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So reaches he the latter stage
Of this our mortal pilgrimage,

With feeble step and slow;
New ills that latter stage await,
And old experience learns too late

That all is vanity below;
Life's vain delusions are gone by,

Its idle hopes are o'er,
Yet Age remembers with a sigh

The days that are no more.



A SPIRIT, golden-haired, upon the side

Of a dark willow-shaded streamlet lay;
Sweetly the silent waters lapsed away,

And silently that spirit watched them glide.
And oft he fondly culled the violets pied,

And virgin lilies, with the budding spray
Of roses, ere they pined in soft decay-

And gently cast them on the peaceful tide.
Day passed, and Night; all seasons went and came;
The green earth blossomed, and grew white; but

there, O'er the smooth marge of that sequestered brook,

The faithful spirit hung-in all, the same, Save that his blue eyes wore a milder look,

And on his brow there dwelt a chastened air.



A Light is gone from yonder sky,

A star has left its sphere; The beautiful--and do they die

In yon bright world, as here?
Will that star leave a lonely place,

A darkness on the night?
No: few will miss its lovely face,

And none think heaven less bright!

What wert thou star of, vanished one?

What mystery was thine ?
Thy beauty from the east is gone :

What was thy sway and sign?
Wert thou the star of opening youth?

And is it then for thee,
Its frank glad thoughts, its stainless truth,

So early cease to be?

Of hope ?--and was it to express

How soon hope sinks in shade?
Or else of human loveliness,

In sign how it will fade?
How was thy dying like the song,

In music to the last,
An echo flung the winds among,

And then for ever past?


Or didst thou sink as stars whose light

The fair moon renders vain ?
The rest shine forth the next dark night,

Thou didst not shine again.
Didst thou fade gradual from the time

The first great curse was hurled,
Till, lost in sorrow and in crime,

Star of our early world?

Forgotten and departed star!

A thousand glories shine
Round the blue midnight's regal car,

Who then remembers thine ?
Save when some mournful bard, like me,

Dreams over beauty gone,
And in the fate that waited thee,

Reads what will be his own.



Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore;- upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

The armaments which thunder-strike the walls -
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,
The oak leviathans whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ;
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,

They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save

theeAssyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are

they ? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts :--not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time,
Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving ;-boundless, endless, and sub-

The image of eternity—the throne
Of the invisible; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless,


B 2



On, beautiful is youth!

How often, as it passes by,

With flowing limbs, and flashing eye, With soul that not a care has crossed, With cheek that not a tint has lost;

How often in my heart I cry, How beautiful is youth!

Sweet youth! sweet youth! no need

Hast thou of such a mould,

Of such an air as sculptors old, On god, or goddess cast,—that thrilled With life, with thought; with beauty filled!

In simplest form thy power is shown Thou sweet—almighty youth !

Oh generous youth! thy gifts,

How freely are they thrown!

What humble creature has not known The radiant eye's all-liquid light: The skin's pure freshness, soft and bright;

The glittering locks, the joyous tone? Oh happy, happy youth !

And yet thou art to me

A melancholy sound !
At once thy name doth bring around

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