THE TWILIGHT HOUR.Slowly I dawn on the sleepless eye,Like a dreaming thought of eternity;But darkness hangs on my misty vest,Like the shade of care on the sleeper's breast;A light that is felt—but dimly seen,Like hope that hangs life and death between;And the weary watcher will sighing say,"Lord, I thank thee! 'twill soon be day;"The lingering night of pain is past,Morning breaks in the east at last.Mortal!—thou mayst see in meA type of feeble infancy,—A dim, uncertain, struggling ray,The promise of a future day!THE MORNING HOUR.Like a maid on her bridal morn I rise,With the smile on her lip and the tear in her eyes;Whilst the breeze my crimson banner unfurls,I wreathe my locks with the purest pearls;Brighter diamonds never were seenEncircling the neck of an Indian queen!I traverse the east on my glittering wing,And my smiles awake every living thing;And the twilight hour like a pilgrim gray,Follows the night on her weeping way.I raise the veil from the saffron bed,Where the young sun pillows his golden head;He lifts from the ocean his burning eye,And his glory lights up the earth and sky.Ah, I am like that dewy prime,Ere youth hath shaken hands with time;Ere the fresh tide of life has wasted low,And discovered the hidden rocks of woe:When like the rosy beams of morn,Joy and gladness and love were born,Hope divine, of heavenly birth,And pleasure that lightens the cares of earth!THE NOONTIDE HOUR.I come like an Eastern monarch dightIn my crown of beams, in my robe of light;And nature droops at my ardent gaze,And wraps the woods in a purple haze;From my fiery glance the strong man shrinks,Like a babe on the bosom of earth he sinks;Yet cries, as he turns from the glowing ray,"This is a glorious summer day!"Such is manhood's fiery dower,Passion's all-consuming power;Glorious, beautiful, and bright,But too dazzling to the sight!THE EVENING HOUR.Like the herald hope of a fairer clime,The brightest link in the chain of time,The youngest and loveliest child of day,I mingle and soften each glowing ray;Weaving together a tissue brightOf the beams of day and the gems of night.—I pitch my tent in the glowing west,And receive the sun as he sinks to rest;He flings in my lap his ruby crown,And lays at my feet his glory down;But ere his burning eyelids close,His farewell glance the day-king throwsOn Nature's face—till the twilight shroudsThe monarch's brow in a veil of clouds—Oh then, by the light of mine own fair star,I unyoke the steeds from his beamy car.Away they start from the fiery rein,With flashing hoofs, and flying mane,Like meteors speeding on the wind,They leave a glowing track behind,Till the dark caverns of the nightReceive the heaven-born steeds of light!While Nature broods o'er the soft reposeOf the dewy mead, and the half-shut rose,Does not that lovely hour give birthTo thoughts more allied to heaven than earth?When things that have been in perspective pass,Like the sun's last rays over memory's glass;When life's cares are forgot, when its joys are our own,And the mild beams of faith round the future are thrown;When all that awakened remorse or regret,Like a stormy morn, has in splendour set;When the sorrows of time and the hopes of heavenBlend in the soul like the hues of even,And the spirit looks back on this troubled sceneWith a glance as bright as it ne'er had been!NIGHT.I come, like Oblivion, to sweep awayThe scattered beams from the car of day:The gems which the evening has lavishly strownLight up the lamps round my ebon throne.Slowly I float through the realms of space,Casting my mantle o'er Nature's face,Weaving the stars in my raven hair,As I sail through the shadowy fields of air.All the wild fancies that thought can bringLie hid in the folds of my sable wing:Terror is mine with his phrensied crew,Fear with her cheek of marble hue,And sorrow, that shuns the eye of day,Pours out to me her plaintive lay.I am the type of that awful gloomWhich involves the cradle and wraps the tomb;Chilling the soul with its mystical sway;Chasing the day-dreams of beauty away;Till man views the banner by me unfurled,As the awful veil of the unknown world;The emblem of all he fears beneathThe solemn garb of the spoiler death!CHORUS OF HOURS.Born with the sun, the fair daughters of time,We silently lead to a lovelier clime,Where the day is undimmed by the shadows of night,But eternally beams from the fountain of light;Where the sorrows of time and its cares are unknownTo the beautiful forms that encircle the throneOf the mighty Creator! the First and the Last!Who the wonderful frame of the universe cast,And composed every link of the mystical chainOf minutes, and hours, which are numbered in vainBy the children of dust, in their frantic career,When their moments are wasted unthinkingly here,Lavished on earth which in mercy were givenThat men might prepare for the joys of heaven!—
THE TWILIGHT HOUR.
Slowly I dawn on the sleepless eye,Like a dreaming thought of eternity;But darkness hangs on my misty vest,Like the shade of care on the sleeper's breast;A light that is felt—but dimly seen,Like hope that hangs life and death between;And the weary watcher will sighing say,"Lord, I thank thee! 'twill soon be day;"The lingering night of pain is past,Morning breaks in the east at last.
Mortal!—thou mayst see in meA type of feeble infancy,—A dim, uncertain, struggling ray,The promise of a future day!
THE MORNING HOUR.
Like a maid on her bridal morn I rise,With the smile on her lip and the tear in her eyes;Whilst the breeze my crimson banner unfurls,I wreathe my locks with the purest pearls;Brighter diamonds never were seenEncircling the neck of an Indian queen!I traverse the east on my glittering wing,And my smiles awake every living thing;And the twilight hour like a pilgrim gray,Follows the night on her weeping way.I raise the veil from the saffron bed,Where the young sun pillows his golden head;He lifts from the ocean his burning eye,And his glory lights up the earth and sky.
