That his enraptured muse should firmly own
The claims of truth, and faith, and love alone!
That he, who feels within the fire divine,
Should nurse the flame to grace God's holy shrine.
Let those who bask in passion's burning ray,
Who own no rule but fancy's changeful sway,
Who quench their burning thirst in folly's stream,
And waste their genius on each grosser theme,
Let them turn back on life's tumultuous sea,
And humbly gazing, learn this truth from thee;
That virtue's hand the poet's lamp must trim,
And its clear light, unwavering, point to Him,
Or all its brilliance shall have glow'd in vain,
And hours misspent shall win him years of pain.

1837.

STANZAS.

Он, who may tell the joy, the bliss,
Which o'er the realm of fancy streams;
The varied streams of light and life,

Which deck the poet's world of dreams?

The ransom'd soul may speed its flight,
To live and grow in realms above;
May bathe in floods of endless light,
And live eternal years of love.

But oh, what voice hath e'er reveal'd
The glories of that blest abode,
Save the faint whisperings of the soul,
The mystic monitors of God?

Thus may the poet's spirit dance
And revel in his world of joy,
May form creations at a glance,
And myriads at a word destroy.

But mortal ear can never hear
The music of that seraph band;
Nought save the faint, unearthly tones
Just wafted from that spirit-land.

None but the poet's soul can know

The wild and wondrous beauty there;
The streams of light, which ever flow,
The ever music-breathing air.

His spirit seeks this heaven awhile,
Entranced in glowing dreams of bliss
Lives in the muses' hallow'd smile,
And bathes in founts of happiness.

1837.

FRAGMENT.

'Twas the song of the evening spirit! it stole,
Like a stream of delight, o'er the listening soul,
And the passions of earth-joy, or sorrow, or pain-
Were absorb'd in the notes of that heavenly strain.
My heart seem'd to pause as the spirit came nigh,
And, array'd in its garment of music pass'd by!
"I am coming, oh earth! I am hasting away,
With my star-spangled crown and my mantle of gray;
I have come from my bower in the regions of light,
To recline on the breast of my parent, Night!
To soften the gloom in her mournful eye,
And guide her steps through the darken'd sky!
I come to the earth in my mystic array;

Rest, rest from the toils and the cares of the day!
I will lull each discordant emotion to sleep,

As I hush the wild waves of the turbulent deep,

And my watch o'er the couch of their slumbers I keep.
The streams murmur 'peace,' as I steal through the sky,
And hush'd are the winds, which swept fitfully by;
The bee nestles down on the breast of the rose,
And the wild birds of summer are seeking repose.
All nature salutes me, so solemn, so fair,
And a glad shout of welcome is borne on the air.
Now, now is the moment, and here is the way
For the spirit to mount from its temple of clay,
And soar on my pinions to regions sublime,
Beyond the broad flight of the giant-wing'd Time"
[Unfinished.]

IMITATION OF A SCOTCH BALLAD.

SWEETS of the glowing spring

Float on the air;

Gaily the birdies sing,

Banishin' care.

Softly the burnies flow,
Gently the breezes blow,
I to my Jeanie, oh,

Gaily repair.

Fair as the simmer flower
Sipp'd by the bee;
Blithe as the weenie birds
Singin' their glee;

Fresh as the drappin' dew,
Pure as the gowan's hue,
Ever gay an' ever true,
Is Jeanie to me.

Bright as the gowden beam

Gildin' the morn;

Sweet as the simmer's wind
Wavin' the corn;

Sic is my Jeanie, oh,
Stainless as winter snow,
Given to the warld below
Life to adorn.

Joy to thee, bonnie lass,
Gently an' braw,
Thou, 'mang the fairest,
Art fairer than a';

Still mayst thou gladsome be,
Ever from sorrow free,
Blessings upon thine e'e
Numberless fa'.

Grief may bedim the while
Joy's glowing flame;
Sorrow may steal the smile
From its sweet hame;
But the sweet flow'ret love,
Native of heaven above,

In the dark storm shall prove
Ever the same.

ERE THOU DIDST FORM.
ERE thou didst form this teeming earth,
Or gave these mighty mountains birth;
Ere mortal pressed this yielding sod;
From everlasting thou art God!

Thousands of years, when passed away,
Seem, in thy sight, one fleeting day;
Ages, where man may live and die,
An hour to thy eternity!

Years roll on with a rolling stream,
They fade like shadows in a dream!

Like grass, which springs at morning light,
And withers ere the close of night!

1837.

For thou art mighty in thine ire-
Thy wrath consumes like flaming fire;
And, spread before thy searching eye,
Our sins in dreadful order lie.
[Unfinished.]

A FRAGMENT.

I SEE her seraph form, her flowing hair,
Her brow and cheek so exquisitely fair;
Her smiling lips, her dark eye's radiant beam-
A dream?-this is not, cannot be a dream!

They tell me 't is some wild and phrensied thought,
Some glowing spark from fancy's altar caught;
Some glowing spirit, fancied and unknown,

Which reigns supreme on Reason's vanquish'd throne.

1837.

FRAGMENT OF THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM.

THUS thought I, while in pensive mood,
Beneath a frowning cliff I stood,
And mark'd the autumn sun decline
Above the broad and heaving Rhine!
Oh, 't was a rich and gorgeous sight,
But all too solemn to be bright.
A saddening hue was o'er it cast,
Which seem'd to tell of glories past,
Of summer ripen'd to decay,
Of ancient splendours past away.
The parting monarch's dying glow
Fell on the restless waves below,
As if an angel's hand had dyed
With hues from heaven the sparkling tide.
The fleeting ray an instant beam'd,

O'er hill, and dale, and rock it stream'd,
Till the dark, time-defying cliff,
Seem'd glowing, melting into life,
And the broad scene, so sad and wild,
Beneath its gentle influence smiled,
As care lifts up its sorrowing eye,
When hope has cast a sunbeam by ;
Then swiftly fading, glided o'er,
And left it lonely as before.
The distant hills of sombre blue,
Tinged with that rich and varying hue,
Now darker and more mingled grew,
While nearer rose so wild and bold
The rugged cliffs of Odenwald.

The Rhine, enrobed in shadows gray,
Roll'd on its giant path,

Lashing the rocks which barr'd its way,
Now curling graceful, as in play,
Now roaring, as in wrath.

The forests murmur'd, bow'd, and slept,
But on the mighty river swept,
As in impatient haste to gain
The gentler waters of the Maine,
Which flow'd along in stately pride,
To mingle with its parent tide.
But where the kindred waters meet,
A rugged cliff there stood;
It rose above the eddying waves,
With hanging rocks and yawning caves,
The guardian of the flood;

Fit haunt it seem'd for giant forms
Of wild, unearthly mould,
The spirits of the winds and storms
Their mystic rites to hold.
And o'er its rugged brow was spread
The forest moss and flower,
And, 'mid a grove of solemn firs,
Arose a ruin'd tower;

The ivied walls and turrets gray
Seem'd vainly struggling with decay,
Still frowning o'er the restless tide,
An emblem of unyielding pride.
All, all was desolate and lone ;-
Beside its walls of crumbling stone
A giant beech its arms had thrown,

And ivy on its threshold grew;
The shouts of mirth, the cries of strife,
The varied sounds of bustling life,

Its walls no longer knew;
The moaning winds rush'd fitful by,
Blent with the owlet's dismal cry,
And every sad and mournful blast
Seem'd sadly wailing for the past!
Scarce could the wandering eye discern
In that rude pile, so dark and stern,
The remnants of its lofty wall,
The area of its spacious hall,
Or trace in masses rude and steep,
What once was barbacan and keep.