanish'd, and returns not." COLERIDGE'S "Wallenstein."
A YOUTH rode forth from his childhood's home,
Through the crowded paths of the world to roam;
And the green leaves whisper'd, as he pass'd,
"Wherefore, thou dreamer! away so fast?
"Knew'st thou with what thou art parting here, Long wouldst thou linger in doubt and fear; Thy heart's light laughter, thy sunny hours, Thou hast left in our shades with the spring's wild flowers.
"Under the arch by our mingling made, Thou and thy brother have gaily play'd;
There is crowding to the Capitol, the imperial The streets are hung with coronals-why stays
Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"
"Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange, bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?" "Not there, not there, my child!"
"Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?— Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand?— Is it there, sweet mother! that better land?" -"Not there, not there, my child!
"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair-
Sorrow and death may not enter there:
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
It is there, it is there, my child!"
THE WOUNDED EAGLE.
EAGLE! this is not thy sphere !
Warrior-bird! what seck'st thou here?
Wherefore by the fountain's brink
Doth thy royal pinion sink?
Wherefore on the violet's bed
Lay'st thou thus thy drooping head?
Thou, that hold'st the blast in scorn,
Thou, that wear'st the wings of morn!
Eagle wilt thou not arise?
Look upon thine own bright skies!
Lift thy glance! the fiery sun
There his pride of place hath won!
And the mountain lark is there,
And sweet sound hath fill'd the air;
Hast thou left that realm on high?
-Oh! it can be but to die!
Eagle eagle thou hast bow'd
From thine empire o'er the cloud!
Thou, that hadst etherial birth,
Thou hast stoop'd too near the earth,
And the hunter's shaft hath found thee, And the toils of death have bound thee! -Wherefore didst thou leave thy place, Creature of a kingly race?
Wert thou weary of thy throne ?
Was thy sky's dominion lone?
Chill and lone it well might be,
Yet that mighty wing was free!
Now the chain is o'er it cast,
From thy heart the blood flows fast,
-Woe for gifted souls and high!
Is not such their destiny?
"Nay, these wild fits of uncurb'd laughter
Athwart the gloomy tenor of your mind,
As it has lower'd of late, so keenly cast,
Unsuited seem, and strange.
Oh, nothing strange!
Did'st thou ne'er see the swallow's veering breast,
Winging the air beneath some murky cloud,
In the sunn'd glimpses of a troubled day,
Shiver in silvery brightness ?
Or boatman's oar, as vivid lightning, flash
In the faint gleam, that, like a spirit's path,
Tracks the still waters of some sullen lake?
O gentle friend!
Chide not her mirth, who yesterday was sad,
And may be so to-morrow!"
JOANNA BAILLIE.
YE met at the stately feasts of old,
Where the bright wine foam'd over sculptured gold;
Sadness and Mirth! ye were mingled there
With the sound of the lyre in the scented air;
As the cloud and the lightning are blent on high,
Ye mix'd in the gorgeous revelry.
For there hung o'er those banquets of yore a gloom,
A thought and a shadow of the tomb;
It gave to the flute-notes an under-tone,
To the rose a colouring not its own,
To the breath of the myrtle a mournful power-—
Sadness and Mirth! ye had each your dower!
Ye met when the triumph swept proudly by, With the Roman eagles through the sky!
I know that even then, in his hour of pride, The soul of the mighty within him died; That a void in his bosom lay darkly still, Which the music of victory might never fill!
Thou wert there, O Mirth! swelling on the shout,
Till the temples, like echo-caves, rang out;
Thine were the garlands, the songs, the wine-
All the rich voices in air were thine,
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