Ah, I am like that dewy prime,Ere youth hath shaken hands with time;Ere the fresh tide of life has wasted low,And discovered the hidden rocks of woe:When like the rosy beams of morn,Joy and gladness and love were born,Hope divine, of heavenly birth,And pleasure that lightens the cares of earth!
THE NOONTIDE HOUR.
I come like an Eastern monarch dightIn my crown of beams, in my robe of light;And nature droops at my ardent gaze,And wraps the woods in a purple haze;From my fiery glance the strong man shrinks,Like a babe on the bosom of earth he sinks;Yet cries, as he turns from the glowing ray,"This is a glorious summer day!"
Such is manhood's fiery dower,Passion's all-consuming power;Glorious, beautiful, and bright,But too dazzling to the sight!
THE EVENING HOUR.
Like the herald hope of a fairer clime,The brightest link in the chain of time,The youngest and loveliest child of day,I mingle and soften each glowing ray;Weaving together a tissue brightOf the beams of day and the gems of night.—I pitch my tent in the glowing west,And receive the sun as he sinks to rest;He flings in my lap his ruby crown,And lays at my feet his glory down;But ere his burning eyelids close,His farewell glance the day-king throwsOn Nature's face—till the twilight shroudsThe monarch's brow in a veil of clouds—Oh then, by the light of mine own fair star,I unyoke the steeds from his beamy car.Away they start from the fiery rein,With flashing hoofs, and flying mane,Like meteors speeding on the wind,They leave a glowing track behind,Till the dark caverns of the nightReceive the heaven-born steeds of light!
While Nature broods o'er the soft reposeOf the dewy mead, and the half-shut rose,Does not that lovely hour give birthTo thoughts more allied to heaven than earth?When things that have been in perspective pass,Like the sun's last rays over memory's glass;When life's cares are forgot, when its joys are our own,And the mild beams of faith round the future are thrown;When all that awakened remorse or regret,Like a stormy morn, has in splendour set;When the sorrows of time and the hopes of heavenBlend in the soul like the hues of even,And the spirit looks back on this troubled sceneWith a glance as bright as it ne'er had been!
NIGHT.
I come, like Oblivion, to sweep awayThe scattered beams from the car of day:The gems which the evening has lavishly strownLight up the lamps round my ebon throne.Slowly I float through the realms of space,Casting my mantle o'er Nature's face,Weaving the stars in my raven hair,As I sail through the shadowy fields of air.All the wild fancies that thought can bringLie hid in the folds of my sable wing:Terror is mine with his phrensied crew,Fear with her cheek of marble hue,And sorrow, that shuns the eye of day,Pours out to me her plaintive lay.I am the type of that awful gloomWhich involves the cradle and wraps the tomb;Chilling the soul with its mystical sway;Chasing the day-dreams of beauty away;Till man views the banner by me unfurled,As the awful veil of the unknown world;The emblem of all he fears beneathThe solemn garb of the spoiler death!
CHORUS OF HOURS.
Born with the sun, the fair daughters of time,We silently lead to a lovelier clime,Where the day is undimmed by the shadows of night,But eternally beams from the fountain of light;Where the sorrows of time and its cares are unknownTo the beautiful forms that encircle the throneOf the mighty Creator! the First and the Last!Who the wonderful frame of the universe cast,And composed every link of the mystical chainOf minutes, and hours, which are numbered in vainBy the children of dust, in their frantic career,When their moments are wasted unthinkingly here,Lavished on earth which in mercy were givenThat men might prepare for the joys of heaven!—
Vision of beauty! there floats not a cloudO'er the blue vault of heaven thy glory to shroud;The star-gemmed horizon thou spannest sublime,Like the path to a better and lovelier clime.Thy light, unreflected by planet or star,Still widens and brightens round night's spangled car;In radiance resembling the moon's placid beam,When she smiles through the soft mist that hangs on the stream.Thou sittest enthroned, like the spirit of night,And the stars through thy zone shed a tremulous light;The moon is still sleeping beneath the wide sea,Whilst wonder is keeping her vigils with me.The bow of the covenant brightens the storm,When its dark wings are shading the brow of the morn;But thou art uncradled by vapour or cloud,Thy glory's unshaded by night's sable shroud.Oh whence is thy splendour, fair luminous bow?From light's golden chalice thy radiance must flow;Thou look'st from the throne of thy beauty aboveOn this desolate earth, like the spirit of love!
Vision of beauty! there floats not a cloudO'er the blue vault of heaven thy glory to shroud;The star-gemmed horizon thou spannest sublime,Like the path to a better and lovelier clime.
Thy light, unreflected by planet or star,Still widens and brightens round night's spangled car;In radiance resembling the moon's placid beam,When she smiles through the soft mist that hangs on the stream.
Thou sittest enthroned, like the spirit of night,And the stars through thy zone shed a tremulous light;The moon is still sleeping beneath the wide sea,Whilst wonder is keeping her vigils with me.
The bow of the covenant brightens the storm,When its dark wings are shading the brow of the morn;But thou art uncradled by vapour or cloud,Thy glory's unshaded by night's sable shroud.
Oh whence is thy splendour, fair luminous bow?From light's golden chalice thy radiance must flow;Thou look'st from the throne of thy beauty aboveOn this desolate earth, like the spirit of love!
