THE STORM HATH PASSED BY. THE storm hath pass'd by, like an angry cloud Which sweeps o'er the brow of the azure heaven; The sun and the earth to its sway hath bow'd,
And each radiant beam from the scene been driven.
All hail to the smile of the cloudless sky!
All hail to the sun as he rides on high!
All hail to the heavens' ethereal blue,
And to nature, when deck'd in her own lovely hue!
It hath pass'd! the storm, like a giant form,
Which summons the winds from their tempest cave;
Which opens a grave in each ocean wave,
And wraps the world in its shroud of gloom.
Oh! welcome the smile of the gladden'd earth!
And welcome the voice of the wood-bird's mirth!
And welcome these varying hues which delight
Like dawn at the close of a wearisome night.
The clouds have pass'd, with the shadows they cast,
And hush'd is the sound of the wind-god's power,
And his deep, wild blast, as the tempest pass'd,
Which rang on the ear at the midnight hour.
Oh! welcome the soft, balmy zephyrs of spring!
And welcome the perfumes they silently bring!
And the rosy-tinged cloudlets that gracefully glide
O'er the fair brow of heaven in beauty and pride!
It hath fled in its night, the dark spirit of night,
Which cast such a shade o'er the light of the soul;
It hath fled and died, while the sunset beam
From its surface triumphantly backward shall roll.
Oh! welcome the smiles of a gladden'd heart!
And welcome the joy which those smiles impart!
And welcome the light of that sparkling eye
Which tells that the storm in its dread hath pass'd by! Ballston, 1838.
EPITAPH ON A YOUNG ROBIN.
DESPITE the curling lip, the smile of scorn,
Thine early fate, oh! hapless bird, we mourn;
Too soon withdrawn thy scanty store of breath,
Too soon thy sprightly carols hush'd in death!
Here let us lay thee on thy mother's breast,
Where no rude steps shall come, no cares molest,
No cruel puss disturb thy silent rest.
Aн, whither art straying, thou spirit of light,
From thy home in the boundless sky?
Why lookest thou down from the empire of night,
With that silent and sorrowful eye?
Thou art resting here on the autumn leaf,
Where it fell from its throne of pride;
But oh, what pictures of joy or grief,
What scenes thou art viewing beside!
Thou art glancing down on the ocean waves,
As they proudly heave and swell;
Thou art piercing deep in its coral caves,
Where the green-hair'd sea-nymphs dwell!
Thou art pouring thy beams on Italia's shore,
As though it were sweet to be there;
Thou art lighting the prince to his stately couch,
And the monk to his midnight prayer.
Thou art casting a fretwork of silver rays
Over ruin, and palace, and tower;
Thou art gilding the temples of former days,
In this holy and beautiful hour.
Thou art silently roaming through forest and glade,
Where mortal foot never hath trod;
Thou art lighting the grave where the dust is laid, While the spirit hath gone to its God!
Thou art looking on those I love! oh, wake
In their hearts some remembrance of me,
And gaze on them thus, till their bosoms partake
Of the love I am breathing to thee.
And perchance thou art casting thy mystic spell
On the beautiful land of the blest,
Where the dear ones of earth have departed to dwell,
Where the weary have fled to their rest.
Oh yes! with that soft and ethereal beam,
Thou hast look'd on the mansions of bliss,
And some spirit, perchance, of that glorified world
Hath breathed thee a message to this.
'T is a mission of love, for no threatening shade
Can be blent with thy spirit-like hues,
And thy ray thrills the heart, as love only can thrill,
And while raising it, melts and subdues.
And it whispers compassion; for lo, on thy brow
Is the sadness of angels enshrined;
And a misty veil, as of purified tears,
Round thy beautiful form is entwined.
Hail, beam of the blessed! my heart
Has drunk deep of thy magical power,
And each thought and each feeling seems bathed
In the light of this exquisite hour!
Sweet ray, I have proved thee so fair
In this dark world of mourning and sin,
May I hail thee more bright in that pure region, where Nor sorrow nor death enter in.
O'ER the broad vault of heaven, so calmly bright,
Twilight has gently drawn her veil of gray,
And tinged with sombre hue the golden clouds,
Fast fading into nothing: o'er the expanse
Are swiftly stealing hues, which mildly blend
And shadow o'er the pure transparence
Of the azure heaven. Now is night array'd
In all her solemn livery, and one by one
Appear the sparkling gems which deck her robe.
Each glittering star shines brighter than its wont,
As though some brilliant festival were held,
Some joyful meeting in the courts above.
Now mark yon group of amber-tinted clouds,
Shrouding the silvery form of Luna;
Their melting tints vanish away, and then
The pale, cold moon springs up unshackled
In her vast domain. Fair empress of the sky!
