Well might they shrink before the man,
Whose gaze had reach'd the realms of bliss,
Whose eye had pierced a brighter world,
Whose spotless soul had soar'd from this.

Oh, hark! his firm and manly voice
Is heard within that princely hall;
No more the impious crowds rejoice,
But thrilling silence spreads o'er all.
"Oh king! in wealth, and pride, and power,
At God's great footstool humbly fall,
That God hath seal'd thy doom this hour,
'Tis stamp'd on yonder fated wall.

"Thy stubborn knee was never bent,

Thy earthly heart was humbled never
Before the throne of Israel's God,

Of life, of breath, of power the giver.
Against the Lord of heaven thy hand
In bold impiety is raised,

And vessels sacred to his name

The feasts of idol gods have graced.

He, in whose balance lords of earth
With justice, mercy, power, are tried,
Hath weigh'd thine errors and thy worth,
But virtue is o'ercome by pride.
From death thou art no longer free,
Thy sun of glory shall decline;
The golden crown no more shall bind
That proud, ambitious brow of thine.
"The Medes and Persians shall possess
That which so lately was thine own;
God will e'en now our wrongs redress,
And hurl thee from thy tottering throne."
He ceased, an awful silence reign'd,

And chain'd each scarcely throbbing breast.
Where were the passions once so rude?—
Lull'd by the prophet's voice to rest?

Gaze on Belshazzar's pallid brow,
And trace the livid horror there;
Big drops o'erhang its surface now,

And backward starts the clustering hair;
His eyeballs strain'd, and wildly staring
Upon the spot which bears his doom,
Seem like a frighted lion glaring
Through the dark forest's lonely gloom.

Euphrates' waves are brightly sparkling
Beneath Aurora's rosy beam,

As though the night had never darken'd
Above its broad and rapid stream.

The close of evening view'd it smiling,
Deck'd with barks and forms of light,
The weary moments still beguiling,
Sporting on its bosom bright.
Where are all its beauties banish'd?
Why its banks so lone and still?
Have all its pride and glory vanish'd,
All save desolation chill?

The Mede and Persian have been here,
Heaven's just vengeance to fulfil;
Proud Belshazzar reigns no more,
God has wrought his sovereign will.

1834.

TO MY MOTHER ON CHRISTMAS DAY.

WHEN last this morning brightly shone
Around my youthful head,
Inspiring love and joy and glee,
Dismissing fear and dread,

I thought not I should see thee here
Reclining on thy Margaret's breast;
I thought that in a brighter sphere
Thy weary soul would sweetly rest.
But since the mighty God above

Has granted this my fervent prayer,
My heart is fill'd with joy and love
For all his kindness and his care.

Oh, may his guardian wings o'erspread,
To guard from sorrow, pain, or harm,
My mother's weary aching head,
And every rising fear disarm.

May sweet reflections soothe thy cares,
And fill with peace thy beating heart,
And may the feast which love prepares
A sweet security impart.

When He, who warm'd thy gentle soul,
And planted every virtue there,
Shall snatch thee hence to realms of bliss,
And free from earthly sin and care,

Oh, may a daughter's tender hand
The pillow of affliction smooth,
Teach every grief to lose its pang,
And every sorrow fondly soothe.

1834.

183.

ON VISITING THE PANORAMA OF GENEVA.

OH, if a painter's touch can form thee thus,

So bright with all an artist's hand can give,
How passing beautiful those scenes must be,
Which here inanimate, there sweetly live!
Each verdant shrub, which here inactive bends,
So gently waving o'er the placid stream,
And the sweet brook, which winds so silent now,
Reflecting back the sun's effulgent beam.
Look, where the mighty torrent of the Rhone,
Far, far beyond my wandering eye extends,
And see yon crumbling fort, with moss o'ergrown,
O'er whose high walls the weeping willow bends.
Mark on the right, yon broad expanse of blue,
Lake Leman, placid, beautiful, and fair,
So gently murmuring, as it flows along,
Of peace and happiness implanted there.

And towering far above, the mighty Alps

Rear their tall heads terrific and sublime,

Each snow-capp'd summit mingling with the clouds,
Seems to defy the ravages of time.

It seems as though the glowing canvass moved,

Each figure fill'd with life and joy and love,

As if the dark blue waters at my feet

Would break the chain which binds them there, and move.

