Pagina-afbeeldingen
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Summer is gone, and autumn's soberer hues Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving corn; The huntsman swift the flying game pursues,

Shouts the halloo, and winds his eager horn. "Spare me awhile to wander forth and gaze

On the broad meadows and the quiet stream, To watch in silence while the evening rays

Slant through the fading trees with ruddy gleam! Cooler the breezes play around my brow; I am content to die-but, oh! not now!"

The bleak wind whistles, snow-showers, far and near, Drift without echo to the whitening ground; Autumn hath pass'd away, and, cold and drear, Winter stalks on, with frozen mantle bound. Yet still that pray'r ascends :-Oh! laughingly

My little brothers round the warm hearth crowd, Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright, and high, And the roof rings with voices glad and loud; Spare me awhile! raise up my drooping brow! I am content to die-but, oh! not now!"

The spring is come again—the joyful spring! Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread; The wild bird dips upon its wanton wing

The child of earth is number'd with the dead! "Thee never more the sunshine shall awake, Beaming all readily through the lattice-pane; The steps of friends thy slumbers may not break, Nor fond familiar voice arouse again! Death's silent shadow veils thy darken'd brow; Why didst thou linger?-thou art happier now!"

ATARAXIA.

COME o'er the green hills to the sunny sea!The boundless sea that washeth many lands, Where shells unknown to England, fair and free,

Lie brightly scatter'd on the gleaming sands, There, midst the hush of slumbering ocean's roar, We'll sit and watch the silver-tissued waves Creep languidly along the basking shore,

And kiss thy gentle feet, like eastern slaves.

And we will take some volume of our choice,
Full of a quiet poetry of thought;

And thou shalt read me, with thy plaintive voice, Lines which some gifted mind hath sweetly wrought.

And I will listen, gazing on thy face

Pale as some cameo on the Italian shell-
Or looking out across the far blue space
Where glancing sails to gentle breezes swell.

Come forth! The sun hath flung on Thetis' breast
The glittering tresses of his golden hair;
All things are heavy with a noonday rest,

And floating sea-birds leave the stirless air.
Against the sky, in outlines clear and rude,
The cleft rocks stand, while sunbeams slant
between ;

And lulling winds are murmuring through the wood Which skirts the bright bay with its fringe of green.

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We will not mar the scene-we will not look
To the veil'd future, or the shadowy past;
Seal'd up shall be sad Memory's open book,

And childhood's idleness return at last!
Joy, with his restless, ever-fluttering wings,
And Hope, his gentle brother-all shall cease;
Like weary hinds that seek the desert springs,
Our one sole feeling shall be peace-deep peace!
Then come! Come o'er the green hills to the sea-
The boundless sea that washeth many lands;
And with thy plaintive voice, oh! read to me,
As we two sit upon the golden sands.
And I will listen, gazing on that face-

Pale as some cameo on the Italian shellOr looking out across the far blue space Where glancing sails to gentle breezes swell!

THE WIDOW TO HER SON'S BETROTHED.

Ан, cease to plead with that sweet cheerful voice,
Nor bid me struggle with a weight of wo,
Lest from the very tone that says “ rejoice,”

A double bitterness of grief should grow;

Those words from THEE convey no gladdening thought,

No sound of comfort lingers in their tone, But by their means a haunting shade is brought Of love and happiness for ever gone!

My son!-alas, hast thou forgotten him,

That thou art full of hopeful plans again?
His heart is cold-his joyous eyes are dimn,-
For him the future is a word in vain!
He never more the welcome hours may share,

Nor bid love's sunshine cheer our lonely home,How hast thou conquer'd all the long despair Born of that sentence-He is in the tomb?

How can thy hand with cheerful fondness press The hands of friends who still on earth may stayRemembering his most passionate caress

When the long parting summon'd him away? How canst thou keep from bitter weeping, while

Strange voices tell thee thou art brightly fairRemembering how he loved thy playful smile, Kiss'd thy smooth cheek, and praised thy burnish'd hair?"

How canst thou laugh? How canst thou warble

songs?

How canst thou lightly tread the meadow-fields, Praising the freshness which to spring belongs, And the sweet incense which the hedge-flower yields?

Does not the many-blossom'd spring recall,

Our pleasant walks through cowslip-spangled meads,―

The violet-scented lanes-the warm south-wall, Where early flow'rets rear'd their welcome heads?

Does not remembrance darken on thy brow

When the wild rose a richer fragrance flingsWhen the caressing breezes lift the bough,

And the sweet thrush more passionately sings ;Dost thou not, then, lament for him whose form Was ever near thee, full of earnest grace? Does not the sudden darkness of the storm Seem luridly to fall on nature's face?

