COMMUNINGS WITH THOUGHT.

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COMMUNINGS WITH THOUGHT.

"Could we but keep our spirit's to that height,
We might be happy; but this clay will sink
Its spark immortal.”—Byron.

RETURN my thoughts, come home!

Ye wild and wing'd! what do ye o'er the deep?
And wherefore thus the abyss of time o'ersweep,
As birds the ocean foam?

Swifter than shooting star,

Swifter than lances of the northern light,
Upspringing through the purple heaven of night,
Hath been your course afar!

Through the bright battle-clime,

Where laurel boughs make dim the Grecian streams,
And reeds are whispering of heroic themes,

By temples of old time :

Through the north's ancient halls,

Where banners thrill'd of yore-where harp-strings rung; But grass waves now o'er those that fought and sungHearth-light hath left their walls!

Through forests old and dim,

Where o'er the leaves dread magic seems to brood;
And sometimes on the haunted solitude

Rises the pilgrim's hymn :

Or where some fountain lies,

With lotus-cups through orient spice-woods gleaming!
There have ye been, ye wanderers! idly dreaming
Of man's lost paradise!

Return, my thoughts, return!

Cares wait your presence in life's daily track,
And voices, not of music, call you back-
Harsh voices, cold and stern!

Oh! no, return ye not!

Sill farther, loftier let your soarings be!

Go, bring me strength from journeyings bright and fre‹,
O'er many a haunted spot.

Go, seek the martyr's grave,

'Midst the old mountains, and the deserts vast;

Or, through the ruin'd cities of the past,

Follow the wise and brave!

Go, visit cell and shrine !

[scorn,

Where woman hath endured!-through wrong, through

Uncheer'd by fame, yet silently upborne

By promptings more divine!

Go, shoot the gulf of death!

Track the pure spirit where no chain can bind,

Where the heart's boundless love its rest may find,
Where the storm sends no breath!

Higher, and yet more high!

Shake off the cumbering chain which earth would lay On your victorious wings-mount, mount !-Your way Is through eternity!

SONNETS,

DEVOTIONAL AND MEMORIAL.

I. THE SACRED HARP.

How shall the harp of poesy regain
That old victorious tune of prophet-years,
A spell divine o'er guilt's perturbing fears,
And all the hovering shadows of the brain?
Dark evil wings took flight before the strain,
And showers of holy quiet, with its fall,
Sank on the soul. Oh! who may now recall
The mighty music's consecrated reign?
Spirit of God whose glory once o'erhung
A throne, the ark's dread cherubini between,
So let thy presence brood, though now unseen,
O'er those two powers by whom the harp is strung,
Feeling and Thought! till the rekindled chords
Give the long-buried tone back to immortal words.

II. TO A FAMILY BIBLE.

WHAT household thoughts around thee, as their shrine,
Cling reverently?—of anxious looks beguiled
My mother's eyes, upon thy page divine,

Each day were bent-her accents, gravely mild,
Breathed out thy lore: whilst I, a dreamy child,
Wandered on breeze-like fancies oft away,
To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild,
Some fresh discover'd nook for woodland play,
Some secret nest: yet would the solemn Word,
At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard,
Fall on my wakened spirit, there to be

A seed not lost ;-for which, in darker years,
O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears,
Heart blessings on the holy dead and thee!

III.-REPOSE OF A HOLY FAMILY.

FROM AN OLD ITALIAN PICTURE.

UNDER a palm-tree, by the green old Nile,

Lull'd on his mother's breast, the fair child lies,

PICTURE OF THE INFANT CHRIST.-ETC.

With dove-like breathings, and a tender smile,
Brooding above the slumber of his eyes.
While, through the stillness of the burning skies,
Lo! the dread works of Egypt's buried kings,
Temple and pyramid, beyond him rise,

Regal and still as everlasting things!—

Vain pomps! from him, with that pure flowery cheek,
Soft shadow'd by his mother's drooping head,

A new-born spirit, mighty, and yet meek,

O'er the whole world like vernal air shall spread! And bid all earthly grandeurs cast the crown, Before the suffering and the lowly, down.

IV.-PICTURE OF THE INFANT CHRIST WITH
FLOWERS.

ALL the bright hues from eastern garlands glowing,
Round the young child luxuriantly are spread;
Gifts, fairer far than Magian kings, bestowing
In adoration, o'er his cradle shed.

Roses, deep-filled with rich midsummer's red,
Circle his hands; but, in his grave sweet eye,
Thought seems e'en now to wake, and prophecy
Of ruder coronals for that meek head.

And thus it was! a diadem of thorn

Earth gave to Him who mantled her with flowers,
To Him who pour'd forth blessings in soft showers

O'er all her paths, a cup of bitter scorn!

