Yet, the one was my calling, thy portion the Thou hadst ceased-having taught them what
"Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee,
Since God was thy refuge, thy ransom, thy guide;
Thy haste could not pause, and thy step could He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore
And death has no sting, since the Saviour has died."
How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation!—Isaiah, lii. 7.
How bright and glorious are the sun's first gleams
Above yon blue horizon!-Darkness flies
Before his presence.-Mountains, vallies,
trees,
Glow with resplendent beauty.—And the streams
Reflect the lustre of his orient beams.
So Heber shone-for unto him was given
To spread the tidings of salvation round,
Whilst heathen nations caught the joyful
sound,
And learned to kneel before the shrine of Heaven; That "cross surmounted shrine," where Faith and Prayer
Point to the crown of bliss, reserved there For those whom Jesus loves-but his bright sun Of glory set, ere yet its race was run, And he that bliss has gained-that crown has won!
* He had scarcely put off his robes in which he officiated at the altar, when he was suddenly called away "to be clothed with immortality."-Robinson's Sermon.
↑ Written by Bishop Heber on the death of a friend See
REGINALD HEBER, D.D.
LORD BISHOP OF CALCUTTA.
A PRIZE POEM, RECITED IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD.
REFT of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn,
Mourn, widowed queen, forgotten Sion, mourn!
Is this thy place, sad City, this thy throne,
Where the wild desert rears its craggy stone?
While suns unblest their angry lustre fling,
And way-worn pilgrims seek the scanty spring?
Where now thy pomp, which kings with envy
viewed?
O happy once in heaven's peculiar love,
Delight of men below, and saints above!
Though, Salem, now the spoiler's ruffian hand
Has loosed his hell-bounds o'er thy wasted land;
Though weak, and whelmed beneath the storms
of fate,
Thy house is left unto thee desolate ;(6)
Though thy proud stones in cumbrous ruin fall,
Where now thy might, which all those kings sub- And seas of sand o'ertop thy mouldering wall;
No martial myriads muster in thy gate;
No suppliant nations in thy Temple wait;
No prophet bards, thy glittering courts among,
Wake the full lyre, and swell the tide of song:
But lawless Force, and meagre Want is there,
And the quick-darting eye of restless Fear;
While cold Oblivion, 'mid thy ruins laid,
Folds his dank wing(1) beneath the ivy shade.
Ye guardian saints! ye warrior sons of heaven,(2)
To whose high care Judæa's state was given!
O wont of old your nightly watch to keep,
A host of gods, on Sion's towery steep!(3)
If e'er your secret footsteps linger still
By Siloa's fount, or Tabor's echoing hill;
If e'er your song on Salem's glories dwell,
And mourn the captive land you loved so well;
(For oft, 'tis said, in Kedron's palmy vale
Mysterious harpings(4) swell the midnight gale,
And, blest as balmy dews that Hermon cheer,
Melt in soft cadence on the pilgrim's ear ;)
Forgive, blest spirits, if a theme so high
Mock the weak notes of mortal minstrelsy!
Yet, might your aid this anxious breast inspire
With one faint spark of Milton's seraph fire,
Then should my Muse(5) ascend with bolder flight,
And wave her eagle-plumes exulting in the light.
Yet shall the Muse to Fancy's ardent view
Each shadowy trace of faded pomp renew:
And as the Seer(7) on Pisgah's topmost brow
With glistening eye beheld the plain below,
With prescient ardour drank the scented gale,
And bade the opening glades of Canaan hail;
Her eagle eye shall scan the prospect wide,
From Carmel's cliffs to Almotana's tide ;(8)
The flinty waste, the cedar-tufted hill,
The liquid health of smooth Ardeni's rill;
The grot, where, by the watch-fire's evening blaze,
The robber riots, or the hermit prays;(9)
Or, where the tempest rives the hoary stone,
The wintry top of giant Lebanon.
Fierce, hardy, proud, in conscious freedom bold,
Those stormy seats the warrior Druses hold;(10)
From Norman blood their lofty line they trace,
Their lion courage proves their generous race.
They, only they, while all around them kneel
In sullen homage to the Thracian steel,
Teach their pale despot's waning moon to fear(11)
The patriot terrors of the mountain spear.
Yes, valorous chiefs, while yet your sabres
shine,
The native guard of feeble Palestine,
O, ever thus, by no vain boast dismayed,
Defend the birthright of the cedar shade!
What though no more for you th' obedient gale
Swells the white bosom of the Tyrian sail;
Though now no more your glittering marts unfold
Sidonian dyes and Lusitanian gold ;(12)
Though not for you the pale and sickly slave
Forgets the light in Ophir's wealthy cave;
Yet yours the lot, in proud contentment blest,
Where cheerful labour leads to tranquil rest.