Thou splendid child of southern skies!Thy brilliant plumes and graceful formAre not so precious in mine eyesAs those gray heralds of the morn,Which in my own beloved landWelcome the azure car of spring,When budding flowers and leaves expandOn hawthorn boughs, and sweetly sing.But thou art suited to the clime,The golden clime, that gave thee birth;Where beauty reigns o'er scenes sublime,And fadeless verdure decks the earth;Where nature faints beneath the blazeOf her own gorgeous crown of light,And exiled eyes, with aching gaze,Sigh for the softer shades of night,That memory to their dreams may bringPast scenes, to cheer their sleeping eye,The dark green woods where linnets sing,And echo wafts the faint reply.Ah, from those voiceless birds that glow,Like living gems 'mid blossoms rare,The captive turns in sullen woeTo climes more dear and scenes less fair!
Thou splendid child of southern skies!Thy brilliant plumes and graceful formAre not so precious in mine eyesAs those gray heralds of the morn,Which in my own beloved landWelcome the azure car of spring,When budding flowers and leaves expandOn hawthorn boughs, and sweetly sing.
But thou art suited to the clime,The golden clime, that gave thee birth;Where beauty reigns o'er scenes sublime,And fadeless verdure decks the earth;Where nature faints beneath the blazeOf her own gorgeous crown of light,And exiled eyes, with aching gaze,Sigh for the softer shades of night,
That memory to their dreams may bringPast scenes, to cheer their sleeping eye,The dark green woods where linnets sing,And echo wafts the faint reply.Ah, from those voiceless birds that glow,Like living gems 'mid blossoms rare,The captive turns in sullen woeTo climes more dear and scenes less fair!
FOOTNOTES:[C]This elegant bird is a native of Van Dieman's land.
[C]This elegant bird is a native of Van Dieman's land.
[C]This elegant bird is a native of Van Dieman's land.
Methought last night I saw thee lowly laid,Thy pallid cheek yet paler, on the bier;And scattered round thee many a lovely braidOf flowers, the brightest of the closing year;Whilst on thy lips the placid smile that played,Proved thy soul's exit to a happier sphere,In silent eloquence reproaching thoseWho watched in agony thy last repose.A pensive, wandering, melancholy lightThe moon's pale radiance on thy features cast,Which, through the awful stillness of the night,Gleamed like some lovely vision of the past,Recalling hopes once beautiful and bright,Now, like that struggling beam, receding fast,Which o'er the scene a softening glory shed,And kissed the brow of the unconscious dead.Yes—it was thou!—and we were doomed to part,Never in this wide world to meet again.The blow that levelled thee was in my heart,And thrilled my breast with more than mortal pain.Despair forbade the gathering tears to start;But soon the gushing torrents fell like rainO'er thy pale form, as free and unrepressedAs the rash shower that rocks the storm to rest.For all this goodly earth contained for me,Of bright or beautiful, lay withering there:What were its gayest scenes bereft of thee—What were its joys in which thou couldst not share?While memory recalled each spot, where weHad twined together many a garland fair,Of hope's own wreathing, and the summer hoursSmiled not on happier, gayer hearts than ours.Hearts, chilled and silent, as the pensive beam,Whose shadowy glory resting on the pall,Casts on the dead a sad portentous gleam,And serves past hours of rapture to recall,Till the soul roused herself with one wild scream,As shuddering nature felt the powerful call,And I awoke in ecstasy to find'Twas but a fleeting phantom of the mind!
Methought last night I saw thee lowly laid,Thy pallid cheek yet paler, on the bier;And scattered round thee many a lovely braidOf flowers, the brightest of the closing year;Whilst on thy lips the placid smile that played,Proved thy soul's exit to a happier sphere,In silent eloquence reproaching thoseWho watched in agony thy last repose.
A pensive, wandering, melancholy lightThe moon's pale radiance on thy features cast,Which, through the awful stillness of the night,Gleamed like some lovely vision of the past,Recalling hopes once beautiful and bright,Now, like that struggling beam, receding fast,Which o'er the scene a softening glory shed,And kissed the brow of the unconscious dead.
Yes—it was thou!—and we were doomed to part,Never in this wide world to meet again.The blow that levelled thee was in my heart,And thrilled my breast with more than mortal pain.Despair forbade the gathering tears to start;But soon the gushing torrents fell like rainO'er thy pale form, as free and unrepressedAs the rash shower that rocks the storm to rest.
For all this goodly earth contained for me,Of bright or beautiful, lay withering there:What were its gayest scenes bereft of thee—What were its joys in which thou couldst not share?While memory recalled each spot, where weHad twined together many a garland fair,Of hope's own wreathing, and the summer hoursSmiled not on happier, gayer hearts than ours.
Hearts, chilled and silent, as the pensive beam,Whose shadowy glory resting on the pall,Casts on the dead a sad portentous gleam,And serves past hours of rapture to recall,Till the soul roused herself with one wild scream,As shuddering nature felt the powerful call,And I awoke in ecstasy to find'Twas but a fleeting phantom of the mind!