It does to ME! The murmuring summer breeze, Which thou dost turn thy glowing cheek to meet, For me sweeps desolately through the trees,

And moans a dying requiem at my feet! The glistening river which in beauty glides, Sparkling and blue with morn's triumphant light, All lonely flows, or in its bosom hides

A broken image lost to human sight!

But THOU !-Ah! turn thee not in grief away; I do not wish thy soul as sadly wrung

I know the freedom of thy spirit's play,

I know thy bounding heart is fresh and young:

I know corroding Time will slowly break

The links which bound most fondly and most fast, And Hope will be youth's comforter, and make The long bright future overweigh the past. Only, when full of tears I raise mine eyes

And meet thine ever full of smiling light, I feel as though thy vanish'd sympathies Were buried in his grave, where all is night; And when beside our lonely hearth I sit,

And thy light laugh comes echoing to my ear, I wonder how the waste of mirth and wit Hath still the power thy widow'd heart to cheer! Bear with me yet! Mine is a harsh complaint! And thy youth's innocent light-heartedness Should rather soothe me when my spirit's faint Than seem to mock my age's lone distress. But oh! the tide of grief is swelling high,

And if so soon forgetfulness must beIf, for the dead, thou hast no further sigh, Weep for his mother!-Weep, young bride, for

[me!

WEEP NOT FOR HIM THAT DIETH.*

WEEP not for him that dieth-
For he sleeps, and is at rest;
And the couch whereon he lieth
Is the green earth's quiet breast:
But weep for him who pineth

On a far land's hateful shore,
Who wearily declineth

Where ye see his face no more!

Weep not for him that dieth,

For friends are round his bed, And many a young lip sigheth When they name the early dead; But weep for him that liveth

Where none will know or care, When the groan his faint heart giveth Is the last sigh of despair.

Weep not for him that dieth,

For his struggling soul is free,
And the world from which it flieth
Is a world of misery ;
But weep for him that weareth
The captive's galling chain:
To the agony he beareth,

Death were but little pain.
Weep not for him that dieth,

For he has ceased from tears, And a voice to his replieth

Which he hath not heard for years; But weep for him who weepeth

On that cold land's cruel shoreBlest, blest is he that sleepeth,Weep for the dead no more!

"Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him; but weep sore for him that goeth away, for he shall return no more, nor see his native country."-Jeremiah xxii. 10.

THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS HORSE.

My beautiful! my beautiful!

That standest meekly by

With thy proudly arch'd and glossy neck, And dark and fiery eye;

Fret not to roam the desert now,

With all thy winged speed-
I may not mount on thee again-
Thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!
Fret not with that impatient hoof-
Snuff not the breezy wind-
The further that thou fliest now,

So far am I behind;
The stranger hath thy bridle rein-
Thy master hath his gold—
Fleet-limb'd and beautiful! farewell!-
Thou 'rt sold, my steed-thou'rt sold!
Farewell! those free untired limbs

Full many a mile must roam, To reach the chill and wintry sky,

Which clouds the stranger's home; Some other hand, less fond, must now

Thy corn and bread prepare: The silky mane I braided once,

Must be another's care!

The morning sun shall dawn again,
But never more with thee
Shall I gallop through the desert paths,
Where we were wont to be;
Evening shall darken on the earth;
And o'er the sandy plain

Some other steed, with slower step,

Shall bear me home again.

Yes, thou must go! the wild, free breeze,

The brilliant sun and sky,

Thy master's home-from all of these,

My exiled one must fly.

Thy proud, dark eye will grow less proud,

Thy step become less fleet,

And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck,

Thy master's hand to meet.

Only in sleep shall I behold

That dark eye, glancing bright-
Only in sleep shall hear again

That step so firm and light:
And when I raise my dreaming arm
To check or cheer thy speed,
Then must I starting wake, to feel-
Thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!

Ah! rudely then, unseen by me,
Some cruel hand may chide,

Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves,
Along thy panting side:

And the rich blood that's in thee swells,
In thy indignant pain,

Till careless eyes, which rest on thee,
May count each started vein.
Will they ill use thee? If I thought-
But no, it cannot be-
Thou art so swift, yet easy curb'd;
So gentle, yet so free.