Chaste queen! thy hallow'd beauty can impart
A soften'd radiance to each sombre cloud
Of melancholy night, and, like a noble mind,
Immersed in seas of darkness, thou canst cast
A portion of thy brilliant, mellow'd softness
Around the deepening gloom. While viewing thee
A sweet and pensive calm o'erspreads my soul,
And, conjured by thy gentle, melting rays,
Unerring memory hastens to my aid;
With her, I view again my own dear home,
My native village, 'neath thy cloudless sky
Serenely sleeping: 'tis as fair a picture
Of unsullied peace as ever nature drew.
Thy rays are dancing on the gentle river,
In one unbroken stream of molten silver,
And marking in the glassy Saranac
Thy graceful outline, while the fairy isles
Which on its bosom rest are slumbering
In thy light, while the fair branches, bending
O'er thy wave, turn their green leaves above,
And bathe in one celestial flood of glory.
There, on its banks, I view the dear old home,
That ever loved and blooming theatre,
Where those I most revere have borne their parts,
Amid its changing scenes. Before the threshold
Tower the lofty trees, and each high branch
Is gently rocking in the summer breeze,
And sending forth a low, sweet murmur,
Like the soft breathings of a seraph's harp.
Around its humble porch entwines the vine,
While the sweetbriar and the blushing rose
Now hang their heads in slumber, and the grass
And fragrant clover scent the loaded air.
Oh, my loved home, how gladly would I rove
Amid thy soft retreats, and from decay
Protect thy mouldering mansion, tend thy flowers,
Prune the wild boughs, and there in solitude
Listless remain, unknowing and unknown-
Oh no, not quite alone, for memory,
And hope, and fond delight shall mingle there.
[Unfinished.]
A POETICAL LETTER TO HENRIETTA
ONCE more, Henrietta, I open your sheet
To glance at its contents so playful and sweet,
To admire the flow of its easy strain,
And pen you an answer in nonsense again.
Perchance you may turn from my page away,
And with scornful lip and expression say,
"I think she might better have spent her time,
Than in stringing such masses of jingling rhyme;"
And perhaps I might,-I admit the blame,
But like others, continue my fault the same.
However, I think such a deacon as you
May need the refreshment of nonsense too;
That a creature so sober as you are, my friend,
Her ear to the whisperings of folly may lend.
Never mind-'tis a fancy has cross'd my brain,
Right or wrong, good or evil, I'll finish my strain.
I wish you, my dear Henrietta, could know
How much I am grieved that I now cannot go,
That our dreams of enjoyment have vanish'd in smoke,
And the castles we builded on vapour are broke!
But such are the chances of life,-it is fit
That with stoical fortitude we should submit.
Am I not philosophic?-A fortnight pass'd by
With its fretting and grieving, its tear and its sigh;
Then a month, peopled well with regretting by me,
And-behold me submissive as mortal can be!
But jesting aside-'tis a very sad thing
To be torn from hope's anchor, where fondly we cling.
I too had been cherishing feelings as vain,
Nursing hopes as delusive, as sweet in my brain;
I had waited in fancy your loved form to see,
With a heart just as happy as happy could be;
Had met you, embraced you, and welcomed you here,
When lo! the bright dream dissolved in a tear!
Like the gay, gorgeous bubble, which floats for awhile,
But departs ere you welcome its hues with a smile.
You were wishing for wings-I enclose you a pair,
Which I hope you will use with all possible care,
For they were not prepared in a mortal mould,
But were form'd by a fairy in purple and gold!
While riding one day by the green-wood side,
This fairy in beautiful garments I spied;
Her mantle with dew-drops was spangled o'er-
She had fairies behind her and fairies before,
And many and gay were the jewels she wore;
But the wings which she raised to her delicate brow
Were the purest of azure and white as the snow!
I bow'd at the foot of the fairy throne,
And begg'd of her beautiful wings like her own.
I sued for the favour in friendship's name;
She assented, and smiling, admitted the claim.
All sparkling and pure as the evening star,
I gather'd the wings from the fairy's bower,
And came home exulting, impatient to send
The gift in its freshness and glow to my friend.
Elated with pride I exposed them to view,
But the touch of a mortal had clouded their hue!
So marvel no more at their dimness - believe
That the very same wings are the wings you receive.
Should my story too wild and too fanciful seem,
Oh, call it no fiction, but name it a dream.
I am reading "Josephus," a famous old Jew,
Whose name is, I doubt not, familiar to you.
He begins with the world, and proceeds to relate
How the Jews from a nothing grew prosperous and great;
How Jerusalem reign'd as the Queen of the East,
Till her sacred religion was scorn'd and oppress'd;
Then murder, and rapine, and famine ensued,
Till the fields of Judea were streaming with biood.
How I wish you were reading it with me, my friend;
Your presence a charm to each sentence would lend.
Your father's return, you remark, is the time
To send you a budget of love and of rhyme;
The love be assured you will always possess,
And you'll have rhyme enough when you once have read this.
So you see what that love has induced me to do,
With it maybe a fear of your scolding too!-
It is evening the close of a beautiful day,
And the last rays of sunset are fading away;
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