תמונות בעמוד
PDF

But wild, and waste, and desolate,

A wilderness is stretch'd around me; And, where 'mid Summer's smiles I sate,

November's wintry breeze hath found me.

The lilac bowers are ting'd with red ;

The yellow leaves profusely lying ;
The flowers have droop'd or droop the head,

The latest of the train are dying.
Hark ! —-'tis the voice of Nature cries-

“ Shall pride and passion vanquish Reason ? Will man be never, never wise ? ,

Heav'n is his home, and Life a season!”

THE BEACON.

ANONYMOUS.

The scene was more beautiful far to my eye,

Than if day in its pride had array'd it ; The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-arch'd

sky Look'd pure as the Spirit that made it :

The murmur rose soft as I silently gaz'd

On the shardowy wave's playful motion, From the dim distant isle till the Beacon-fire blaz'd

Like a star in the midst of the ocean.

No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast

Was heard in his wildly-breath'd numbers; The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest,

The fisherman sunk to his slumbers :

One moment I look'd from the hill's gentle slope,

(All hush'd was the billow's commotion),

And I thought that the Beacon look'd lovely as

Hope,
The star of life's tremulous ocean.

The time is long past, and the scene is afar;

Yet, when my head rests on its pillow, Will memory sometimes rekindle the star

That blaz'd on the breast of the billow.

In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies,

And death stills the heart's last emotion, Oh then may the Seraph of Mercy arise,

Like a star on Eternity's ocean!

TO THE WILD BROOK.

MRS ROBINSON.

UNHEEDED emblem of the mind !

When weeping Twilight's shadows close, I wander where thy mazes wind,

And watch thy current as it flows : Now dimpling, silent, calm, and even ; Now brawling, as in anger driven ; Now ruffled, foaming, madly wild, Like the vex'd sense of Sorrow's hopeless child !

Beside thy surface now I see,

Reflected in thy placid breast,
Hush'd Summer's painted progeny,

In smiles and sweets redundant drest;
They flaunt their forms of varying dye,
To greet thee as thou passest by ;
And bending sip thy ample wave,
And in its lucid lapse their bosoms lave.

While on thy tranquil breast appears

No fretting gale, no passing storm,
The sun-beam's vivid lustre cheers,

And seems thy silvery bed to warm :
The thronging birds with amorous play,
Sweep with their wings thy glittering way;
And o'er thy banks fond zephyr blows,
To dress with sweets the smallest flower that grows.

* But when destroying blasts arise,

And clouds o'ershade thy withering bounds,
When swift the eddying foliage fies,

And loud the ruthless torrent sounds,
Thy dimpling charms are seen no more,
Thy minstrel's caroll'd praise is o'er ;
While not a floweret, sunny-drest,
Courts the chill current of thy alter'd breast.

Such is the human mind! Serene

When Fortune's glowing hour appears!
And lovely as thy margin green,

Are buds of Hope, which Fancy rears :
Then Adulation, like the flower,
Bends as it greets us on our way;
But, in the dark and stormy hour,
Leaves us unmark’d, to trace our troubled way.

ELEGY ON A LONELY GRAVE.

JOHN AMBROSE WILLIAMS.

Au! who beneath this lonely heap

Of mould, with scanty grass o'ergrown,
Is laid in that unstartled sleep

The living eye hath never known?

No stone, no record, tells us here,

Who occupies this little space; What virtue claim'd a farewell tear,

Or child of error clos'd his race.

Perchance, tho' humble be this grave,

Tho' none may hither come to mourn, Tho' o'er the turf no laurel wave,

Nor pompous stands the sculptur'd urn;

Yet here may Mercy's beams descend,

And angels round its inmate cling, A thousand raptur'd saints attend,

A thousand harps their music Aing.

Perchance, but now by all forgot,

Some pilgrim hither came--and died; And Charity supplied this spot

Thus gave him earth, but bread denied.

No friendly eye, no faithful heart,

May e'er have linger'd near his bed, And watch'd the trembling spirit part,

To other worlds mysterious led.

But, tenant of this lonely mound!

Whatever fate 'twas thine to bear, May'st thou repose in hallow'd ground,

And wake eternal bliss to share !

ODE ON PITY.

ANONYMOUS.

How lovely in the arch of heaven

Appears yon sinking orb of light,

As, darting through the clouds of even,

It gilds the rising shades of night! Yet brighter, fairer, shines the tear That trickles o'er misfortune's bier !

Sweet is the murmur of the gale

That whispers through the summer grove, Soft is the tone of friendship's tale,

And softer still the voice of love:
Yet softer far the tears that flow,
To mourn-to sooth another's woe!

Richer than richest diadem

That glitters on the monarch's brow, Purer than ocean's purest gem,

Or all that wealth or art can showThe drop that swells in Pity's eye, The pearl of Sensibility!

Is there a spark in earthly mould

Fraught with one ray of heav'nly fire? Does man one trait of virtue hold,

That even angels must admire ? That spark is Pity's radiant glow; That trait-the tear for others' woe!

Let false Philosophy decry

The noblest feelings of the mind;
Let wretched sophists madly try

To prove a pleasure more refin’d,
They only strive in vain to steal
The tenderness they cannot feel !

To sink in Nature's last decay,

Without a friend to mourn our fallTo mark life's embers die away,

Deplor'd by none-unwept by all

« הקודםהמשך »