And yet, if haply when thou'rt gone,
My lonely heart should yearn-
Can the hand which casts thee from it now,
Command thee to return?
Return!-alas! my Arab steed!
What shall thy master do,

When thou, who wert his all of joy,
Hast vanish'd from his view?
When the dim distance cheats mine eye,
And through the gathering tears
Thy bright form, for a moment,

Like the false mirage appears.
Slow and unmounted will I roam,
With weary foot alone,

Where with fleet step and joyous bound
Thou oft has borne me on;

And sitting down by that green well,

I'll pause and sadly think,

"It was here he bow'd his glossy neck,
When last I saw him drink!"
When last I saw thee drink!-away!
The fever'd dream is o'er-

I could not live a day, and know
That we should meet no more!
They tempted me, my beautiful!
For hunger's power is strong-
They tempted me, my beautiful!

But I have loved too long.
Who said that I had given thee up?—
Who said that thou wert sold?
"Tis false, 't is false, my Arab steed!
I fling them back their gold!
Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back,
And scour the distant plains;
Away! who overtakes us now,

Shall claim thee for his pains.

WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER.

We have been friends together,

In sunshine and in shade;

Since first beneath the chestnut trees

In infancy we play'd.

But coldness dwells within thy heart,
A cloud is on thy brow;
We have been friends together-
Shall a light word part us now?
We have been gay together;

We have laugh'd at little jests;
For the fount of hope was gushing
Warm and joyous in our breasts.
But laughter now hath fled thy lip,
And sullen glooms thy brow;
We have been gay together-

Shall a light word part us now?

We have been sad together,

We have wept with bitter tears,
O'er the grass-grown graves, where slumber'd
The hopes of early years.

The voices which are silent there
Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together-
Oh! what shall part us now?

RECOLLECTIONS.

Do you remember all the sunny places, [gether? Where in bright days, long past, we play'd toDo you remember all the old home faces

That gather'd round the hearth in wintry weather? Do you remember all the happy meetings,

In Summer evenings round the open doorKind looks, kind hearts, kind words and tender greetings,

And clasping hands whose pulses beat no more? Do you remember them?

Do you remember all the merry laughter;

The voices round the swing in our old garden:
The dog that, when we ran, still follow'd after;
The teazing frolic sure of speedy pardon :
We were but children then, young happy creatures,
And hardly knew how much we had to lose-
But now the dreamlike memory of those features
Comes back, and bids my darken'd spirit muse.
Do you remember them?

Do you remember when we first departed
From all the old companions who were round us,
How very soon again we grew light-hearted,

And talk'd with smiles of all the links which bound us?

And after, when our footsteps were returning,
With unfelt weariness, o'er hill and plain;
How our young hearts kept boiling up, and burning,
To think how soon we'd be at home again,
Do you remember this?

Do you remember how the dreams of glory
Kept fading from us like a fairy treasure;
How we thought less of being famed in story,
And more of those to whom our fame gave plea-

sure.

Do you remember in far countries, weeping, When a light breeze, a flower, hath brought to mind Old happy thoughts, which till that hour were sleeping,

And made us yearn for those we left behind?
Do you remember this?

Do you remember when no sound woke gladly, But desolate echoes through our home were ringing,

How for a while we talk'd-then paused full sadly, Because our voices bitter thoughts were bringing? Ah me! those days-those days! my friend, my brother,

Sit down, and let us talk of all our wo, For we have nothing left but one another ;Yet where they went, old playmate, we shall goLet us remember this.

SONNET.

BE frank with me, and I accept my lot;

But deal not with me as a grieving child, Who for the loss of that which he hath not Is by a show of kindness thus beguiled.

Raise not for me, from its enshrouded tomb,
The ghostly likeness of a hope deceased;
Nor think to cheat the darkness of my doom

By wavering doubts how far thou art released: This dressing pity in the garb of love,

This effort of the heart to seem the same,These sighs and lingerings, (which nothing prove But that thou leavest me with a kind of shame,)— Remind me more, by their most vain deceit, Of the dear loss of all which thou dost counterfeit.

THE FALLEN LEAVES.

We stand among the fallen leaves,
Young children at our play,
And laugh to see the yellow things
Go rustling on their way:
Right merrily we hunt them down,
The autumn winds and we,
Nor pause to gaze where snow-drifts lie,
Or sunbeams gild the tree:
With dancing feet we leap along

Where wither'd boughs are strown;
Nor past nor future checks our song-

The present is our own.

We stand among the fallen leaves
In youth's enchanted spring-
When hope (who wearies at the last)
First spreads her eagle wing.

We tread with steps of conscious strength
Beneath the leafless trees,

And the colour kindles in our cheek
As blows the winter breeze;
While, gazing towards the cold gray sky,
Clouded with snow and rain,

We wish the old year all past by,

And the young spring come again.