I know a cliff, whose steep and craggy browO'erlooks the troubled ocean, and spurns backThe advancing billow from its rugged base;Yet many a goodly rood of land lies deepBeneath the wild wave buried, which rolls onIts course exulting o'er the prostrate towersOf high cathedral—church—and abbey fair,—Lifting its loud and everlasting voiceOver the ruins, which its depths enshroud,As if it called on Time, to render backThe things that were, and give to life againAll that in dark oblivion sleeps below:—Perched on the summit of that lofty cliffA time-worn edifice o'erlooks the wave,"Which greets the fisher's home-returning bark,"And the young seaman checks his blithesome songTo hail the lonely ruin from the deep.Majestic in decay, that roofless pileSurvives the wreck of ages, rising stillA mournful beacon o'er the sea of time,The lonely record of departed years:—Yes—those who view that ruin feel an aweSink in the heart, like those who look on deathFor the first time, and hear within the soulA voice of warning whisper,—"Thus, e'en thus,All human glories perish—rent from time,And swallowed up in that unmeasured void,O'er which oblivion rolls his sable tide."—Such thoughts as these that moss-grown pile calls forthTo those who gaze upon its shattered walls,Or, musing, tread its grass-grown aisles, or pauseTo contemplate the wide and barren heath,Spreading in rude magnificence around,With scarce a tree or shrub to intersectIts gloomy aspect, save the noble ashThat fronts the ruins, on whose hoary trunkThe hurricanes of years have vainly burst,To mar its beauty;—there sublime it stands,Waving its graceful branches o'er the soilThat wraps the mouldering children of the land.The shadowy splendour of an autumn skyWas radiant with the hues of parting day;The glorious sun seemed loth to leave the west,That glowed like molten gold—a saffron seaFretted with crimson billows, whose rich tintsGave to the rugged cliff and barren heathA ruddy diadem of living light!Hark!—'tis the lonely genius of the placeSighs through the wind-stirred branches and bewailsIts desolation to the moaning blast,That sweeps the ivy on the dark gray walls!—No—'twas a sound of bitter agonyWrung from the depths of some o'erburdened heart,Which in life's early morning had receivedA sad inheritance of sighs and tears.Starting, I turned—and seated on the groundBeside the broken altar I beheldA female figure, whose fantastic dressAnd hair enwreathed with sprigs of ash and yewBespoke a mind in ruins. On her browDespair had stamped his iron seal; her cheekWas pale as moonlight on the misty wave;Her hollow eyes were fixed on vacancy,Or wildly sent their hurried glances roundWith quick impatient gesture, as in questOf some loved object, present to her mind,But shut for ever from her longing view.The sun went down. She slowly left her seatAnd cast one long sad look upon the wave;Then poured the anguish of her breaking heartIn a low plaintive strain of melody,That rose and died away upon the breeze,The mournful requiem of her perished hopes:—Hark! the restless spirits of ocean sigh;I can hear them speak as the wind sweeps by.See, the ivy has heard their mystic call,And shivering clings to the broken wall,The dark green leaves take a sadder shade,And the flowers turn pale and begin to fade;The landscape grows dim in the deepening gloom,And the dead awake in the silent tomb.I have watched the return of my true-love's bark,From the sun's uprising till midnight dark;I have watched and wept through the weary day,But his ship on the deep is far away;I have gazed for hours on the whitening trackOf the pathless waters, and called him back,But my voice returned on the moaning blast,And the vessel I sought still glided past.We parted on just such a lovely night:The billows were tossing in cloudless light,And the full bright moon on the waters slept;And the stars above us their vigils kept,And the surges whispered a lullaby,As low and as sweet as a lover's sigh—And he promised, as gently he pressed my hand,He would soon return to his native land.But long months have fled, and this burning brainIs seared with weeping and watching in vain.A dark dark shade on my bosom lies,And nights of sorrow have dimmed these eyes;The roses have fled from my pallid cheek,And the grief that I feel no words can speak;I have made my home with the graves of the dead,And the cold earth pillows my aching head!He will come!—he will come!—I know it now;The waves are dancing before his prow;He comes to speak peace to my aching heart,To tell me we never again shall part;I can hear his voice in the freshening breeze,As his bark glides o'er the rippling seas,And my heart will break forth into laughter and song,When I lead him back through the gazing throng.Ah, no—where yon shade on the water liesThe slow-rising moon deceives my eyes,And the tide of sorrow within my breastRolls on like the billows that never rest;I will look no more on the heaving deep,But return to my lowly bed and weep:He will come to my dreams in the darksome night,And his bark will be here with the dawn of light!When the song ceased, she turned her heavy eyesWith such a piteous glance upon my face;It pierced my heart, and fast the gathering tearsBlinded my sight. Alas! poor maniac;For thee no hope shall dawn—no tender thoughtWake in thy blighted heart a thrill of joy.The immortal mind is levelled with the dust,Ere the tenacious cords of life give way.Hers was a common tale—she early ownedThe ardent love that youthful spirits feel,And gave her soul in blind idolatryTo one dear object; and his ship was lostIn sight of port—lost on the very mornThat should have smiled upon their bridal rite.She saw the dreadful accident like oneWho saw it not; and from that fatal hourAll memory of it faded from her mind,And still she watches for the distant sailOf him, who never, never can return!Poor stricken maid! thy best affections,Thy hopes, thy wishes centred all in earth—Earth has repaid thee with a broken heart!Love to thy God had known no rash excess,For in his service there is joy and peace;A light, which on thy troubled mind had shedIts holy influence, and those tearful eyesHad then been raised in gratitude to heaven,Nor chased delusive phantoms o'er the deep!
