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I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn
Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I
swore, From my home and my weeping friends never
to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of
Stay, stay with us,---rest, thou art weary and
worn ; And fain was their war-broken soldier to
stay ; But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
TO THE RAINBOW.
TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art
Still seem, as to my childhood's sight,
A midway station given For happy spirits to alight
Betwixt the earth and heaven.
Can all that Optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so, As when I dreamt of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow ?
When Science from Creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws !
And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Was woven in the sky.
When o'er the green undeluged earth
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's gray fathers forth
To watch thy sacred sign !
And when its yellow lustre smiled
O’er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child
To bless the bow of God.
Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem rang
And the first poet sang.
Nor ever shall the Muse's eye
Unraptured greet thy beam ; Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the prophet's theme !
The earth to thee her incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings, When glittering in the freshen'd fields
The snowy mushroom springs.
How glorious is thy girdle, cast
O’er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down!
As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam:
For, faithful to its sacred page,
Heaven still rebuilds thy span,
That first spoke peace to man.
1819. TIIE LAST MAN.
ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The Sun himself must die,
Adown the gulf of Time!
As Adam saw her prime!
The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan, The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man!
In plague and famine some !
To shores where all was dumb!
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high, That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm pass'd by,