No robber rage the ripening harvest knows;
And unrestrained the generous vintage flows:(13)
Nor less your sons to manliest deeds aspire,
And Asia's mountains glow with Spartan fire.
So when, deep sinking in the rosy main,
The western sun forsakes the Syrian plain,
His watery rays refracted lustre shed,
And pour their latest light on Carmel's head.
Yet shines your praise, amid surrounding gloom,
As the lone lamp that trembles in the tomb:
For few the souls that spurn a tyrant's chain,
And small the bounds of freedom's scanty reign.
As the poor outcast on the cheerless wild,
Arabia's parent,(14) clasped her fainting child,
And wandered near the roof no more her home,
Forbid to linger, yet afraid to roam:
My sorrowing Fancy quits the happier height,
And southward throws her half-averted sight.
For sad the scenes Judæa's plains disclose,
A dreary waste of undistinguished woes:
See War untired his crimson pinions spread,
And foul Revenge, that tramples on the dead!
Lo, where from far the guarded fountains shine,(15)
Thy tents, Nebaioth, rise, and Kedar, thine !(16)
'T is yours the boast to mark the stranger's way,
And spur your headlong chargers on the prey,
Or rouse your nightly numbers from afar,
And on the hamlet pour the waste of war;
Nor spare the hoary head, nor bid your eye
Revere the sacred smile of infancy.(17)
Such now the clans, whose fiery coursers feed
Where waves on Kishon's bank the whispering
reed;
And theirs the soil, where, curling to the skies,[(18)
Smokes on Samaria's mount her scanty sacrifice.
While Israel's sons, by scorpion curses driven,
Outcasts of earth, and reprobate of heaven,
Through the wide world in friendless exile stray,
Remorse and shame sole comrades of their way,
With dumb despair their country's wrong behold,
And, dead to glory, only burn for gold!
O Thou, their Guide, their Father, and their Lord,
Loved for thy mercies, for thy power adored!
If at thy name the waves forgot their force, [(19)
And refluent Jordan sought his trembling source;
If at thy name like sheep the mountains fled,
And haughty Sirion bowed his marble head ;-
To Israel's woes a pitying ear incline,
Was it for this she stretched her peopled reign
From far Euphrates to the western main?
For this, o'er many a hill her boughs she threw
And her wide arms like goodly cedars grew?
For this, proud Edom slept beneath her shade,
And o'er the Arabian deep her branches played?
O feeble boast of transitory power!
Vain, fruitless trust of Judah's happier hour!
Not such their hope, when through the parted
main
The cloudy wonder led the warrior train:
Not such their hope, when through the fields of
night
The torch of heaven diffused its friendly light:
Not, when fierce Conquest urged the onward war,
And hurled stern Canaan from his iron car:
Nor, when five monarchs led to Gibeon's fight,
In rude array, the harnessed Amorite :(21)
Yes-in that hour, by mortal accents stayed,
The lingering sun his fiery wheels delayed;
The moon, obedient, trembled at the sound,
Curbed her pale car, and checked her mazy round!
Let Sinai tell-for she beheld his might,
And God's own darkness veiled her mystic height:
(He, cherub-borne, upon the whirlwind rode,
And the red mountain like a furnace glowed:)
Let Sinai tell-but who shall dare recite
His praise, his power,-eternal, infinite?—
Awe-struck I cease; nor bid my strains aspire,
Or serve his altar with unhallowed fire.(22)
Such were the cares that watched o'er Israel's
fate,
And such the glories of their infant state.
-Triumphant race! and did your power decay?
Failed the bright promise of your early day?
No:-by that sword, which, red with heathen
gore,
A giant spoil, the stripling champion bore;
By him, the chief to farthest India known,
The mighty master of the iv'ry throne ;(23)
In heaven's own strength, high towering o'er her
foes,
Victorious Salem's lion banner rose:
Before her footstool prostrate nations lay,
And vassal tyrants crouched beneath her sway.
-And he, the kingly sage, whose restless mind
Through nature's mazes wandered unconfined;(24)
Who ev'ry bird, and beast, and insect knew,
And spake of every plant that quaffs the dew;
To him were known-so Hagar's offspring tell-
The powerful sigil and the starry spell,
The midnight call, hell's shadowy legions dread,
And sounds that burst the slumbers of the dead.
Hence all his might; for who could these oppose?
And Tadmor thus, and Syrian Balbec rose.(25)
Yet e'en the works of toiling Genii fall,
And raise from earth thy long-neglected vine !(20) And vain was Estakhar's enchanted wall.
Her rifled fruits behold the heathen bear,
And wild-wood boars her mangled clusters tear!
In frantic converse with the mournful wind,
There oft the houseless Santon(26) rests reclined;
Strange shapes he views, and drinks with won- | Messiah comes: let furious discord cease:
The voices of the dead, and songs of other years.
