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Blossoms Sharon's shady bower,
Fairer than thy sensual seat;
Than Stamboul's proud minaret.
Where the Iman beckons thee;
At the foot of Calvary.
The loss of the breath from a beloved object, long suffering in pain and certainly to die, is not so great a privation as the last Joss of her beautiful remains, if they continue so.
The victory of the grave is sharper than the sting of death.-Moore's Life of Sheridan.
0, let her linger yet awhile
With me —that lovely clay,–
o, let her longer stay.
Let me again adorn her hair
With flowers she loved so well;
My every grief dispel.
She'll not reprove, though love detains
Her here awhile, for she
0, let her stay with me.
I'll sit beside her and l’ll deem
I do but watch her sleep;
I cannot choose but weep.
It may not be that altered brow
Tells of corruption's hour;
O Death, I feel thy power.
To thee my wedded love I gave,
In silent sorrowing;
Severer than thy sting:
OCCASIONED BY AN INCIDENT DURING A STORM.
The parent-bird had built its nest
'Mid poplar boughs secure,
Nor treacherous foes allure.
The toil that mothers love-
Of field and flowery grove.
With every rising sun;
Joy bade them swell their little throats,
When day its course had run.
A lesson for the proud,
For peace amid the crowd !
The bliss that mortals prize, Can never thrive unmixed below,
Its home is in the skies. Is even innocence like
yours, Sweet birds! a prey to ill? Then, what to guilt repose ensures,
Or whispers, “peace, be still!” The midnight thunder burst afar,
The whirlwind rode on high; The tremblers shrunk, for them no star
Looked out upon the sky. Fierce came the blast, and spire and tree
Quivered beneath its power; Mankind were safe, alas, for ye
Poor birds! 'twas misery's hour. The morning came and nature shone,
Yet heard we not the song, 0, heart-subduing was the moan
That mother poured along:
The lightning scathed the bough;
Where are her offspring now!
Her giant shadows flee; Night's sentinel forsakes
The hills of Galilee: And scattering tints of morn have met Above the brow of Olivet.
In ruins slept a world
Once innocent and fair His banner sin unfurled,
And Death trod proudly there. Darkness held empire till afar, Symbol of hope, rose Bethlehem's Star.
The angel choir that night
Brought tidings down to man;
Celestial music ran:
Light broke on Syrian plains
To cheer a world in wo;
That none but angels know:
The chambers of the tomb
Yield renovating breath ;
And victory from death:
TAKEN FROM A TOMB IN THE CATHEDRAL OF SIENNA.
“ Wine gives life! it was death to me. I never beheld the morning sun with sober eyes ; even my bones are thirsty.-Stranger! sprinkle my grave with wine; empty the cup and depart."
Even here where I long vigils keep,
Do thou the goblet fill;
My bones are thirsty still.
Dost start?—nay, do not fear, For of that cup, the maniac slave
Now powerless lies here.
Is it not life? Yet unto me
The blight of hope it was ; My years were given to misery;
I curse thee, wine ! the cause: Brighter than morning was my lot,
But serpents wreathed the bowl ;