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Is a jewel worth my journey here ;
| “Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky, Ah that such a scene must be completed
Tracing silently life's changeful story,
So familiar to my dim old eye,
Points me to seven that are now in glory
There on high!
There's the very step I so oft mounted ;
Guided thither by an angel mother;
Now she sleeps beneath its sacred sod;
Gone to God ! “In the cottage yonder I was born ;
Oft the aisle of that old church we trod.
| “There I heard of Wisdom's pleasant ways; There the spring with limpid nectar swelling ;
Bless the holy lesson ! — but, ah, never
Shall I hear again those songs of praise,
Those sweet voices silent now forever!
Peaceful days! “Those two gateway sycamores you see
There I heard of Wisdom's pleasant ways.
“There my Mary blest me with her hand And the wagon to pass safely under ;
When our souls drank in the nuptial blessing, Ninety-three !
Ere she hastened to the spirit-land, Those two gateway sycamores you see.
Yonder turf her gentle bosom pressing;
Broken band ! “There's the orchard where we used to climb There my Mary blest me with her hand.
When my mates and I were boys together, Thinking nothing of the flight of time,
“I have come to see that grave once more, Fearing naught but work and rainy weather ;| And the sacred place where we delighted, Past its prime !
Where we worshipped, in the days of yore, There's the orchard where we used to climb. Ere the garden of my heart was blighted
To the core !
Round the pasture where the flocks were grazing,
Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow,
Now, why I sit here thou hast been told."
Down it rolled ! “There's the mill that ground our yellow grain ;/ “ Angel," said he sadly, “I am old.”
Pond and river still serenely flowing ; Cot there nestling in the shaded lane,
By the wayside, on a mossy stone, Where the lily of my heart was blowing. 1 Sat the hoary pilgrim, sadly musing; . Mary Jane !
Still I marked him sitting there alone, There's the mill that ground our yellow grain. All the landscape, like a page, perusing;
Poor, unknown !
Brook, and bridge, and barn, and old red stable;
THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.
I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, “I am fleeing, - all I loved have fled.
In my days of childhood, in myjoyfulschool-days; Yon green meadow was our place for playing ; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. That old tree can tell of sweet things said When around it Jane and I were straying ; I have been laughing, I have been carousing, She is dead !
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies; I am fleeing, — all I loved have fled.
| All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
THE BURIED FLOWER.
In the silence of my chamber,
When the night is still and deep, And the drowsy heave of ocean
Mutters in its charméd sleep,
Oft I hear the angel voices
That have thrilled me long ago, — Voices of my lost companions,
Lying deep beneath the snow.
Afar in the desert I love to ride,
From the fond recollections of former years ;
prime; All the passions and scenes of that rapturous time When the feelings were young, and the world
was new, Like the fresh bowers of Eden unfolding to view ; All, all now forsaken, forgotten, foregone! And I, a lone exile remembered of none, | My high aims abandoned, my good acts un
done, Aweary of all that is under the sun, With that sadness of heart which no stranger
may scan, I fly to the desert afar from man.
Where are now the flowers we tended ?
Withered, broken, branch and stem; Where are now the hopes we cherished !
Scattered to the winds with them.
For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones!
Nursed in hope and reared in love, Looking fondly ever upward
To the clear blue heaven above ;
Smiling on the sun that cheered us,
Rising lightly from the rain, Never folding up your freshness
Save to give it forth again.
O, 't is sad to lie and reckon
All the days of faded youth, All the vows that we believed in,
All the words we spoke in truth.
Afar in the desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side., When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life, | With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and
The proud man's frown, and the base man's | Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root, fear,
Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot ; The scorner's laugh, and the sufferer's tear, And the bitter-melon, for food and drink, And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, and Is the pilgrim's fare by the salt lake's brink; folly,
A region of drought, where no river glides, Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy; Nor rippling brook with osiered sides ; When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount, high,
Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount,
And the blank horizon, round and round,
As I sit apart by the desert stone,
Like Elijah at Horeb's cave, alone, Afar in the desert I love to ride,
“A still small voice" comes through the wild With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side, (Like a father consoling his fretful child), Away, away from the dwellings of men, | Which banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear, By the wild deer's haunt, by the buffalo's glen ; Saying, - Man is distant, but God is near! By valleys remote where the oribi plays,
THOMAS PRINGLE. Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the hartebeest
graze, And the kudu and eland unhunted recline By the skirts of gray forest o'erhung with wild SELECTIONS FROM "PARADISE LOST.” vine ;
EVE'S LAMENT. Where the elephant browses at peace in his wood, And the river-horse gambols unscared in the flood, O UNEXPECTED stroke, worse than of death! And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will | Must I thus leave thee, Paradise ? thus leave In the fen where the wild ass is drinking his Thee, native soil ! these happy walks and shades,
Fit haunt of gods? where I had hope to spend,
| Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day Afar in the desert I love to ride,
That must be mortal to us both. O flowers, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side, That never will in other climate grow, O'er the brown karroo, where the bleating cry My early visitation, and my last Of the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively; At even, which I bred up with tender hand And the timorous quagga's shrill whistling neigh From the first opening bud, and gave ye names ! Is heard by the fountain at twilight gray; Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane, Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount ! With wild hoof scouring the desolate plain ; Thee, lastly, nuptial bower! by me adorned And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste With what to sight or smell was sweet, from Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste,
thee Hieing away to the home of her rest,
How shall I part, and whither wander down Where she and her mate have scooped their nest, Into a lower world, to this obscure Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's view And wild ? how shall we breathe in other air In the pathless depths of the parched karroo. Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits ?
