Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

There woman's voice flows forth in

song, Or childhood's tale is told; Or lips move tunefully along

Some giorious page of old. The blessed homes of England,

How softly on their bowers, Is laid the holy quietness

That breathes from Sabbath hours ! Solemn, yet sweet, the church bells'

chime Floats through their woods at morn, All other sounds in that still time

Of breeze and leaf are born. The cottage homes of England

By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,

And round the hamlet fanes. Through glowing orchards forth they

peep, Each from its nook of leaves, And fearless there the lowly sleep,

As the bird beneath their eaves.
The free fair homes of England,

Long, long, in hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof be reared

To guard each hallowed wall.
And green for ever be the groves,

And bright the flowery sod, Where first the child's glad spirit loves

Its country and its God.

Have died in others, — yet to me they

come, Singing of boyhood back the voices

of my home! They call me through this hush of

woods reposing, In the gray stillness of the summer

morn; They wander by when heavy flowers

are closing, And thoughts grow deep, and winds

and stars are born; Even as a fount's remember'd gush

ings burst On the parch'd traveller in his hour

of thirst, E’en thus they haunt me with sweet

sounds, till worn By quenchless longings, to my soul I

say O for the dove's swift wings, that I

might flee away,
And find mine ark! — yet whither?

-I must bear
A yearning heart within me to the

grave.
I am of those o'er whom a breath of

air

Just darkening in its course the lake's

bright wave, And sighing through the feathery

canes — hath power To call up shadows, in the silent

hour, From the dim past, as from a wizard's

cave! So must it be! these skies above

me spread, Are they my own soft skies ?- ye rest

not here, my dead!

THE VOICES OF HOME.

[The Forest Sanctuary.] The voices of my home! — I hear

them still! They have been with me through the

dreamy night The blessed household voices, wont

to fill My heart's clear depths with unal

loy'd delight! I hear them still, unchanged :

though some from earth Are music parted, and the tones of

mirth Wild, silvery tones, that rang through

days more bright!

EVENING RECOLLECTIONS OF

THE EXILE.

(The Forest Sanctuary.) I SEE a star -- eve's firstborn !- in

whose train Past scenes, woods, looks, come back.

The arrowy spire

Of the lone cypress, as of wood-girt

fane, Rests dark and still amidst a heaven

of fire; The pine gives forth its odors, and

the lake Gleams like one ruby, and the soft

winds wake, Till every string of nature's solemn

lyre Is touch'd to answer; its most secret

tone Drawn from each tree, for each hath

whispers all its own.

In such an hour are told the hermit's

beads; With the white sail the seaman's

hymn floats by: Peace be with all! whate'er their

varying creeds, With all that send up holy thoughts

on high! Come to me, boy !-- by Guadalquivir's

vines, By every stream of Spain, as day de

clines, Man's prayers are mingled in the rosy

sky. - We, too, will

pray; nor yet unheard, my child ! Of Him whose voice we hear at eve

amidst the wild.

And hark ! another murmur on the

air, Not of the hidden rills, nor quivering

shades ! - That is the cataract’s, which the

breezes bear, Filling the leafy twilight of the

glades With hollow surge-like sounds, as

from the bed Of the blue mournful seas, that keep

the dead : But they are far ! — the low sun here

pervades Dim forest-arches, bathing with red

gold Their stems, till each is made a marvel

to behold.

At eve? - oh! — through all hours !

- from dark dreams oft Awakening, I look forth, and learn

the might Of solitude, while thou art breathing

soft, And low, my loved one! on the

breast of night: I look forth on the stars — the shadowy

sleep Of forests — and the lake, whose

gloomy deep Sends up red sparkles to the fire-flies'

light. A lonely world ! — ev'n fearful to

man's thought, But for His presence felt, whom here

my soul hath sought.

THE SONGS OF OUR FATHERS.

Gorgeous, yet full of gloom! - In

such an hour, The vesper-melody of dying bells Wanders through Spain, from each

gray convent's tower O'er shining rivers pour'd, and olive

dells, By every peasant heard, and muleteer, And hamlet, round my home : — and

I am here, Living again through all my life's

farewells, In these vast woods, where farewell

ne'er was spoken, And sole I lift to Heaven a sad heart

yet unbroken!

Sing them upon the sunny hills,

When days are long and bright,
And the blue gleam of shining rills

Is loveliest to the sight.
Sing them along the misty moor,

Where ancient hunters roved,
And swell them through the torrent's

roar

The songs our fathers loved!

