Was it for this we sent out
Liberty's cry from our shore ?
Was it for this that her shout
Thrill'd to the world's very core ?
Thus to live cowards and slaves! -
Oh, ye free hearts that lie dead,
Do you not, even in your graves,
Shudder, as o'er you we tread?
NE'ER TALK OF WISDOM'S GLOOMY SCHOOLS.
NE'ER talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools;
Give me the sage who's able
To draw his moral thoughts and rules
From the study of the table;-
Who learns how lightly, fleetly pass
This world and all that's in it,
From the bumper that but crowns his glass,
And is gone again next minute!
The diamond sleeps within the mine,
The pearl beneath the water;
While Truth, more precious, dwells in wine,
The grape's own rosy daughter.
And none can prize her charms like him,
Oh, none like him obtain her,
Who thus can, like Leander, swim,
Through sparkling floods to gain her!
HERE sleeps the bard who knew so well
All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell;
Whether its music roll'd like torrents near,
Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear.
Sleep, sleep, mute bard; alike unheeded now
The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow:-
That storm whose rush is like thy martial lay;
That breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away!
DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING.
Do not say that life is waning,
Or that Hope's sweet day is set;
While I've thee and love remaining,
Life is in th' horizon yet.
Do not think those charms are flying,
Though thy roses fade and fall;
Beauty hath a grace undying,
Which in thee survives them all.
Not for charms, the newest, brightest,
That on other cheeks may shine,
Would I change the least, the slightest,
That is ling'ring now o'er thine.
Dost thou not hear the silver bell, Through yonder lime-trees ringing? 'Tis my lady's light gazelle,
To me her love thoughts bringing, All the while that silver bell Around his dark neck ringing.
See, in his mouth he bears a wreath,
My love hath kiss'd in tying;
Oh, what tender thoughts beneath
Those silent flowers are lying,
Hid within the mystic wreath,
My love hath kiss'd in tying!
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her, the fairest,
Who thus hath breath'd her soul to me,
In every leaf thou bearest;
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her, the fairest !
Hail, ye living, speaking flowers, That breathe of her who bound ye; Oh, 't was not in fields or bowers, "T was on her lips she found ye; Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers "Twas on her lips she found ye.
NO-LEAVE MY HEART TO REST.
No-leave my heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope have pass'd away.
Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled,
To some poor leaf that's fall'n and dead,
Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed?
No-leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope have pass'd away.
Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright,
Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light;
But now thou com'st like sunny skies,
Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes,
When wreck'd and lost his bark before him lies!
No-leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
Since youth, and love, and hope have pass'd away.
"WHERE are the visions that round me once hover'd, "Forms that shed grace from their shadows alone; "Looks fresh as light from a star just discover'd, "And voices that Music might take for her own?"
Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o'er me,'
Heard me say, "Where are those visions, oh where?"
And pointing his wand to the sunset before me,
Said, with a voice like the follow wind, "There,"
Fondly I look'd, when the wizard had spoken,
And there, 'mid the dim shining ruins of day,
Saw, by their light, like a talisman broken,
The last golden fragments of hope melt away.
WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER BOY.
WIND thy horn, my hunter boy,
And leave thy lute's inglorious sighs;
Hunting is the hero's joy,
Till war his nobler game supplies.
Hark! the hound-bells ringing sweet,
While hunters shout, and the woods repeat,
Hilli-ho! hilli-ho!
Wind again thy cheerful horn,
Till echo, faint with answ'ring, dies:
Burn, bright torches, burn till morn,
And lead us where the wild boar lies.
Hark! the cry, "He's found, he's found,"
While hill and valley our shouts resound,
Он, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel
The blight that this world o'er the warmest will steal; While the faith of all round us is fading or past,
Let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to the last.
|