Afar in the desert I love to ride,
THE DEPARTURE FROM PARADISE. With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side, Away, away, in the wilderness vast
ADAM TO MICHAEL. Where the white man's foot hath never passed,
.... GENTLY hast thou told . And the quivered Coranna or Bechuan
Thy message, which might else in telling wound, Hath rarely crossed with his roving clan, — And in performing end us. What besides A region of emptiness, howling and drear, Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair Which man hath abandoned from famine and Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring ; fear;
Departure from this happy place, our sweet Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone, Recess, and only consolation left, With the twilight bat from the yawning stone ; | Familiar to our eyes, all places else
Inhospitable appear and desolate,
THE DEPARTURE. Nor knowing us nor known ; and if by prayer
In either hand the hastening angel caught Incessant I could hope to change the will
Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate Of Him who all things can, I would not cease
Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast To weary him with my assiduous cries.
To the subjected plain ; then disappeared. But prayer against his absolute decree
They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld No more avails than breath against the wind,
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth;
| Waved over by that flaming brand ; the gate Therefore to his great bidding I submit.
With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms. This most afflicts me, that, departing hence,
Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them As from his face I shall be hid, deprived His blesséd countenance, here I could frequent
The world was all before them, where to choose With worship place by place where he vouch
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. safed
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and Presence divine, and to my sons relate,
slow, On this mount he appeared ; under this tree
Through Eden took their solitary way.
PATIENCE AND SORROW.
FROM "KING LEAR.”
KENT. Did your letters pierce the queen to any In yonder nether world where shall I seek
demonstration of grief? His bright appearances, or footstep trace ?
GENTLEMAN. Ay, sir; she took them, read For though I fled him angry, yet, recalled
them in my presence;
And now and then an ample tear trilled down To life prolonged and promised race, I now Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts
Her delicate cheek, it seemed she was a queen
Over her passion ; who, most rebel-like, Of glory, and far off his steps adore.
Sought to be king o'er her. Henceforth I learn that to obey is best,
0, then it moved her.
GENT. Not to a rage : patience and sorrow strove And love with fear the only God, to walk As in his presence, ever to observe
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen His providence, and on him sole depend,
Sunshine and rain at once ; her smiles and tears Merciful over all his works, with good .
Were like a better way : those happy smilets, Still overcoming evil, and by small
That played on her ripe lip, seemed not to know Accomplishing great things, by things deemed
Whatguests were in her eyes; which parted thence,
As pearls from diamonds dropped. - In brief, weak Subverting worldly strong and worldly wise By simply meek; that suffering for truth's sake
| Would be a rarity most beloved, if all Is fortitude to highest victory,
Could so become it.
EVE TO ADAM.
I LOVED thee long and dearly,
Hath come again;
My heart's dear pain,
Florence Vane !
The ruin, lone and hoary,
The ruin old,
At even told,
That spot, the hues elysian
Of sky and plain I treasure in my vision,
III. The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Outspreading far and wide, Where hundreds labor to support
A haughty lordling's pride,
Twice forty times return;
That man was made to mourn.
Thou wast lovelier than the roses
In their prime ;
Of sweetest rhyme;
Without a main,
But fairest, coldest wonder !
Thy glorious clay Lieth the green sod under;
Alas the day! And it boots not to remember
Thy disdain, To quicken love's pale ember,
Florence Vane !
O man, while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time! Mispending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime ! Alternate follies take the sway :
Licentious passions burn; Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.
The lilies of the valley
By young graves weep,
Where maidens sleep,
PHILIP P. COOKE.
MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.
Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active might;
Supported in his right;
With cares and sorrows worn,
In pleasure's lap carest ;
Are likewise truly blest.
Are wretched and forlorn !
Regret, remorse, and shame!
The smiles of love adorn,
So abject, mean, and vile,
To give him leave to toil; And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn. Unmindful though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.
WHEN chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
Along the banks of Ayr,
Seemed weary, worn with care ;
And hoary was his hair.
II. “Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?"|
Began the reverend sage;
Or youthful pleasures rage ?
Too soon thou hast began
The miseries of man!