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Amid the warriors of Palestine
ADDRESS TO WOMAN.
The Muse's fondest wreaths are thine,
And joys to own thy power divine !
of youth—and all its pleasures there ;-
An eye of gloom-a brow of care !
To youth, thou art the early mom,
With “light, and melody, and song,"
And swiftly speed his time along.
A boon for regions bright above-
To him the light of woman's love!
When o'er his dark’ning brow the storm
Is gathering in its power and might,
Breaks through the cloud, and all is light:
To pour in terror from above,
The glowing light of woman's love !
When all around is clear and bright,
And pleasure lends her fairest charm, And man, enraptured with delight,
Feels, as he views, his bosom warm; Why glows his heart with joy profuse,
And all his deeds his rapture prove ? It is, because the scene he views
Through the bright rays of woman's love! O woman! thine is still the power,
Denied to all but only thee,
To darken lífe's eventful sea.
Beneath a wide and boundless sky! Long shall thy praise his tongue employ, Sylph of the blue and beaming eye!
THE MINSTREL'S HOUR. WHEN day is done, and clouds are low,
And flowers are honey-dew,
Along the western blue,
He hears the echoes all
Or distant waterfall;
The forest's deep'ning shade,
The silver serenade!
Or, to the field of battle borne,
The star that peeps the leaves between,
To him is but the light
Shines on her pilgrim knight,
O, if some wand'ring peasant's song
Come sweeten'd from the vale,
Around the altar's pale;
And thus he thinks the hour away
In sweet unworldly folly ;
That feed his melancholy:
An aged Widow, with one only child,
Her sailor brought them, when from his first voyage
A shout awoke the sleeping town, the night Rang with the fleet's return, and victory! Men that were slumbering quietly, rose up
And join'd the shout ; the windows gleam'd with
lights, The bells rang forth rejoicingly, the paths Were fill'd with people; even the lone street Where the poor widow dwelt was roused, and sleep Was thought upon no more that night. Next dayA bright and sunny day it was-high flags Waved from each steeple, and green boughs were
hung In the gay market-place; music was heard, Bands that struck up in triumph; and the sea Was cover'd with proud vessels; and the boats Went to-and-fro the shore, and waving hands Beckon'd from crowded decks to the glad strand Where the wife waited for her husband,-maids Threw the bright curls back from their glist'ning eyes, And look'd their best ;-and as the splashing oar Brought their dear ones to the land, how every voice Grew musical with happiness !
And there Stood that old widow woman with the rest, Watching the ship wherein had sail'd her son. A boat came from the vessel,-heavily It toil'd upon the waters, and the oars Were dipp'd in slowly. As it near'd the beach, A moaning sound came from it, and a groan Burst from the lips of all the anxious there, When they look'd on each ghastly countenance; For that lone boat was fill'd with wounded men, Bearing them to the hospital—and then That aged woman saw her son. She pray'd, And gain'd her prayer, that she might be his nurse, And take him home. He lived for many days. It soothed him so to hear his mother's voice, To breathe the fragrant air sent from the roses, The roses that were gather'd one by one For him, by his fond parent nurse; the last Was placed upon his pillow, and that night, That very night, he died! And he was laid In the same church-yard where his father lay,