[blocks in formation]

And who, with silent tread,

And songs on every wind! From thy Moved o'er the plains of waving As- bright shore phodel?

No lovelier vision floated round his Who, call’d and sever'd from the count

head, less dead,

Thou wert for nobler dead! Amidst the shadowy Amaranth-bowers He heard the bounding steps which might dwell,

round him fell, And listen to the swell

And sigh'd to bid the festal sun fare, Of those majestic hymn-notes, and in

well! hale The spirit wandering in th' immortal

The slave, whose very tears gale?

Were a forbidden luxury, and whose

breast They of the sword, whose praise, Shut up the woes and burning thoughts With the bright wine at nation's feasts,

of years, went round!

As in the ashes of an urn compress'd; They of the lyre, whose unforgotten lays

He might not be thy guest! On the morn's wing had sent their No gentle breathings from thy distant mighty sound,

sky And in all regions found

Came o'er his parh, and whisperd Their echoes 'midst the mountains !

“ Liberty! and become

Calm, on its leaf : tewn bier, In man's deep heart, as voices of his home!

Unlike a gift of nature to decay,

Too rose-like still, too beautiful, too They of the daring thought !

dear, Daring and powerful, yet to dust allied; The child at rest before its mother lay; Whose fight through stars, and seas,

E'en so to pass away, and depths had sought

With its bright smile! — Elysium ! what The soul's far birth-place — but without

wert thou, a guide!

To her, who wept o'er that young slumSages and seers, who died,

berer's brow? And left the world their high mysterious dreams,

Thou hadst no home, green land! Born, ʼmidst the olive-woods by Grecian

For the fair creature from her besom streams.

gone,

With life's first flowers just opening in But they, of whose abode

her hand, 'Midst her green valleys earth retain'd And all the lovely thoughts and dreams no trace,

unknown, Save a flower springing from their Which in its clear eye shone burial-sod,

Like the spring's wakening ! - but A shade of sadness on some kindred

that light was pastface,

Where went the dew-drop, swept A void and silent place

before the blast? In some sweet home; thou hadst no wreaths for these,

Not where thy soft winds play'd, Thou sunny land! with all thy death

Not where thy waters lay in glassy less trees!

sleep!

Fade, with thy bowers, thou land of The peasant, at his door

visions, fade! Might sink to die, when vintage-feasts From thee no voice came o'er the were spread,

gloomy deep,

their way,

ful play

are fled!

men

And bade man cease to weep! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning Fade, with the amaranth-plain, the gold, myrtle-grove,

Won from ten thousand royal Argosies. Which could not yield one hope to - Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and sorrowing love!

wrathful Main !

Earth claims not these again! For the most loved are they, Of whom Fame speaks not with her Yet more, the Depths have more! Thy clarion-voice

waves have rolled In regal halls! - the shades o’erhang Above the cities of a world gone by!

Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, The vale, with its deep fountains, is Sea-weed o’ergrown the halls of revelry! their choice,

Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornAnd gentle hearts rejoice Around their steps ! — till silently they Man yields them to decay !

die, As a stream shrinks from summer's burning eye.

Yet more! the Billows and the Depths

have more!

High hearts and brave are gathered to And the world knows not then,

thy breast ! Not then, nor ever, what pure thoughts They hear not now the booming waters

roar, Yet these are they, that on the souls of

The battle-thunders will not break their

rest : Come back, when night her folding Keep thy red gold and gems, thou veil hath spread,

stormy grave The long-remember'd dead !

Give back the true and brave ! But not with thee might aught save glory dwell

Give back the lost and lovely! those - Fade, fade away, thou shore of As

for whom phodel !

The place was kept at board and hearth

so long,

The prayer went up through midnight's THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

breathless gloom,

And the vain yearning woke 'midst fesWHAT hidest thou in thy treasure-caves

tal song! and cells,

Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious o'erthrown, Main :

But all is not thine own! - Pale glistening pearls, and rainbowcolored shells,

To thee the love of woman hath gone Bright things which gleam unrecked

down, of, and in vain.

Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's — - Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy noble head, Sea!

O’er youth's bright locks and beauty's We ask not such from thee.

flowery crown;

- Yet must thou hear a voice - ReYet more, the Depths have more! What

store the Dead ! wealth untold

Earth shall reclaim her precious things Far down, and shining through their

from thee stillness lies!

Restore the Dead, thou Sea!

« ZurückWeiter »