SPRING-FLOWERS, spring-birds, spring-breezes
Are felt, and heard, and seen;
Light trembling transport seizes

My heart,-with sighs between :
These old enchantments fill the mind
With scenes and seasons far behind;
Childhood, its smiles and tears,
Youth, with its flush of years,
Its morning-clouds and dewy prime,
More exquisitely touch'd by Time.
Fancies again are springing,

Like May-flowers in the vales;
While hopes, long lost, are singing,
From thorns, like nightingales;
And kindly spirits stir my blood,
Like vernal airs, that curl the flood:
There falls to manhood's lot

A joy, which youth has not.

A dream more beautiful than truth,
-Returning Spring, renewing Youth.
Thus sweetly to surrender

The present for the past;
In sprightly mood, yet tender,

Life's burden down to cast,
-This is to taste, from stage to stage,
Youth on the lees refined by age:
Like wine well kept and long,
Heady, not harsh, nor strong,
With every annual cup, is quaff'd
A richer, purer, mellower draught.


ONCE in the flight of ages past,

There lived a Man:-and wнO WAS HE? -Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,

That Man resembled thee.

Unknown the region of his birth,

The land in which he died unknown:
His name has perish'd from the earth,
This truth survives alone :-

That joy and grief, and hope and fear,
Alternate triumph'd in his breast:
His bliss and wo,-a smile, a tear!

-Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulse, the languid limb-
The changing spirits' rise and fall;
We know that these were felt by him
For these are felt by all.

He suffer'd, but his pangs are o'er;
Enjoy'd, but his delights are fled;
Had friends, his friends are now no more;
And foes,-his foes are dead.

He loved, but whom he loved, the grave
Hath lost in its unconscious womb,
Oh she was fair-but naught could save
Her beauty from the tomb.
He saw whatever thou hast seen;

Encounter'd all that troubles thee;
He was-whatever thou hast been;
He is what thou shalt be.

The rolling seasons, day and night,

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, Erewhile his portion, life and light

To him exist in vain.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye That once their shades and glory threw, Have left in yonder silent sky

No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,

Their ruins, since the world began Of HIM afford no other trace



A POOR wayfaring man of grief

Has often cross'd me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief,

That I could never answer, "Nay:"
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came,
Yet was there something in his eye,
That won my love, I knew not why.
Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He enter'd; not a word he spake ;-
Just perishing for want of bread;

I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate, but gave me part again;
Mine was an Angel's portion then,
For while I fed with eager haste,
That crust was manna to my taste.

I spied him, where a fountain burst

Clear from the rock; his strength was gone; The heedless water mock'd his thirst,

He heard it, saw it hurrying on;

I ran to raise the sufferer up;

Thrice from the stream he drain'd my cup,
Dipt and return'd it running o'er;

I drank, and never thirsted more.

"T was night; the floods were out; it blew A winter hurricane aloof;

I heard his voice abroad, and flew

To bid him welcome to my roof;

I warm'd, I clothed, I cheer'd my guest,
Laid him on my own couch to rest;
Then made the hearth my bed, and seem'd
In Eden's garden while I dream'd.
Stript, wounded, beaten, nigh to death,
I found him by the highway side;

I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,
Revived his spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment; he was heal'd;
I had myself a wound conceal'd;
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.
In prison I saw him next, condemn'd

To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd,

And honour'd him midst shame and scorn: My friendship's utmost zeal to try, He ask'd, if I for him would die; The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, But the free spirit cried, "I will."

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IMAGE of one, who lived of yore!
Hail to that lovely mien,

Once quick and conscious;-now no more
On land or ocean seen!

Were all earth's breathing forms to pass
Before me in Agrippa's glass,
Many as fair as thou might be,

But oh! not one,-not one like thee.
Thou art no child of fancy;-thou
The very look dost wear,
That gave enchantment to a brow
Wreath'd with luxuriant hair;
Lips of morn embathed in dew,
And eyes of evening's starry blue;
Of all who e'er enjoy'd the sun,
Thou art the image of but one.
And who was she, in virgin prime,
And May of womanhood,
Whose roses here, unpluck'd by time,
In shadowy tints have stood;
While many a winter's withering blast
Hath o'er the dark cold chamber pass'd,
In which her once-resplendent form
Slumber'd to dust beneath the storm?

Of gentle blood;-upon her birth

Consenting planets smiled,

And she had seen those days of mirth,

That frolic round the child;

To bridal bloom her strength had sprung,
Behold her beautiful and young!
Lives there a record, which hath told,
That she was wedded, widow'd, old?
How long her date, 't were vain to guess:
The pencil's cunning art
Can but a single glance express,
One motion of the heart;
A smile, a blush,-a transient grace
Of air, and attitude, and face-
One passion's changing colour mix;
One moment's flight for ages fix.
Her joys and griefs, alike in vain,
Would fancy here recall;
Her throbs of ecstasy or pain

Lull'd in oblivion all;

With her, methinks, life's little hour
Pass'd like the fragrance of a flower,
That leaves upon the vernal wind
Sweetness we ne'er again may find.
Where dwelt she?-Ask yon aged tree,
Whose boughs embower the lawn,

Whether the birds' wild minstrelsy

Awoke her here at dawn;
Whether beneath its youthful shade,
At noon, in infancy she play'd:
-If from the oak no answer come,
Of her all oracles are dumb.

The dead are like the stars by day;
-Withdrawn from mortal eye,
But not extinct, they hold their way,
In glory through the sky:
Spirits, from bondage thus set free,
Vanish amidst immensity,

Where human thought, like human sight,
Fails to pursue their trackless flight.
Somewhere within created space,

Could I explore that round, In bliss, or wo, there is a place,

Where she might still be found; And oh! unless those eyes deceive, I may, I must, I will believe,

That she, whose charms so meekly glow,

In what she only seem❜d below

An angel in that glorious realm,
Where God himself is king;
-But awe and fear, that overwhelm
Presumption, check my wing;
Nor dare imagination look
Upon the symbols of that book,
Wherein eternity enrolls

The judgment on departed souls.

Of her of whom these pictured lines
A faint resemblance form;
-Fair as the second rainbow shines

Aloof amid the storm;

Of her this "shadow of a shade"
Like its original must fade,
And she, forgotten when unseen,
Shall be as if she ne'er had been.

Ah! then, perchance, this dreaming strain,
Of all that e'er I sung,

A lorn memorial may remain,

When silent lies my tongue,

When shot the meteor of my fame,
Lost the vain echo of my name,
This leaf, this fallen leaf, may be
The only trace of her and me.

With one who lived of old, my song
In lowly cadence rose;

To one who is unborn, belong

The accents of its close:

Ages to come, with courteous ear,
Some youth my warning voice may hear;
And voices from the dead should be

The warnings of eternity.

When these weak lines thy presence greet, Reader! if I am blest,

Again, as spirits, may we meet

In glory and in rest:

If not, and I have lost my way,-
Here part we;-go not thou astray;
No tomb, no verse my story tell!
Once, and for ever, fare thee well.

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