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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 inould,

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

The cedars bow, the mountains nodd;
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.

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 tearsHow 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.

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!

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,

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!

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. 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 !

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

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

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 wel.

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? 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;

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 !

And where the furthest heaven had But through it there rolled not the birth,

breath of his pride: The spirit trace its rising track, And the foam of his gasping lay white And where the future mars or makes,

on the turf, Its glance dilate o'er all to be, And cold as the spray of the rockWhile sun is quenchcd or system breaks, beating surf. Fixed in its own eternity.

And there lay the rider distorted and Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear,

pale, It lives all passionless and pure: With the dew on his brow and the rust An age shall feet like earthly year;

on his mail; Its years as moments shall endure. And the tents were all silent, the banAway, away, without a wing,

ners alone, O’er all, through all, its thought shall The lances unlifted, the trumpet un. fly;

blown. A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in

their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple

of Baal; THE DESTRUCTION OF And the might of the Gentile, unsmote SENNACHERIB.

by the sword,

Hath melted like snow in the glance of THE Assyrian came down like the wolf

the Lord ! on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in pur

ple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like

STANZAS FOR MUSIC, stars on the sea,

(Miscellaneous Poems.) When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

THERE's not a joy the world can give

like that it takes away, Like the leaves of the forest when Sum

When the glow of early thought demer is green,

clines in feeling's dull decay. That host with their banners at sunset

'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the

blush alone, which fades so fast, were seen:

But the tender bloom of heart is gone, Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,

ere youth itself be past. That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

Then the few whose spirits float above

the wreck of happiness, For the Angel of Death spread his

Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or wings on the blast,

ocean of excess : And breathed in the face of the foe as The magnet of their course is gone, or he passed;

only points in vain And the eyes of the sleepers waxed The shore to which their shivered sail deadly and chill,

shall never stretch again. And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

Then the mortal coldness of the soul

like death itself comes down; And there lay the steed with his nostrils It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare all wide,

not dream its own;

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,

Aknell 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.

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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 bridle

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

Torn from every nearer tie;
Seared 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?

66

Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not:
Love may sink by slow decay,

STANZAS TO AUGUSTA (LORD 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 wa And the undying thought which pain

acquainted, eth

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 billow's 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

contemnAll my faults perchance thou knowest, They may torture, but shall not sulxlue

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

'Tis of thee that I think Whither, yet with thee they go.

them. Every feeling hath been shaken; Though hunan, 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,

a

me

not ct

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