We stand among the fallen leaves
In manhood's haughty prime-
When first our pausing hearts begin
To love the olden time;"
And, as we gaze, we sigh to think

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How many a year hath pass'd Since neath those cold and faded trees

Our footsteps wander'd last;
And old companions-now perchance
Estranged, forgot, or dead-
Come round us, as those autumn leaves
Are crush'd beneath our tread.

We stand among the fallen leaves
In our own autumn day-
And, tottering on with feeble steps,
Pursue our cheerless way.
We look not back-too long ago
Hath all we loved been lost;
Nor forward-for we may not live
To see our new hope cross'd:
But on we go-the sun's faint beam
A feeble warmth imparts-
Childhood without its joy returns—
The present fills our hearts!

THE CARELESS WORD.

A WORD is ringing through my brain:
It was not meant to give me pain;
It had no tone to bid it stay,
When other things had pass'd away;
It had no meaning more than all
Which in an idle hour fall:

It was when first the sound I heard
A lightly-utter'd, careless word.

That word-oh! it doth haunt me now,
In scenes of joy, in scenes of wo;
By night, by day, in sun or shade,
With the half smile that gently play'd
Reproachfully, and gave the sound
Eternal power through life to wound.
There is no voice I ever heard
So deeply fix'd as that one word.

When in the laughing crowd some tone,
Like those whose joyous sound is gone,
Strikes on my ear, I shrink-for then
The careless word comes back again.
When all alone I sit and gaze
Upon the cheerful home-fire blaze,
Lo! freshly as when first 't was heard,
Returns that lightly-utter'd word.

When dreams bring back the days of old,
With all that wishes could not hold;
And from my feverish couch I start
To press a shadow to my heart-
Amid its beating echoes, clear
That little word I seem to hear:
In vain I say, while it is heard,
Why weep?'t was but a foolish word.

It comes and with it come the tears,
The hopes, the joys of former years;
Forgotten smiles, forgotten looks,
Thick as dead leaves on autumn brooks,
And all as joyless, though they were
The brightest things life's spring could share.
Oh! would to God I ne'er had heard
That lightly-utter'd, careless word!

It was the first, the only one

Of these which lips forever gone
Breathed in their love-which had for me
Rebuke of harshness at my glee:
And if those lips were heard to say,
"Beloved, let it pass away,"
Ah! then, perchance-but I have heard
The last dear tone-the careless word!

Oh! ye who, meeting, sigh to part,
Whose words are treasures to some heart,
Deal gently, ere the dark days come,
When earth hath but for one a home;
Lest, musing o'er the past, like me,
They feel their hearts wrung bitterly,
And, heeding not what else they heard,
Dwell weeping on a careless word.

THE MOURNERS.

Low she lies, who blest our eyes
Through many a sunny day;
She may not smile, she will not rise-
The life hath past away!

Yet there is a world of light beyond,

Where we neither die nor sleep-
She is there, of whom our souls were fond-
Then wherefore do we weep?

The heart is cold, whose thoughts were told
In each glance of her glad bright eye;
And she lies pale, who was so bright,
She scarce seem'd made to die.

Yet we know that her soul is happy now,
Where the saints their calm watch keep;
That angels are crowning that fair young brow-
Then wherefore do we weep?

Her laughing voice made all rejoice,
Who caught the happy sound;
There was gladness in her very step,

As it lightly touch'd the ground.
The echoes of voice and step are gone;
There is silence still and deep:

Yet we know she sings by God's bright throne-
Then wherefore do we weep?

The cheek's pale tinge, the lid's dark fringe,
That lies like a shadow there,

Were beautiful in the eyes of all

And her glossy golden hair!
But though that lid may never wake

From its dark and dreamless sleep,

She is gone were young hearts do not break-
Then wherefore do we weep?

That world of light with joy is bright,

This is a world of wo:

Shall we grieve that her soul hath taken flight,

Because we dwell below?

We will bury her under the mossy sod,

And one long bright tress we'll keep; We have only given her back to GodAh! wherefore do we weep?

SONNET.

LIKE an enfranchised bird, who wildly springs,
With a keen sparkle in his glancing eye
And a strong effort in his quivering wings,
Up to the blue vault of the happy sky,—
So my enamour'd heart, so long thine own,
At length from love's imprisonment set free,
Goes forth into the open world alone,

Glad and exulting in its liberty:
But like that helpless bird, (confined so long,
His weary wings have lost all power to soar,
Who soon forgets to trill his joyous song,

And, feebly fluttering, sinks to earth once more,) So, from its former bonds released in vain, [chain. My heart still feels the weight of that remember'd

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