LYRICS OF THE HEART.

KIRKSTALL ABBEY REVISITED.

"The echoes of its vaults are eloquent;

The stones have voices, and the walls do live:

It is the house of Memory!"

MATURIN

LONG years have passed since last I strayed,
In boyhood, through thy roofless aisle,
And watched the mists of eve o'ershade
Day's latest, loveliest smile;-
And saw the bright, broad, moving moon
Sail up the sapphire skies of June!

The air around was breathing balm;
The aspen scarcely seemed to sway;
And, as a sleeping infant calm,
The river flowed away,
Devious as error, deep as love,
And blue and bright as heaven above!

Steeped in a flood of golden light,—
Type of that hour of deep repose,-

In wan, wild beauty on my sight,
Thy time-worn tower arose,—
Brightening above the wreck of years,
Like FAITH amid a world of fears.

I climbed its dark and dizzy stair,
And gained its ivy-mantled brow;
But broken-ruined-who may dare
Ascend that pathway now?
Life was an upward journey then;—
When shall my spirit mount again!

The steps in youth I loved to tread,

Have sunk beneath the foot of Time; Like them the daring hopes that led Me, once, to heights sublime, Ambition's dazzling dreams are o'er, And I may scale those heights no more!

And years have fled, and now I stand

Once more beside thy shattered fane, Nerveless alike in heart and hand,

How changed by grief and pain, Since last I loitered here, and deemed Life was the fairy thing it seemed!

And gazing on thy crumbling walls,
What visions meet my mental eye;
For every stone of thine recalls

Some trace of years gone by ;-
Some cherished bliss, too frail to last,
Some hope decayed, or passion past!

KIRKSTALL ABBEY REVISITED.

Ay, thoughts come thronging on my soul,
Of sunny youth's delightful morn;
When free from Sorrow's dark control,
By pining Care unworn,—

Dreaming of Fame, and Fortune's smile,
I lingered in thy ruined aisle!

How many a wild and withering woe

Hath seared my trusting heart since then;
What clouds of blight, consuming slow
The springs that life sustain,—

Have o'er my world-vexed spirit passed,
Sweet Kirkstall, since I saw thee last!

How bright is every scene beheld

In youth and hope's unclouded hours;
How darkly, youth and hope dispelled,
The loveliest prospect lowers:
Thou wert a splendid vision then ;—
When wilt thou seem so bright again!

Yet still thy turrets drink the light
Of summer evening's softest ray,
And ivy-garlands, green and bright,
Still mantle thy decay;

And calm and beauteous as of old,
Thy wandering river glides in gold.

But life's gay morn of ecstacy,

That made thee seem so passing fair,—

The aspirations wild and high,

The soul to nobly dare,

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Oh, where are they, stern ruin, say?— Thou dost but echo-where are they!

Adieu!-Be still to other hearts

What thou wert long ago to mine; And when the blissful dream departs, Do thou a beacon shine,

To guide the mourner, through his tears, To the blest scenes of happier years.

Farewell!-I ask no prouder boon,

Than that my parting hour may be Bright as the evening skies of June ;— Thus, thus to fade like thee,

With heavenly FAITH'S soul-cheering ray To gild with glory my decay!

TO NINE SISTERS.

LET other bards their homage pay
To Sisters all have dubbed "divine;"
A love sincerer prompts my lay,
To hymn a less immortal NINE.
What hath my humble lyre to do
With goddesses too fine for earth,
Whose simple music ever drew

Its power from spells of lowlier birth!

A wild, Æolian lute, whose strings,

By nature swayed, no sounds impart,