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To honor thine abandoned Urn? No, no — it is my sorrow's pride

That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside,

'Tis meet that I remember still.

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are

riven! It softened men of iron mould,

It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

That felt not, fired not to the tone, Till David's lyre grew mightier than

his throne !

For well I know, that such had been

Thy gentle care for him, who now Unmourned shall quit this mortal scene,

Where none regarded him, but thou: And, oh! I feel in that was given

A blessing never meant for me; Thou wert too like a dream of heaven,

For earthly Love to merit thee.

It told the triumphs of our King,

It wasted glory to our God;
It made our gladdened valleys ring,

The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to heaven and

there abode ! Since then, though heard on earth no

more, Devotion and her daughter Love, Still bid the bursting spirit soar

To sounds that seem as from above, In dreams that day's broad light can

not remove.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

(Hebrew Melodies. SHE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes, and starry skies: And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless

grace, Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling

place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

IF THAT HIGH WORLD. IF that high world, which lies beyond

Our own, surviving Love endears; If there the cherished heart be fond,

The eye the same, except in tears How welcome those untrodden spheres !

How sweet this very hour to die ! To soar from earth and find all fears,

Lost in thy light — Eternity! It must be so : 'tis not for self

That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulf,

Yet cling to Being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think To hold each heart the heart that

shares, With them the immortal waters drink, And soul in soul grow deathless

theirs.

THE HARP THE MONARCH

MINSTREL SWEPT. The harp the monarch minstrel swept, The King of men, the loved of

Heaven, Which Music hallowed while she wept O'er tones her heart of hearts had

given,

ON JORDAN'S BANKS. On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels

stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries

pray,

OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN

BEAUTY'S BLOOM. OH! snatched away in beauty's bloom, On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;

But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year; And the wild cypress wave in tender

gloom.

The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steepYet there even there

O God! Thy thunders sleep: There - where Thy finger scorched the

tablet stone! There— where Thy shadow to Thy peo

ple shone! Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire: Thyself — none living see and not ex

pire ! Oh! in the lightning let Thy glance

appear; Sweep from his shivered hand the op

pressor's spear; How long by tyrants shall thy land be

trod! How long Thy temple worshipless, oh

God!

And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feel deep thought with many a

dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread; Fond wretch ! as if her step disturbed

the dead!

Away! we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears dis

tress : Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou — who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. SINCE our Country, our God – oh, my

sire ! Demand that thy daughter expire; Since thy triumph was bought by thy

VOW Strike the bosom that's bared for thee

now! And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And the mountains behold me no more: If the hand that I love lay me low, There cannot be pain in the blow! And of this, oh, my father! be sure — That the blood of thy child is as pure As the blessing I beg ere it flow, And the last thought that soothes me

below.

WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS

SUFFERING CLAY, WHEN coldness wraps this suffering

clay, Ah! whither strays the immortal

mind? It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darkened dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace

By steps each planet's heavenly way? Or fill at once the realms of space,

A thing of eyes, that all survey?

Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent !
I have won the great battle for thee,
And my father and country are free!
When this blood of thy giving hath

gushed, When the voice that thou lovest is

hushed, Let my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died !

Eternal, boundless, undecayed,

A thought unseen, but seeing all, All, all in earth, or skies displayed,

Shall it survey, shall it recall : Each fainter trace that memory holds

So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds,

And all, that was, at once appears. Before Creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back;

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To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

That heavy chill has frozen o'er the

fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still,

'tis where the ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips,

and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no

more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined

turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but

worn and gray beneath. Oh! could I feel as I have felt, or be

what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept,

o'er many a vanished scene; As springs in deserts found seem sweet,

all brackish though they be, So midst the withered waste of life,

those tears would flow to me.

The dew of the morning

Sank chill on my brow I felt like the warning

Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me

Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well: — Long, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met

In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee

After long years, How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.

FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST

PRAYER. FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal availed on high, Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky. 'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word — Farewell!

Farewell ! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by, The thought that ne'er shall sleep

again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,

Though grief and passion there rebel : I only know we loved in vain

I only feel — Farewell ! — Farewell!

FARE THEE WELL.

FARE thee well! and if for ever,

Still for ever, fare thee well; Even though unforgiving, never

'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before

thee, Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thec

Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over,

Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover

'Twas not well to spurn it so.

WHEN WE TWO PARTED.
WHEN we two parted

In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted

Though the world for this commend

thee — Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee,

Founded on another's woe:

But 'tis done - all words are idle

Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridie

Force their way without the will.
Fare thee well ! — thus disunited,

Torn from every nearer tie;
Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted

More than this I scarce can dic.

Although my many faults defaced me,

Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me,

To inflict a cureless wound?

Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not:

STANZAS TO AUGUSTA (LORD Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not

BYRON'S SISTER). Hearts can thus be torn away;

Though the day of my destiny's over,

And the star of my fate hath declined, Still thine own its life retaineth -

Thy soft heart refused to discover Still must mine, though bleeding, The faults which so many could find; beat;

Though thy soul with my grief was And the undying thought which pain- acquainted, eth

It shrunk not to share it with me, Is — that we no more may meet. And the love which my spirit hath

painted These are words of deeper sorrow

It never hath found but in thee.
Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow

Then when nature around me is smiling, Wake us from a widowed bed.

The last smile which answers to mine,

I do not believe it beguiling,
And when thou wouldst solace gather, Because it reminds me of thine;

When our child's first accents flow, And when winds are at war with the Wilt thou teach her to say “ Father!”

ocean, Though his care she must forego? As the breasts I believed in with me,

If their billows excite an emotion, When her little hands shall press thee, It is that they bear me from thee.

When her lip to thine is pressed, Think of him whose prayer shall bless Though the rock of my last hope is thee,

shivered, Think of him thy love had blessed! And its fragments are sunk in the

wave, Should her lineaments resemble

Though I feel that my soul is delivered Those thou never more mayst see, To pain — it shall not be its slave. Then thy heart will softly tremble There is many a pang to pursue me: With a pulse yet true to me.

They may crush, but they shall not

contemn All my faults perchance thou knowest, They may torture, but shall not subdue

All my madness none can know; All my hopes, where'er thou goest,

'Tis of thee that I think — not of Whither, yet with thee they go.

them. Every feeling hath been shaken; Though human, thou didst not deceive Pride, which not a world could bow,

me, Bows to thee by thee forsaken,

Though woman, thou didst not for. Even my soul forsakes me now:

sake,

nie

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