I know a cliff, whose steep and craggy browO'erlooks the troubled ocean, and spurns backThe advancing billow from its rugged base;Yet many a goodly rood of land lies deepBeneath the wild wave buried, which rolls onIts course exulting o'er the prostrate towersOf high cathedral—church—and abbey fair,—Lifting its loud and everlasting voiceOver the ruins, which its depths enshroud,As if it called on Time, to render backThe things that were, and give to life againAll that in dark oblivion sleeps below:—Perched on the summit of that lofty cliffA time-worn edifice o'erlooks the wave,"Which greets the fisher's home-returning bark,"And the young seaman checks his blithesome songTo hail the lonely ruin from the deep.
Majestic in decay, that roofless pileSurvives the wreck of ages, rising stillA mournful beacon o'er the sea of time,The lonely record of departed years:—Yes—those who view that ruin feel an aweSink in the heart, like those who look on deathFor the first time, and hear within the soulA voice of warning whisper,—"Thus, e'en thus,All human glories perish—rent from time,And swallowed up in that unmeasured void,O'er which oblivion rolls his sable tide."—Such thoughts as these that moss-grown pile calls forthTo those who gaze upon its shattered walls,Or, musing, tread its grass-grown aisles, or pauseTo contemplate the wide and barren heath,Spreading in rude magnificence around,With scarce a tree or shrub to intersectIts gloomy aspect, save the noble ashThat fronts the ruins, on whose hoary trunkThe hurricanes of years have vainly burst,To mar its beauty;—there sublime it stands,Waving its graceful branches o'er the soilThat wraps the mouldering children of the land.
The shadowy splendour of an autumn skyWas radiant with the hues of parting day;The glorious sun seemed loth to leave the west,That glowed like molten gold—a saffron seaFretted with crimson billows, whose rich tintsGave to the rugged cliff and barren heathA ruddy diadem of living light!
Hark!—'tis the lonely genius of the placeSighs through the wind-stirred branches and bewailsIts desolation to the moaning blast,That sweeps the ivy on the dark gray walls!—No—'twas a sound of bitter agonyWrung from the depths of some o'erburdened heart,Which in life's early morning had receivedA sad inheritance of sighs and tears.
Starting, I turned—and seated on the groundBeside the broken altar I beheldA female figure, whose fantastic dressAnd hair enwreathed with sprigs of ash and yewBespoke a mind in ruins. On her browDespair had stamped his iron seal; her cheekWas pale as moonlight on the misty wave;Her hollow eyes were fixed on vacancy,Or wildly sent their hurried glances roundWith quick impatient gesture, as in questOf some loved object, present to her mind,But shut for ever from her longing view.
The sun went down. She slowly left her seatAnd cast one long sad look upon the wave;Then poured the anguish of her breaking heartIn a low plaintive strain of melody,That rose and died away upon the breeze,The mournful requiem of her perished hopes:—
Hark! the restless spirits of ocean sigh;I can hear them speak as the wind sweeps by.See, the ivy has heard their mystic call,And shivering clings to the broken wall,The dark green leaves take a sadder shade,And the flowers turn pale and begin to fade;The landscape grows dim in the deepening gloom,And the dead awake in the silent tomb.I have watched the return of my true-love's bark,From the sun's uprising till midnight dark;I have watched and wept through the weary day,But his ship on the deep is far away;I have gazed for hours on the whitening trackOf the pathless waters, and called him back,But my voice returned on the moaning blast,And the vessel I sought still glided past.
We parted on just such a lovely night:The billows were tossing in cloudless light,And the full bright moon on the waters slept;And the stars above us their vigils kept,And the surges whispered a lullaby,As low and as sweet as a lover's sigh—And he promised, as gently he pressed my hand,He would soon return to his native land.
But long months have fled, and this burning brainIs seared with weeping and watching in vain.A dark dark shade on my bosom lies,And nights of sorrow have dimmed these eyes;The roses have fled from my pallid cheek,And the grief that I feel no words can speak;I have made my home with the graves of the dead,And the cold earth pillows my aching head!
He will come!—he will come!—I know it now;The waves are dancing before his prow;He comes to speak peace to my aching heart,To tell me we never again shall part;I can hear his voice in the freshening breeze,As his bark glides o'er the rippling seas,And my heart will break forth into laughter and song,When I lead him back through the gazing throng.
Ah, no—where yon shade on the water liesThe slow-rising moon deceives my eyes,And the tide of sorrow within my breastRolls on like the billows that never rest;I will look no more on the heaving deep,But return to my lowly bed and weep:He will come to my dreams in the darksome night,And his bark will be here with the dawn of light!
When the song ceased, she turned her heavy eyesWith such a piteous glance upon my face;It pierced my heart, and fast the gathering tearsBlinded my sight. Alas! poor maniac;For thee no hope shall dawn—no tender thoughtWake in thy blighted heart a thrill of joy.The immortal mind is levelled with the dust,Ere the tenacious cords of life give way.Hers was a common tale—she early ownedThe ardent love that youthful spirits feel,And gave her soul in blind idolatryTo one dear object; and his ship was lostIn sight of port—lost on the very mornThat should have smiled upon their bridal rite.She saw the dreadful accident like oneWho saw it not; and from that fatal hourAll memory of it faded from her mind,And still she watches for the distant sailOf him, who never, never can return!
Poor stricken maid! thy best affections,Thy hopes, thy wishes centred all in earth—Earth has repaid thee with a broken heart!Love to thy God had known no rash excess,For in his service there is joy and peace;A light, which on thy troubled mind had shedIts holy influence, and those tearful eyesHad then been raised in gratitude to heaven,Nor chased delusive phantoms o'er the deep!