Each hill, each rock seem bursting into life,

The painter mock'd reality so well;

It seems as if those shadowy forms would speak,
Could they but break the artist's magic spell.

THE FUNERAL BELL.

HARK! the loudly pealing bell
Rises on the morning air;

Its tones subdued and sadly swell,
For death, unpitying death is there!—

Hark! again it peals aloud,

Bearing sorrow on its tone;

While from the sad assembled crowd,
Is heard the echoing sob and groan,

Yes, in that solemn note is heard

A voice proclaiming woe and death;
A voice which tells of endless time,
Of sorrow's desolating breath.
To the warm fancy it would say,

In words which strike the heart with fear;

Words for the thoughtless, vain, and gay,
Words echoed from the sable bier-

"A spirit from the world hath fled,
A soul from earth departed;
While mourners weep above the dead,
Despairing-broken-hearted!

Through the vast fields of viewless time
That conscious soul hath gone;
To answer for each earthly crime,
At God's eternal throne.

"There at his mighty bar it stands,
A trembling, guilty thing,
To answer all his Judge demands,
Or his dread praises sing!
Dust to its kindred dust returns!
Earth to its mother earth!
Still'd are its passions and its cares,

And hush'd its voice of mirth.

"Then learn from this how weak and vain

Is every earthly gift;

How in one instant all may fade,

And leave thee thus bereft!

When thy fond heart is filled with joy,

With gay and mirthful feeling,

Bethink thee, that the form of death
Beside thee may be stealing;

That ere another hour has past,
That rosy smile may fade,

And the light form that glides so fast,
In the cold tomb be laid.

"That the young heart within that clay,
To God's dread bar shall pass away,
And the dim future, dark to thee,
Shall bear it on its tideless sea,

To light or darkness, joy or woe,
Just as thy life hath pass'd below."

1834.

VERSES WRITTEN WHEN TWELVE YEARS OF AGE.

LINES ON RECEIVING A BLANK-BOOK FROM MY MOTHER.

THOUGH the new year has open'd in sickness and fear,
Though its dawning has witness'd the sigh and the tear,
Though the load on my heart and the weight on my brain,
And the sadness around me cause sorrow and pain,
Each feeling of woe from my bosom is driven
While I view the sweet volume affection has given,
And gazing delighted on binding and leaf,

I forget every thought which is tinctured with grief.

Though it needed no gift from my mother to prove
The depth of that current of long-cherish'd love,
Which hath flow'd on unceasing, unaltering still,
Through sorrows unable its bright waves to chill,
Yet 'tis strangely delightful, 'tis sweet to possess
Some mementos to cherish and gaze on like this,
Some gift which long hence may impart to the mind
Fresh hues of the image there sweetly enshrined:
Which, when every gay feeling is clouded with night,
May burst on the soul like an angel of light,
And presenting unalter'd the visions of love,
Which had slumber'd awhile the more sweetly to soothe
May illumine the darkness with radiance sublime,
But more bright from repose, and unclouded by time.
Oh, think not, my mother, I ever shall part
From a token thus soothing, and sweet to my heart;
That the dear little volume thus coming from thee,
Shall e'er be less valued, less cherish'd by me.
When the fathomless future its page shall unfold,
When time o'er this head now so youthful has roll'd,
And left me like others, gray, wither'd and old,
Then, then shall this gift of the merry new year,
From the loved one whose spirit no longer is here,
Impart a sweet sadness, and draw the warm tear.
"T will bring to remembrance my own lovely home,
And each feeling, each hope, which is now in its bloom,
As a fair little talisman bound up with joy
"T will be clasp'd to my bosom its fond hopes to buoy,
And the love now within it must cease there to dwell,
When I bid this dear volume a lasting farewell.

1835.

TO FANCY.

FLY on, aerial Fancy! fly

Back, back through many an age,
To scenes which long have glided by,
Untold on history's page.

Oh, stretch thy heavenward wings, and soar
Through clouds mysterious and sublime,
To scenes which earth shall view no more,
Far down the dark abyss of time.

Lit by thy pure, celestial torch,

Earth, heaven, and sea have softly glow'd,
Nought in created space which ne'er

To thine enchanting sway hath bow'd.
Worlds framed and beautified by thee,
Have glow'd with every rainbow hue,
And o'er each meaner thing thy form

Hath shed a radiance as it flew.