That fires the arch of heaven?—that dark red smoke
Blotting the silver moon? The stars are quenched
In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow
Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers round!
Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peals
In countless echoes through the mountains ring,
Startling pale Midnight on her starry throne!
Now swells the intermingling din; the jar,
Frequent and frightful, of the bursting bomb;
The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout,
The ceaseless clangour, and the rush of men
Inebriate with rage!— Loud and more loud
The discord grows; till pale Death shuts the scene,
And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws
His cold and bloody shroud. Of all the men
Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there,
In proud and vigorous health-of all the hearts
That beat with anxious life at sunset there-
How few survive, how few are beating now!
All is deep silence, like the fearful calm
That slumbers in the storm's protentous pause;
Save when the frantic wail of widowed love
Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan
With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay
Wrapt round its struggling powers.
The grey morn Dawns on the mournful scene; the sulphurous smoke Before the icy wind slow rolls away,
And the bright beams of frosty morning dance
Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood,
Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms,
And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments
Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path Of the outsallying victors: far behind
Black ashes note where their proud city stood.
Within yon forest is a gloomy glen
Each tree which guards its darkness from the day,
Waves o'er a warrior's tomb.
FROM THE GERMAN OF GLÜCK.
METHINKS it were no pain to die
On such an eve, when such a sky
O'ercanopies the west;
To gaze my fill on yon calm deep,
And, like an infant, fall asleep
On earth, my mother's breast.
There's peace and welcome in yon sea
Of endless blue tranquillity.
These clouds are living things;
I trace their veins of liquid gold,—
I see them solemnly unfold
Their soft and fleecy wings:
These be the angels that convey
Us weary children of a day,
Life's tedious nothing o'er,
Where neither passions come, nor woes,
To vex the genius of repose
On Death's majestic shore.
No darkness there divides the sway With startling dawn and dazzling day; But gloriously serene
Are the interminable plains;
One fixed, eternal sunset reigns
O'er the wide silent scene!
I cannot doff all human fear,-
I know thy greeting is severe
To this poor shell of clay;
Yet come, O Death! thy freezing kiss
Emancipates! thy rest is bliss!
I would I were away.
In the slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay,
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;
But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind!
He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers,
Of the pleasures that waited on life's merry morn;
While memory each scene gaily covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.
Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ;·
Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.
The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,
And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.
A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
His cheek is bedewed with a mother's warm tear;
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite
With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,
Joy quickens each pulse, all his hardships seem o'er;
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest—
'O God! thou hast blessed me, I ask for no more!'
Ah! whence is that flame which now glares on his eye? Ah! what is the sound which now bursts on his ears? 'Tis the lightning's red gleam, painting hell on the sky! "T is the crashing of thunders, the groan of the spheres!
He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck,—
Amazement confronts him with images dire;
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a-wreck-
The masts fly in splinters—the shrouds are on fire!
Like mountains, the billows tremendously swell-
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save ;—
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,
And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!
Oh! sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight!
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of blissWhere now is the picture that fancy touched bright, Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honied kiss?
Oh, sailor boy! sailor boy! never again
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed, and unhonoured, down deep in the main Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
Or redeem thy lost form from the merciless surge-
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge!
On a bed of sea-flowers thy pale limbs shall be laid,
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And each tribe of the deep haunt thy mansion below.
Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll; Frail short-sighted mortals their doom must obeyOh! sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul!
FIRST-LOVE'S RECOLLECTIONS.
Oh, long be my heart with such memories filled!
Like the vase in which odours have once been distilled;
You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still!
FIRST love will with the heart remain
When its hopes are all gone by;
As frail rose-blossoms still retain
Their fragrance when they die.
And joy's first dreams will haunt the mind
With the shades from which they sprung;
As summer leaves the stems behind
On which spring's blossoms hung.
Mary! I dare not call thee dear,
I've lost that right so long;
Yet once again I vex thine ear
With memory's idle song:
Had time and change not blotted out
The love of former days,
Thou wert the last that I should doubt
Of pleasing with my praise.
When honied tokens from each tongue
Told with what truth we loved,
How rapturous to thy lips I clung,
Whilst nought but smiles reproved!
But now, methinks, if one kind word
Were whispered in thine ear,
Thou 'dst startle like an untamed bird,
And blush with wilder fear!
How loth to part, how fond to meet,
Had we two used to be!
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