WINTER.Awake—arise! all my stormy powers,The earth, the fair earth, again is ours!At my stern approach, pale Autumn flings downIn the dust her broken and faded crown;At my glance the terrified mourner flies,And the earth is filled with her doleful cries.Awake!—for the season of flowers is o'er,—My white banner unfurl on each northern shore!Ye have slumbered long in my icy chain—Ye are free to travel the land and main.Spirits of frost! quit your mountains of snow—Will ye longer suffer the streams to flow?Up, up, and away from your rocky cavesAnd herald me over the pathless waves!He ceased, and rose from his craggy throneAnd girt around him his icy zone;And his meteor-eye grew wildly brightAs he threw his glance o'er those realms of night.He sent forth his voice with a mighty sound,And the snows of ages were scattered around;And the hollow murmurs that shook the skyTold to the monarch, his band was nigh.THE WIND FROST.I come o'er the hills of the frozen North,To call to the battle thy armies forth:I have swept the shores of the Baltic sea,And the billows have felt my mastery;They resisted my power, but strove in vain—I have curbed their might with my crystal chain.I roused the northwind in his stormy cave,Together we passed over land and wave;I sharpened his breath and gave him powerTo crush and destroy every herb and flower;He obeyed my voice, and is rending nowThe sallow leaves from the groaning bough;And he shouts aloud in his wild disdain,As he whirls them down to the frozen plain:Those beautiful leaves to which Spring gave birthAre scattered abroad on the face of the earth.I have visited many a creek and bay,And curdled the streams in my stormy way;I have chilled into hail the genial shower:—All this I have done to increase thy power.THE RIME FROST.I stood by the stream in the deep midnight.The moon through the fog shed a misty light;I arrested the vapours that floated by,And wove them in garlands and hung them on high;I bound the trees in a feathery zone,And turned the soft dews of heaven to stone;I spangled with gems every leaf and spray,As onward I passed on my noiseless way;And I came to thee when my work was done,To see how they shone in the morning sun!THE NORTH WIND.I have borne the clouds on my restless wings,And my sullen voice through the desert rings;I sent through the forest a rushing blast,And the foliage fled as I onward passedFrom the desolate regions of woe and death,In adamant bound by my freezing breath:From the crystal mountains where silence reigns,And nature sleeps on the sterile plains,I have brought the snow from thy mighty storeTo whiten and cover each northern shore.THE EAST WIND.I woke like a giant refreshed with sleep,And lifted the waves of the troubled deep;I clouded the heavens with vapours dark,And rolled the tide o'er the foundering bark,Then mocked in hoarse murmurs the hollow cryOf the drowning wretch in his agony:I have leagued with the North to assert thy rightOn the land and the wave both by day and by night!THE SNOW.I heard thy summons and hastened fast,And floated hither before the blast,To wave thy white banner o'er tower and town,O'er the level plain and the mountain brown.I have crowned the woods with a spotless wreath,And loaded the avalanche with death;I have wrapped the earth in a winding sheet,And Nature lies dead beneath my feet.CHORUS OF SPIRITS.All hail, mighty monarch! our tasks are o'er;Thy power is confessed on each northern shore;From the rock's stern brow to the rolling seaThe spirits of earth have bowed to thee.In the cradle of Nature the young Spring liesWith the slumber of death on her azure eyes;And we wander at will through the wide domain,Which in beauty and verdure shall flourish again,When she bursts from her shroud like a sun-beam forth'To chase us back to the frozen North!'With darkness and storms for thy panoply,Stern Winter, what power may contend with thee?Thy sceptre commands both the wind and the tide,And thy empire extends over regions wide;With thy star-gemmed crown and eagle wings,The strongest of nature's potent kings!But thy power for a season alone is lent,Thou art but a ministering spirit sentBy the mighty Creator of thine and thee,Who fills with his presence immensity!
WINTER.
Awake—arise! all my stormy powers,The earth, the fair earth, again is ours!At my stern approach, pale Autumn flings downIn the dust her broken and faded crown;At my glance the terrified mourner flies,And the earth is filled with her doleful cries.Awake!—for the season of flowers is o'er,—My white banner unfurl on each northern shore!Ye have slumbered long in my icy chain—Ye are free to travel the land and main.Spirits of frost! quit your mountains of snow—Will ye longer suffer the streams to flow?Up, up, and away from your rocky cavesAnd herald me over the pathless waves!
He ceased, and rose from his craggy throneAnd girt around him his icy zone;And his meteor-eye grew wildly brightAs he threw his glance o'er those realms of night.He sent forth his voice with a mighty sound,And the snows of ages were scattered around;And the hollow murmurs that shook the skyTold to the monarch, his band was nigh.
THE WIND FROST.
I come o'er the hills of the frozen North,To call to the battle thy armies forth:I have swept the shores of the Baltic sea,And the billows have felt my mastery;They resisted my power, but strove in vain—I have curbed their might with my crystal chain.I roused the northwind in his stormy cave,Together we passed over land and wave;I sharpened his breath and gave him powerTo crush and destroy every herb and flower;He obeyed my voice, and is rending nowThe sallow leaves from the groaning bough;And he shouts aloud in his wild disdain,As he whirls them down to the frozen plain:Those beautiful leaves to which Spring gave birthAre scattered abroad on the face of the earth.I have visited many a creek and bay,And curdled the streams in my stormy way;I have chilled into hail the genial shower:—All this I have done to increase thy power.