And we repine, for whom that cup He took,

O'er blooms that mock'd our hope, o'er idols that forsook!

V.-ON A REMEMBERED PICTURE OF CHRIST

AN ECCE HOMO, BY LEONARDO DA VINCI,

I MET that image on a mirthful day

Of youth; and, sinking with a still'd surprise,
The pride of life, before those holy eyes,

In my quick heart died thoughtfully away,

Abash'd to mute confession of a sway,

Awful, though meek; and now, that from the strings
Of my soul's lyre, the tempest's mighty wings
Have struck forth tones which then awaken'd lay;
Now, that around the deep life of my mind,
Affections, deathless as itself, have twined,
Oft does the pale bright vision still float by;
But more divinely sweet, and speaking now
Of One whose pity, throned on that sad brow,
Sounded all depths of love, grief, death, humanity!

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VI. THE CHILDREN WHOM JESUS BLESSED.

HAPPY were they, the mothers, in whose sight
Ye grew, fair children! hallow'd from that hour
By your Lord's blessing! surely thence a shower
Of heavenly beauty, a transmitted light
Hung on your brows and eyelids, meekly bright,
Through all the after years, which saw ye move
Lowly, yet still majestic, in the might,

The conscious glory of the Saviour's love!
And honor'd be all childhood, for the sake
Of that high love! Let reverential care
Watch to behold the immortal spirit wake,
And shield its first bloom from unholy air;
Owning, in each young suppliant glance, the sign
Of claims upon a heritage divine.

VII.-MOUNTAIN SANCTUARIES.

"He went up to a mountain apart to pray."

A CHILD 'midst ancient mountains I have stood,
Where the wild falcons make their lordly nest
On high. The spirit of the solitude

Fell solemnly upon my infant breast,

Though then I pray'd not; but deep thoughts have press'd Into my being since it breathed that air,

Nor could I now one moment live the guest

Of such dread scenes, without the springs of prayer
O'erflowing all my soul. No minsters rise
Like them in pure communion with the skies,
Vast, silent, open unto night and day:

So might the o'erburden'd Son of Man have felt,
When, turning where inviolate stillness dwelt,
He sought high mountains, there apart to pray.

VIII. THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.

"Consider the lilies of the field."

FLOWERS! when the Saviour's calm benignant eye
Fell on your gentle beauty-when from you
That heavenly lesson for all hearts he drew,
Eternal, universal, as the sky-

Then, in the bosom of your purity,

A voice He set, as in a temple-shrine,

That life's quick travellers ne'er might pass you by,
Unwarn'd of that sweet oracle divine,

And though too oft its low, celestial sound,
By the harsh notes of work-day Care is drown'd,

THE BIRDS OF THE AIR.-ETC.

And the loud steps of vain unlistening Haste,
Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power
Mightier to reach the soul, in thought's hush'd hour,
Than yours, ye Lilies! chosen thus and graced?

IX. THE BIRDS OF THE AIR.

"And behold the birds of the air."

YE too, the free and fearless Birds of air,

Were charged that hour, on missionary wing,
The same bright lesson o'er the seas to bear,
Heaven-guided wanderers, with the winds of spring
Sing on, before the storm and after, sing!

And call us to your echoing woods away
From worldly cares; and bid our spirits bring
Faith to imbibe deep wisdom from your lay.
So may those blessed vernal strains renew
Childhood, a childhood yet more pure and true
E'en than the first, within th' awaken'd mind;
While sweetly, joyously, they tell of life,
That knows no doubts, no questionings, no strife,
But hangs upon its God, unconsciously resign'd.

X.—THE RAISING OF THE WIDOW'S SON.

"And he that was dead sat up and began to speak." He that was dead rose up and spoke-He spoke! Was it of that majestic world unknown?

Those words, which first the bier's dread silence broke,
Came they with revelation in each tone?

Were the far cities of the nations gone,

The solemn halls of consciousness or sleep,

For man uncurtain'd by that spirit lone,

Back from their portal summon'd o'er the deep?

Be hush'd, my soul! the veil of darkness lay

Still drawn thy Lord call'd back the voice departed,

:

To spread his truth, to comfort his weak-hearted,

Not to reveal the mysteries of its way.

Oh! take that lesson home in silent faith,

Fat on submissive strength to meet, not question death!

XI. THE OLIVE-TREE.

THE Palm-the Vine-the Cedar-each hath power

To bid fair Oriental shapes glance by,

And each quick glistening of the Laurel bower
Wafts Grecian images o'er fancy's eye.

But thou, pale Olive!-in thy branches lie

Far deeper spells than prophet grove of old

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