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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;
The cedars bow, the mountains nodd;
there abode! Since then, though heard on earth no
To sounds that seem as from above,
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.
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
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
ON JORDAN'S BANKS. ON Jordan's banks the Arab's camels
stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries
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
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.
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee
And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
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,
Shall it survey, shall it recall :
So darkly of departed years,
And all, that was, at once appears. Before Creation peopled earth,
Its eye shall roll through chaos back;
Though the virgins of Salem lament,
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,
Colder thy kiss;
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.
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.
Torn from every nearer tie;
More than this I scarce can dic.
Although my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found,
To inflict a cureless wound?
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not:
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
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: