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WHO was it that so lately said,
All pulses in thine heart were dead,
Old earth, that now in festal robes
Appearest, as a bride new wed?
Oh wrapp'd so late in winding-sheet,
Thy winding-sheet, oh! where is fled?
Lo! 'tis an emerald carpet now,
Where the young monarch, Spring, may tread.
He comes,—and, a defeated king,
Old Winter to the hills is fled.
The warm wind broke his frosty spear,
And loos'd the helmet from his head;
And he weak showers of arrowy sleet
From his strong-holds has vainly sped.
All that was sleeping is awake,
And all is living that was dead.
Who listens now, can hear the streams
Leap tinkling from their pebbly bed,
Or see them, from their fetters free,
Like silver snakes the meadows thread.
The joy, the life, the hope of earth,
They slept awhile, they were not dead:
Oh thou, who say'st thy sore heart ne'er
With verdure can again be spread;
Oh thou, who mournest them that sleep,
Low lying in an earthly bed;
Look out on this reviving world,
And be new hopes within thee bred.
UNDAMP'D by time, the generous instinct glows
Far as Angola's sands, as Zembla's snows;
Glows in the tiger's den, the serpent's nest,
On ev'ry form of varied life imprest.
The social tribes its choicest influence hail:-
And when the drum beats briskly in the gale,
The war-worn courser charges at the sound,
And with young vigour wheels the pasture round.
Oft has the aged tenant of the vale
Lean'd on his staff to lengthen out the tale;
Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breath'd,
From sire to son with pious zeal bequeath'd,
When o'er the blasted heath the day declin❜d,
And on the scath'd oak warr'd the winter-wind;
When not a distant taper's twinkling ray
Gleam'd o'er the furze to light him on his way;
When not a sheepbell sooth'd his list'ning ear,
And the big rain-drops told the tempest near;
Then did his horse the homeward track descry,
The track that shunn'd his sad, inquiring eye;
And win each wavering purpose to relent,
With warmth so mild, so gently violent,
That his charm'd hand the careless rein resign'd,
And doubts and terrors vanish'd from his mind.
Recall the traveller, whose alter'd form
Has borne the buffet of the mountain-storm;
And who will first his fond impatience meet?
His faithful dog's already at his feet!
Yes, tho' the porter spurn him from the door,
Tho' all, that knew him, know his face no more,
His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each,
With that mute eloquence which passes speech.
And see, the master but returns to die!
Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly?
The blasts of heaven, the drenching dews of earth,
The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth,
These, when to guard misfortune's sacred grave,
Will firm fidelity exult to brave.
Led by what chart, transports the timid dove
The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love?
Say, thro' the clouds what compass points her flight?
Monarchs have gaz'd, and nations bless'd the sight.
Pile rocks on rocks, bid woods and mountains rise,
Eclipse her native shades, her native skies:—
"Tis vain! thro' ether's pathless wilds she goes,
And lights at last where all her cares repose.
Sweet bird! thy truth shall Haarlem's walls attest',
And unborn ages consecrate thy nest;
When, with the silent energy of grief,
With looks that ask'd, yet dar'd not hope relief,
Want with her babes round generous valour clung,
To wring the slow surrender from his tongue,
'Twas thine to animate her closing eye;
Alas! 'twas thine perchance the first to die,
Crush'd by her meagre hand when welcom❜d from the
Hark! the bee winds her small but mellow horn,
Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn.
O'er thymy downs she bends her busy course,
And many a stream allures her to its source.
'Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye so finely wrought,
Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought,
Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind;
Its orb so full, its vision so confin'd! 2
During the siege of Haarlem, 1572-3, when that city was reduced to the last extremity, and on the point of opening its gates to a base and barbarous enemy, a design was formed to relieve it; and the intelligence was conveyed to the citizens by a letter which was tied under the wing of a pigeon.-The same mode of communication was adopted at the siege of Leyden, 1573-4, and the two pigeons which conveyed the message are stuffed, and preserved in the Museum.
The bee, from the extreme convexity of her eye, cannot see many inches before her.
Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell?
Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell?
With conscious truth, retrace the mazy clue
Of summer-scents, that charm'd her as she flew?
Hail, Memory, hail! thy universal reign
Guards the least link of Being's glorious chain.
THE COLISEUM BY MOONLIGHT.
I stood within the Coliseum's1 wall,
'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome;
The trees which grew along the broken arches
Wav'd dark in the blue midnight, and the stars
Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar
The watchdog bay'd beyond the Tiber; and
More near from out the Cæsars' palace came
The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly,
Of distant sentinels the fitful song
Begun and died upon the gentle wind.
Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach
Appear'd to skirt the horizon
- yet they stood
Within a bow-shot - Where the Cæsars dwelt,
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst
1 The Coliseum derived its name from a colossal statue of Nero, 120 feet high, placed in it by Titus. It was built by Vespasian, and held from 80 to 100,000 persons. Under Dioclesian, it became the arena of the Christian martyrs; and, in the middle ages, was used as a military post by the rival factions in Rome. At the end of the 14th century, it served as a stone quarry, and the Farnese and many other palaces were built from its spoils. The remaining walls would soon have been carried away, had not Clement X. consecrated the arena, and Benedict XIV. placed the Coliseum under the protection of the Christian martyrs who had suffered within its precincts.
A grove which springs through levell'd battlements
And twines its roots with the imperial hearths,
Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth;
But the gladiator's bloody Circus stands,
A noble wreck in ruinous perfection!
While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls,
Grovel on earth in indistinct decay.-
And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Which soften'd down the hoar austerity
Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up,
As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries;
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,
And making that which was not,
ON yonder mead, that like a windless lake
Shines in the glow of heaven, a cherub boy
Is bounding, playful as a breeze new born,
Light as the beam that dances by his side.
Phantom of beauty! with his golden locks
Gleaming like water-wreaths,-a flower of life,
To whom the fairy world is fresh, the sky
A glory, and the earth one huge delight!
Joy lights his brow, and Pleasure rolls his eye,
While Innocence, from out the budding lip,
Darts her young smiles along his rounded cheek.
Grief hath not dimm'd the brightness of his form,
Love and Affection o'er him spread their wings,
And Nature, like a nurse, attends him with
Her sweetest looks. The humming bee will bound
From out the flower, nor sting his baby hand,