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But who are they that as a cloud
And doves are hovering near;
Their freight of glorious cheer?
So beautiful as these;
Through thy tall surging seas.
No treasures like to them:
Is hidden no such gem.
Of men that bear away
Of the last dooming day.
Embassage, vast and high,
To man who may not die.
DESOLATION OF TYRE.
IT SHALL BE A PLACE FOR THE SPREADING OF NETS, IN
THE MIDST OF THE SEA.
High on the rock-embattled steep
That braved the storm and flood,
Proud mistress of the foaming deep,
of traffic stood.
Enriched her gathering store;
And Ophir gave the ore.
And kings confessed her sway;
The nations were her prey.
Yea, of that city's praise
And strangers came to gaze.
Her boasted wealth has filed;
The fisher's net is spread:
And Tyria's mirth is low,
Are hushed, or wake to wo!
TWILIGHT SONG OF SHEPHERDS OF THE ANDES.
BENEATH the brow of yonder steep
The tints of twilight fade:
That in the valley played.
Lorn in the saffron-belted west,
The star of evening shines;
And gems the curling vines.
Secure from nightly ill;
My dog is faithful still.
How rich retirement's calm!
Is bland contentment's balm.
In this sequestered woodland scene,
Fond love and peace reside;
With labour doth abide.
Then give me still my mountain air,
My flock and shepherd's nest;
And I am truly blest.
PRAYER FOR THE DEAD!
PRAYER for the dead ! yet pray not thou
For him that in repose is blest;
Unconscious of the smile or tear,
Life's blessed sympathies unknown, Thy voice falls listless on his ear
Who with decay is left alone.
Prayer for the dead! yet pray thou
For him that girdeth up to fly, Where waits prepared for his brow
The glorious chaplet of the sky: For ever free from human ills,
The billows of this Jordan trod, He'll drink the satisfying rills
That flow fast by the throne of God.
Prayer for the dead! yet pray not thou
For dwellers 'neath the stormy cloud, O’er which mild Mercy Alings no bow,
The fainting, faithless, and the proud: For them that in their spirit-powers,
And in immortal madness strong, Still buffet the unwasting hours, And shout in agony,
“ How long!”
Prayer for the dead! whom from their sleep
Time's solemn footfall fails to wake, Whose midnight dreamings, still and deep,
The judgment-trumpet may not break: Yet in whose soul, if there be shed
Light from the Cross, new life begins ; They cluster round your hearths—the dead!
The dead in trespasses and sins.
SWEET ORB OF NIGHT! I SAW THEE RISE.
Sweet orb of night! I saw thee rise
In cloudless lustre o’er the plain; I saw thee climb the azure skies,
With radiant splendours in thy train: I marked thy mildly pensive beam
At midnight's still and hallowed hour; I watched the fitful, lonely gleam
That played on yonder ivied tower.
Sweet orb of night! I often love
When day with all its cares is o’er, To wander in the silent grove,
And there the Source of Light adore: O then, how false all else appears,
While wrapt in awe thy course I view, And see thee mount the starry spheres,
And tread the fields of heavenly blue!
THE HOUSE OF REFUGE.
Taou'st seen the boy in his bright glow
Of spring-like promising ;
An unnamed loveless thing:
Or given the fruitless sigh
To promises that die.