Thousands of years, when passed away,
Seem, in thy sight, one fleeting day;
Ages, where man may live and die,
An hour to thy eternity!

Years roll on with a rolling stream,
They fade like shadows in a dream!

Like grass, which springs at morning light,
And withers ere the close of night!

1837.

For thou art mighty in thine ire-
Thy wrath consumes like flaming fire;
And, spread before thy searching eye,
Our sins in dreadful order lie.
[Unfinished.]

A FRAGMENT.

I SEE her seraph form, her flowing hair,
Her brow and cheek so exquisitely fair;
Her smiling lips, her dark eye's radiant beam-
A dream?-this is not, cannot be a dream!

They tell me 't is some wild and phrensied thought,
Some glowing spark from fancy's altar caught;
Some glowing spirit, fancied and unknown,

Which reigns supreme on Reason's vanquish'd throne.

1837.

FRAGMENT OF THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM.

THUS thought I, while in pensive mood,
Beneath a frowning cliff I stood,
And mark'd the autumn sun decline
Above the broad and heaving Rhine!
Oh, 't was a rich and gorgeous sight,
But all too solemn to be bright.
A saddening hue was o'er it cast,
Which seem'd to tell of glories past,
Of summer ripen'd to decay,
Of ancient splendours past away.
The parting monarch's dying glow
Fell on the restless waves below,
As if an angel's hand had dyed

With hues from heaven the sparkling tide.
The fleeting ray an instant beam'd,

O'er hill, and dale, and rock it stream'd,
Till the dark, time-defying cliff,
Seem'd glowing, melting into life,
And the broad scene, so sad and wild,
Beneath its gentle influence smiled,
As care lifts up its sorrowing eye,
When hope has cast a sunbeam by;
Then swiftly fading, glided o'er,
And left it lonely as before.
The distant hills of sombre blue,
Tinged with that rich and varying hue,
Now darker and more mingled grew,

While nearer rose so wild and bold

The rugged cliffs of Odenwald.

The Rhine, enrobed in shadows

Roll'd on its giant path,

gray,

Lashing the rocks which barr'd its way,
Now curling graceful, as in play,
Now roaring, as in wrath.

The forests murmur'd, bow'd, and slept,
But on the mighty river swept,
As in impatient haste to gain
The gentler waters of the Maine,
Which flow'd along in stately pride,
To mingle with its parent tide.
But where the kindred waters meet,
A rugged cliff there stood;
It rose above the eddying waves,
With hanging rocks and yawning caves,
The guardian of the flood;

Fit haunt it seem'd for giant forms
Of wild, unearthly mould,
The spirits of the winds and storms
Their mystic rites to hold.
And o'er its rugged brow was spread
The forest moss and flower,
And, 'mid a grove of solemn firs,
Arose a ruin'd tower;

The ivied walls and turrets gray
Seem'd vainly struggling with decay,
Still frowning o'er the restless tide,
An emblem of unyielding pride.
All, all was desolate and lone ;-
Beside its walls of crumbling stone
A giant beech its arms had thrown,

And ivy on its threshold grew;
The shouts of mirth, the cries of strife,
The varied sounds of bustling life,

Its walls no longer knew; The moaning winds rush'd fitful by, Blent with the owlet's dismal cry, And every sad and mournful blast Seem'd sadly wailing for the past! Scarce could the wandering eye discern In that rude pile, so dark and stern, The remnants of its lofty wall, The area of its spacious hall, Or trace in masses rude and steep, What once was barbacan and keep.

*

*

*

"Roll back, thou tide of time!" and bring
The faded visions of the past,
And o'er the bard's enchanted string
Thy veil of shadowy softness cast!
Fancy, unfold thy swiftest wing!

Thou dreary present, be no more!
And I will tune my heart to sing
In simple strains the days of yore!

These ruin'd walls again shall rise

In all their ancient pride and power, Again the gorgeous banner float

In triumph from the stately tower! The moss, the thorn, the poisonous weed Shall vanish from the cheerful hearth, And the rude hall again resound

With shouts of revelry and mirth!
Again beside that ruin'd gate

The guard shall pace his weary round,
Again the warder's midnight cry
Within its massive turrets sound;
Again the bright convivial band
Shall close around its joyous hearth,
Again the vaulted halls return

The shouts of revelry and mirth.
Oh, I could tell of thrilling scenes
Enacted in that lone.retreat;
How its paved courts have echoed back
The clanking tread of armed feet;
How savage chiefs and knights of old,
With forms and souls of iron mould,
Have gather'd round this mountain hold,
And form'd their councils here,
Then rush'd upon the field below,
With clashing sword and spear;

And I could tell of princely dames,

Of powerful lords and highborn peers, Who dream'd not that their honour'd names Could perish in the lapse of years,

Or only live at times to aid

The wandering minstrel's random song; An old traditionary tale

To float on memory's tide along;

And I could sing full many a strain

Would call the life-blood from the cheek, What fancy's eye would shrink to see,

And boldest tongue would fear to speak.

But I will leave to nobler hands

The framing of those mystic lays,

And only weave a simple tale

Of later and of gentler days,

When daring souls of daring deeds

Gave place to peaceful knights and squires,

And warlike gatherings on the field

To feastings round their evening fires;
When nought remain'd of olden times,
Of strife and rivalry and blood,
Save where some sterner barons held
The remnants of an ancient feud.

'Twas morning, and the shades of night
Roll'd backward from her brow of light,

As with majestic step she came,
With dewy locks and eyes of flame,
Her wreath of dancing light to twine
On the broad bosom of the Rhine.

The scene beneath her spread was rife
With sights and sounds of bustling life,
Of joyful shouts, and glad halloo,
And quick steps running to and fro.
The castle walls, so dark and gray
Tinged with the morning's cheerful ray,
Seem'd revelling their gloom away,
While from the court came, long and loud,
The shouts of an assembled crowd,
And on the mountain echoes borne,

Peal'd out the huntsman's mellow horn.
The clanking drawbridge fell across
The sparkling waters of the foss,
And servants hurried here and there
With bustling and important air;
Oft from the forest would appear
A group that bore the slaughter'd deer,
And distant shouts would faintly tell
As some new victim bleeding fell.

Light skiffs were floating down the Rhine,
Laden with casks of choicest wine,
And oarsmen bore the precious freight
For entrance to the postern gate.

Oft on the noisy tide along

The minstrel pour'd his careless song,
And all without was bustling glee.

Within, the castle hall was graced
With oaken tables, closely placed,
In preparation for a feast;
The ancient armour on the wall

Was cleansed, and gilt, and burnish'd all;
And helm, and casque, and corslet shone
Like mirrors in the morning sun;

Oh, could the warlike forms which wore
Those garments grim in days of yore,
Come to their mountain home once more,
How would they frown on scene so gay,
And sigh for spirits past away!

Beside the hearthstone of his hall,
The lord and master of them all,
The owner of this proud domain,
Stood, gazing on his menial train.
His ample robes were rich and gay,
His locks were slightly tinged with gray,
His eye, beneath its darker shroud,
Glanced, like a sunbeam from a cloud.