Such, the faint echo of departed praise,
Still sound Arabia's legendary lays ;
And thus their fabling bards delight to tell
How lovely were thy tents, O Israel!(27)
For thee his iv'ry load Behemoth bore,(28)
And far Sofala teemed with golden ore;(29)
Thine all the arts that wait on wealth's increase,
Or bask and wanton in the beam of peace.
When Tyber slept beneath the cypress gloom,
And silence held the lonely woods of Rome;
Or ere to Greece the builder's skill was known,
Or the light chisel brushed the Parian stone;
Yet here fair Science nursed her infant fire,
Fanned by the artist aid of friendly Tyre.
Then towered the palace, then in awful state
The temple reared its everlasting gate (30)
No workman steel, no pond'rous axes rung;(31)
Like some tall palm the noiseless fabric sprung.
Majestic silence!—then the harp awoke,
The cymbal clanged, the deep-voiced
spoke;
Be peace on earth before the Prince of Peace!
Disease and anguish feel his blest control,
And howling fiends release the tortured soul;
The beams of gladness hell's dark caves illume,
And Mercy broods above the distant gloom.
Thou palsied earth, with noonday night o'er
Thou sick'ning sun, so dark, so deep, so red!
Ye hov'ring ghosts, that throng the starless air,
Why shakes the earth? why fades the light? de-
clare!
Are those his limbs, with ruthless scourges torn?
His brows, all bleeding with the twisted thorn?
His the pale form, the meek forgiving eye
Raised from the cross in patient agony?
-Be dark, thou sun-thou noonday night arise
And hide, oh hide, the dreadful sacrifice!
Ye faithful few, by bold affection led,
Who round the Saviour's cross your sorrows shed,
Not for his sake your tearful vigils keep;
Weep for your country, for your children weep!
trumpet-Vengeance! thy fiery wing their race pursued;
Thy thirsty poniard blushed with infant blood.
Roused at thy call, and panting still for game,
The bird of war, the Latian eagle came.
Then Judah raged, by ruffian Discord led,
And Salem spread her suppliant arms abroad, Viewed the descending flame, and blessed the present God!(32)
Nor shrunk she then, when, raging deep and Drunk with the steamy carnage of the dead;
He saw his sons by dubious slaughter fall,
And war without, and death within the wall.
Wide-wasting Plague, gaunt Famine, mad De-
spair,
Beat o'er her soul the billows of the proud.(33)
E'en they who, dragged to Shinar's fiery sand,
Tilled with reluctant strength the stranger's land;
Who sadly told the slow-revolving years,
And steeped the captive's bitter bread with tears;
Yet oft their hearts with kindling hopes would Love, strong as Death, retained his might no
burn,
And dire Debate, and clamorous Strife were there:
Their destined triumphs, and their glad return,
And their sad lyres, which, silent and unstrung,
In mournful ranks on Babel's willows hung,
Would oft awake to chant their future fame,
And from the skies their ling'ring Saviour claim.
His promised aid could every fear control;
This nerved and warrior's arm, this steeled the And in their country's woes forgot their own.
martyr's soul!
As 'mid the cedar courts, and gates of gold,
And the pale parent drank her children's gore.(35)
Yet they, who wont to roam th' ensanguined plain,
And spurn with fell delight their kindred slain;
E'en they, when, high above the dusty fight,
Their burning Temple rose in lurid light,
To their loved altars paid a parting groan,
Nor vain their hope:-Bright beaming through The trampled ranks in miry carnage rolled,
the sky,
To save their Temple every hand essayed,
Through their torn veins reviving fury ran,
And life's last anger warmed the dying man!
But heavier far the fettered captive's doom!
To glut with sighs the iron ear of Rome :
To swell, slow-pacing by the car's tall side,
The stoic tyrant's philosophic pride;(36)
To flesh the lion's rav'nous jaws, or feel
The sportive fury of the fencer's steel;
Or pant, deep plunged beneath the sultry mine,
For the light gales of balmy Palestine.
Burst in full blaze the Day-spring from on high; And with cold fingers grasped the feeble blade:
Earth's utmost isles exulted at the sight,
And crowding nations drank the orient light.
Lo, star-led chiefs Assyrian odours bring,
And bending Magi seek their infant King!
Marked ye, where, hov'ring o'er his radiant head,
The dove's white wings celestial glory shed?
Daughter of Sion! virgin queen! rejoice!
Clap the glad hand, and lift the exulting voice!
He comes, but not in regal splendour drest,
The haughty diadem, the Tyrian vest;
Not armed in flame, all glorious from afar,
Of hosts the chieftain, and the lord of war:
Ah! fruitful now no more, an empty coast, She mourned her sons enslaved, her glories lost:
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