THE RIME FROST.
I stood by the stream in the deep midnight.The moon through the fog shed a misty light;I arrested the vapours that floated by,And wove them in garlands and hung them on high;I bound the trees in a feathery zone,And turned the soft dews of heaven to stone;I spangled with gems every leaf and spray,As onward I passed on my noiseless way;And I came to thee when my work was done,To see how they shone in the morning sun!
THE NORTH WIND.
I have borne the clouds on my restless wings,And my sullen voice through the desert rings;I sent through the forest a rushing blast,And the foliage fled as I onward passedFrom the desolate regions of woe and death,In adamant bound by my freezing breath:From the crystal mountains where silence reigns,And nature sleeps on the sterile plains,I have brought the snow from thy mighty storeTo whiten and cover each northern shore.
THE EAST WIND.
I woke like a giant refreshed with sleep,And lifted the waves of the troubled deep;I clouded the heavens with vapours dark,And rolled the tide o'er the foundering bark,Then mocked in hoarse murmurs the hollow cryOf the drowning wretch in his agony:I have leagued with the North to assert thy rightOn the land and the wave both by day and by night!
THE SNOW.
I heard thy summons and hastened fast,And floated hither before the blast,To wave thy white banner o'er tower and town,O'er the level plain and the mountain brown.I have crowned the woods with a spotless wreath,And loaded the avalanche with death;I have wrapped the earth in a winding sheet,And Nature lies dead beneath my feet.
CHORUS OF SPIRITS.
All hail, mighty monarch! our tasks are o'er;Thy power is confessed on each northern shore;From the rock's stern brow to the rolling seaThe spirits of earth have bowed to thee.In the cradle of Nature the young Spring liesWith the slumber of death on her azure eyes;And we wander at will through the wide domain,Which in beauty and verdure shall flourish again,When she bursts from her shroud like a sun-beam forth'To chase us back to the frozen North!'
With darkness and storms for thy panoply,Stern Winter, what power may contend with thee?Thy sceptre commands both the wind and the tide,And thy empire extends over regions wide;With thy star-gemmed crown and eagle wings,The strongest of nature's potent kings!But thy power for a season alone is lent,Thou art but a ministering spirit sentBy the mighty Creator of thine and thee,Who fills with his presence immensity!
There's joy when the rosy morning floodsThe purple east with light,When the zephyr sweeps from a thousand budsThe pearly tears of night.There's joy when the lark exulting springsTo pour his matin lay,From the blossomed thorn when the blackbird sings,And the merry month is May.There's joy abroad when the wintry snowMelts as it ne'er had been,When cowslips bud and violets blow,And leaves are fresh and green.There's joy in the swallow's airy flight,In the cuckoo's blithesome cry,When the floating clouds reflect the lightOf evening's glowing sky.There's joy in April's balmy showers'Mid gleam of sunshine shed,When May calls forth a thousand flowersTo deck the earth's green bed.There's joy when the harvest moon comes outWith all her starry train,When the woods return the reaper's shoutAnd echo shouts again.There's joy in childhood's merry voiceWhen the laugh rings blithe and clear;And the sounds that bid young hearts rejoiceAre music to the ear.There's joy in the dreams of early youth,Ere care has cast a shadeO'er scenes which, though drest in the guise of truth,Our reason dooms to fade.There's joy in the youthful lover's breastWhen his bride by the altar stands,When his trembling lip to hers is pressedAnd the priest has joined their hands.There's joy in the smiling mother's heartWhen she clasps her first-born son,When the holy tears of rapture startTo bless the lovely one.There's joy when the war-worn soldier hearsThe notes that breathe of peace,That dry the anxious matron's tears,And bid stern slaughter cease.There's joy when he treads the village greenAnd views his father's cot;The horrors of the battle-sceneAre in that hour forgot.There's joy in the shipwrecked seaman's heart,Who has clung all night to the shrouds;When the morning breeze rives the rack apart,And the sun breaks through the clouds.There's joy when he nears his native land,And the tedious voyage is o'er,And he feels the grasp of the kindred handHe thought to enfold no more.There's joy above, around, beneath,But tis a fleeting ray;The world's stern strife, the hand of death,Bid mortal hopes decay.But there's a better joy than earth,With all her charms, can give,Which marks the Christian's second birth,When man but dies to live!
There's joy when the rosy morning floodsThe purple east with light,When the zephyr sweeps from a thousand budsThe pearly tears of night.There's joy when the lark exulting springsTo pour his matin lay,From the blossomed thorn when the blackbird sings,And the merry month is May.
There's joy abroad when the wintry snowMelts as it ne'er had been,When cowslips bud and violets blow,And leaves are fresh and green.There's joy in the swallow's airy flight,In the cuckoo's blithesome cry,When the floating clouds reflect the lightOf evening's glowing sky.
There's joy in April's balmy showers'Mid gleam of sunshine shed,When May calls forth a thousand flowersTo deck the earth's green bed.There's joy when the harvest moon comes outWith all her starry train,When the woods return the reaper's shoutAnd echo shouts again.
There's joy in childhood's merry voiceWhen the laugh rings blithe and clear;And the sounds that bid young hearts rejoiceAre music to the ear.There's joy in the dreams of early youth,Ere care has cast a shadeO'er scenes which, though drest in the guise of truth,Our reason dooms to fade.
