The livelong night ye hear the sound, In ringing caves, while heaven is sweet And rival minstrels meet. XC.-MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. GEORGE D. PRENTICE THE trembling dew-drops fall Upon the shutting flowers; like souls at rest, : Save me, are blest. Mother, I love thy grave! The violet, with its blossoms blue and mild, 'Tis a sweet flower, yet must Its bright leaves to the coming tempest bow; And I could love to die : To leave untasted life's dark, bitter streams- And share thy dreams. And I must linger here, To stain the plumage of my sinless years, Aye, I must linger here, A lonely branch upon a wither'd tree, Oft, from life's wither'd bower, In still communion with the past, I turn, And, when the evening pale, Bows, like a mourner, on the dim, blue wave, Where is thy spirit flown? I gaze above thy look is imaged there ; O, come, while here I press My brow upon thy grave; and in those mild Yes, bless your weeping child; To blend with thine. 431 XCI.-"PASSING AWAY." Was it the chime of a tiny bell, JOHN PIERPONT. That came so sweet to my dreaming ear,— Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell That he winds on the beach, so mellow and clear, When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep, She dispensing her silvery light, And he, his notes as silvery quite, While the boatman listens, and ships his oar, But no; it was not a fairy's shell, Blown on the beach, so mellow and clear; Nor was it the tongue of a silvery bell, Striking the hour, that fill'd my ear, As I lay in my dream; yet was it a chime O, how bright were the wheels, that told Of the lapse of time, as they moved round slow! And lo she had changed;—in a few short hours 66 While I gazed at that fair one's cheek, a shade The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels, Upon noon's hot face: Yet one couldn't but love her, SHAKSPEARE ODE. While yet I look'd, what a change there came! The garland beneath her had fallen to dust; Grew crooked and tarnish'd, but on they kept, 433 XCII-SHAKSPEARE ODE. GOD of the glorious lyre ! Whose notes of old on lofty Pindus rang, While Jove's exulting choir CHARLES SPRAGUE. Caught the glad echoes and responsive sang- Fierce from the frozen north, When Havoc led his legions forth, Oier Learning's sunny groves the dark destroyer spread : Fair Science round her altar wept, At length, Olympian lord of morn, When, through golden clouds descending, O'er Nature's lovely pageant bending, Till Avon rolled, all sparkling to thy sight! There, on its bank, beneath the mulberry's shade, Wrapp'd in young dreams, a wild-eyed minstrel stray'd. Lighting there, and lingering long, And bade him wake and warm the world! Then SHAKSPEARE rose ! There, clustering round, submissive to his will, