My sister dear, I ne'er was skilled
The master-song to pour;
And when thy Surrey grave was filled
I thought to sing no more.
But while the nightingales are mute,
And minstrel monarchs rest,
The linnet's chirp, the shepherd's lute,
May prove its feebler best:
And hearts, whose blither hues are gone,
May yet some posy show';
As gleams, where erst the splendour shone, Arabia's after-glow.
I bring my songs to thee; for thou,
A song in music shrined,
Where'er I rove, abidest now
Before my musing mind.
I saw thee when the sun went down,
Beyond the sorrowing sea;
I heard the moan for beauty flown,
The solemn sigh for thee.
I saw thee when the moon arose
Above the Arabian hill ;
I knew thee then, as memory knows,
A mirthful maiden still.
By Paran's little rivulet,
It was with thee I talked :
At Sinai, on Olivet,
It was with thee I walked.
I knew that awed and pensive hush,
So often heard before,
Which hung about the desert bush,
And on Gennesaret's shore;
Nor have I coined a comely thought,
Or shaped a tuneful line,
But all the dream with thee was fraught,
And all the music thine.
Thy cares are done, O gentlest one,
While care remains to me;
Yet I my verse will still rehearse,
As when a boy, to thee.
AUSTERE and grim it towers before the sun,
Fair Europe's frontage toward the paynim's seat.
The two great waters mingle at its feet.
Before it flit the ghosts of ages done,——
Huge eastern ghosts; of ages unbegun,
The impatient shadows, thronging from the west.
Within its pierced and lacerated breast
Abides the death of whom it scowls upon.
Behind it, veiled from casual peering, smile
Bright hills, and flowery dells, and christened loves,
And (veiled yet more) sweet Freedom's favourite isle,
With stalwart Faith's deep-rooted oaken groves.
Above, whose ensign? Ah, my country dear!
Thy God uphold thee still that foremost flag to rear.
THE GOVERNMENT OF THE GREAT WATERS.
I SAID, when first I looked upon the face
Of the dark-eyed Atlantic, and the roll
Of its majestic swell came o'er my soul,
Its forces quickening, that at length a place
Had made me envious, and that, had I grace
To choose some other lot, I fain would be
The Angel of the waters of the sea,
And have the charge of all this billowy space.
Yet now those daring thoughts I put away,
And even to this prefer my proven state;
For power is burdensome, and to obey
Is easier than to practise with the great.
High boon for me, that I, without annoy,
Where others toil, may gaze, and worship, and
enjoy.
Now have I left in turn dear English friends,
Pure rites of Europe, Afric's gay bazaar,
And the earth's brooks and gardens; and afar
Before mine eyes one arid waste extends :—
One arid waste, where not a fig-tree lends
Or noon-day shade or shelter from the night,
And not a chime, high-lodged in belfry-height,
Goes forth to cheer, and not a shower descends.
Dear Christian Boy, to whom my verse shall come,
At English altars nurtured now and blest,
And joyous made with sweets of youth and home,
Life's kindred desert portals all thy rest.
Thrice happy thou, when earlier joys are o'er,
If but thy skies be God's, and His the hills before.
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