L He shall be strong to sanctify The poet's high vocation, And bow the meekest Christian down In meeker adoration; Nor ever shall he be in praise By wise or good forsaken; And, friends! dear friends! when it Named softly as the household name shall be It is a place where poets crowned Earth surely now may give her calm O poets! from a maniac's tongue And now, what time ye all may read Through dimming tears his story How discord on the music fell, And darkness on the glory Of one whom God hath taken! With sadness that is calm, not gloom, On God, whose heaven hath won him. Where breath and bird could find him; And wrought within his shattered brain As hills have language for, and stars The pulse of dew upon the grass His own did calmly number; And silent shadow from the trees Fell o'er him like a slumber. The very world, by God's constraint, And timid hares were drawn from woods But while in darkness he remained, Unconscious of the guiding, And things provided came without The sweet sense of providing, And how, when, one by one, sweet sounds He testified this solemn truth, And wandering lights departed, He wore no less a loving face, Though frenzy desolated Nor man nor nature satisfy Whom only God created. Moi r. D. M. Moir lebte und wirkte als Arzt zu Musselburg, nicht fern von Edinburg. Im verflossenen Jahre ist er gestorben, nachdem er lange Zeit unter dem Namen Delta einer der bedeutendsten Mitarbeiter am Blackwood Magazin gewesen war. Ausser "The Legend of Genevieve and other Tales and Poems 1825 und Domestic Verses 1843, hat er Mehreres in Zeitschriften (to the periodical Literature of the Day) so wie andere, namentlich medicinische Werke geschrieben, wie Outlines of the ancient History of Medecine. Moir's Dichtungen zeichnen sich durch tiefe, innige Empfindung, Anmuth, Phantasie und treffliche Sprache sehr vortheilhaft aus, und sichern ihm ein dauerndes Andenken bei seiner Nation. Sunset. How beautiful the evening beams are falling on the sea, Where many a white sail pleasantly is moving up and down; There is not a cloud the sun to shroud, the sky from speck is free, And as on a painted landscape, sleep forest, tower, and town. So freshly fair, and everywhere, the feature of the scene, The realms where sorrow dare not come, Pure at thy death as at thy birth, Despair was in our last farewell, That earth appears a resting place where Words may not paint our grief for thee, angels might alight; Sighs are but bubbles on the sea As if Sorrow ne'er a visitant in human breast Of our unfathomed agony, had been, And the verdure of the summer months had never suffered blight. Now sinks the sun And the evening star peeps south afar above In the glory of the sunset glow, my thoughts Casa Wappy! Thou wert a vision of delight Thy bright brief day knew no decline, Sunrise and night alone were thine, This morn beheld thee blithe and gay, Gem of our hearth, our household pride, And hast thou sought thy heavenly home, Could love have saved, thou hadst not died, Our fond, dear boy Our dear, sweet child! Robert Montgomery hat sich bereits seit 1828 durch das „The Omnipotence of the Deity hervorgethan, dem bald einige andere Gedichte folgten, die seinen Dichterruf bleibend begründet haben, wie Satan 1830, The Messiah 1832, Luther u. a. Montgomery's literarische Thätigkeit scheint sich gänzlich dem Dienste der Religion und den Wahrheiten gewidmet zu haben, deren begabter und beredter Verkünder er auf der Kanzel ist. Seine poetischen Leistungen sind in ähnlichem Geiste wie die des älteren Montgomery, und zeichnen sich namentlich durch poetischen Erguss und leichten Versbau aus, ohne jedoch mit der Selbständigkeit in der Erfindung und der Reinheit in der Sprache geschrieben zu sein, wodurch die Dichtungen des letzterwähnten sich unterscheiden. The Starry Heavens. Ye quenchless stars! so eloquently bright, And round the lattice creep your midnight beams, How sweet to gaze upon your placid eyes, How the heart mingles with the moonlit hour, caves, No stormy murmurs roll upon the waves; A dizzy chain of yellow lustre plays, Centuries have glided o'er the balanced earth, Still, yon sky-beacons keep a dimless glare, And king and kingdom from their pride are Sublimely calm, they run their bright career, Picture of War. Like young waves racing in the morning sun, But mark yon war-worn man, who looks on Speed to his sword, and vigour to his arm; war! The cannon's hushed! — nor drum, nor clarion And see! on this rent mound, where daisies A battle-steed beneath his rider flung; Spirit of light and life! when battle rears |