Before, beside us, and above, The fire fly lights his lamp of love, And what is she, whose liquid strain Enough, enough, the rustling trees Yon lamp that trembles on the stream, CHANGE. L. E. LANDON. THE wind is sweeping o'er the hill; Its weary wing hath found. It wandered through the pleasant wood, But hoarse and sullenly it sweeps ; Oh, human heart and wandering wind, Go look upon the past; The likeness is the same with each, Their summer did not last. Each mourns above the things it loved- The other over hopes and joys, THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. MISS JEWSBURY. I SAW him on the battle eve, When like a king he bore him! Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave, And prouder chiefs before him: The warrior, and the warrior's deeds, The morrow, and the morrow's meeds,No daunting thoughts came o'er him ;He look'd around him, and his eye Defiance flash'd to earth and sky! He look'd on ocean,-its broad breast On earth, and saw from east to west While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast, He heard the imperial echoes ring- I saw him next alone ;-nor camp Nor banners' blaze nor coursers' tramp, He who with heaven contended Fled, like a fugitive and slave; He stood,-fleet, army, treasure gone, While wave and wind swept ruthless on, Where late his thousand ships were dark, Thy glorious revenge was this, Thy trophy, deathless SALAMIS ! ODE TO AUTUMN. CLARE. SYREN! of sullen woods and fading hues, With welcome all unfeigned; And oft, as Morning from her lattice peeps, To beckon up the Sun! I'll seek with thee, To drink the dewy breath Of fields left fragrant then. To solitudes, where no frequented path home, Stealing obtrusive there, By overshadow'd ponds, in woody nooks, With ramping sallows lined, and crowding sedge, That woo the winds to play, And with them dance for joy. And meadow pools, torn wide by lawless floods, Yet battens in the sun; Where leans the moping willow half-way o'er, On which the shepherd crawls astride, to throw His angle clear of weeds, That float the water's brim. Or crispy hills, and hollows scant of sward, To climb their steepy sides; Then, tracking at their feet, grown hoarse with noise, The moaning brook, that ekes its weary speed, With faint and sullen crawl. These haunts, long favour'd, but more so now, Sweet vision! with the wild dishevelled hair, To one accordant theme. |