There's joy in the youthful lover's breastWhen his bride by the altar stands,When his trembling lip to hers is pressedAnd the priest has joined their hands.There's joy in the smiling mother's heartWhen she clasps her first-born son,When the holy tears of rapture startTo bless the lovely one.
There's joy when the war-worn soldier hearsThe notes that breathe of peace,That dry the anxious matron's tears,And bid stern slaughter cease.There's joy when he treads the village greenAnd views his father's cot;The horrors of the battle-sceneAre in that hour forgot.
There's joy in the shipwrecked seaman's heart,Who has clung all night to the shrouds;When the morning breeze rives the rack apart,And the sun breaks through the clouds.There's joy when he nears his native land,And the tedious voyage is o'er,And he feels the grasp of the kindred handHe thought to enfold no more.
There's joy above, around, beneath,But tis a fleeting ray;The world's stern strife, the hand of death,Bid mortal hopes decay.But there's a better joy than earth,With all her charms, can give,Which marks the Christian's second birth,When man but dies to live!
Oh Love! how fondly, tenderly enshrinedIn human hearts, how with our being twined!Immortal principle, in mercy given,The brightest mirror of the joys of heaven.Child of Eternity's unclouded clime,Too fair for earth, too infinite for time:A seraph watching o'er Death's sullen shroud,A sunbeam streaming through a stormy cloud;An angel hovering o'er the paths of life,But sought in vain amidst its cares and strife;Claimed by the many—known but to the fewWho keep thy great Original in view;Who, void of passion's dross, behold in theeA glorious attribute of Deity!
Oh Love! how fondly, tenderly enshrinedIn human hearts, how with our being twined!Immortal principle, in mercy given,The brightest mirror of the joys of heaven.Child of Eternity's unclouded clime,Too fair for earth, too infinite for time:A seraph watching o'er Death's sullen shroud,A sunbeam streaming through a stormy cloud;An angel hovering o'er the paths of life,But sought in vain amidst its cares and strife;Claimed by the many—known but to the fewWho keep thy great Original in view;Who, void of passion's dross, behold in theeA glorious attribute of Deity!
O'er Time's mighty billows borne,Angels lead the purple morn;Chasing far the shades of nightFrom the burning throne of light:Where their glorious wings unfold,There the east is streaked with gold;Gilding with celestial dyesThe azure curtain of the skies.High in air their matin songFloats the ethereal fields along;Ere creation wakes they sing,Glory to the eternal King!Till silent woods and sleeping plainsEcho far, Jehovah reigns!Rising from the arms of night,Nature hails the birth of light;Smiling sweetly through her tears,High her verdant crown she rears;At her call the sunny hoursWreathe her humid locks with flowers;Bright with many a lucid gemShines her spotless diadem:Every grove hath found a voice,Countless tribes in Thee rejoice!In melody untaught they singGlory to the eternal King!Earth and heaven respond their strains,Lord of all, Jehovah reigns!On man's sin-bound soul and eyesAlone the shade of darkness lies:The last of nature's children he,To laud the eternal Deity!The last his sullen voice to raise,The Lord of life and light to praise—Slumberer, wake!—arise! arise!Join the chorus of the skies!—Dost thou sleep? to whom is givenThe privilege of sons of heaven?Wake with angel choirs to singGlory to the Almighty King,Who life within himself retains—Lord of all, Jehovah reigns!Rising o'er the tide of years,Lo, a morn more blessed appears:When yon burning orb of fire,And moon, and stars, and heavens expire,And all that once had life and breath,Emerging from the arms of death,Shall animate the heaving sod,And countless millions meet their God!Whose hand the links of time shall sever,And man shall wake—to live for ever!When souls redeemed with angels sing,Glory to the eternal king!Vanquished death is led in chains—Lord of life, Jehovah, reigns!
O'er Time's mighty billows borne,Angels lead the purple morn;Chasing far the shades of nightFrom the burning throne of light:Where their glorious wings unfold,There the east is streaked with gold;Gilding with celestial dyesThe azure curtain of the skies.High in air their matin songFloats the ethereal fields along;Ere creation wakes they sing,Glory to the eternal King!Till silent woods and sleeping plainsEcho far, Jehovah reigns!
Rising from the arms of night,Nature hails the birth of light;Smiling sweetly through her tears,High her verdant crown she rears;At her call the sunny hoursWreathe her humid locks with flowers;Bright with many a lucid gemShines her spotless diadem:Every grove hath found a voice,Countless tribes in Thee rejoice!In melody untaught they singGlory to the eternal King!Earth and heaven respond their strains,Lord of all, Jehovah reigns!
On man's sin-bound soul and eyesAlone the shade of darkness lies:The last of nature's children he,To laud the eternal Deity!The last his sullen voice to raise,The Lord of life and light to praise—Slumberer, wake!—arise! arise!Join the chorus of the skies!—Dost thou sleep? to whom is givenThe privilege of sons of heaven?Wake with angel choirs to singGlory to the Almighty King,Who life within himself retains—Lord of all, Jehovah reigns!
Rising o'er the tide of years,Lo, a morn more blessed appears:When yon burning orb of fire,And moon, and stars, and heavens expire,And all that once had life and breath,Emerging from the arms of death,Shall animate the heaving sod,And countless millions meet their God!Whose hand the links of time shall sever,And man shall wake—to live for ever!When souls redeemed with angels sing,Glory to the eternal king!Vanquished death is led in chains—Lord of life, Jehovah, reigns!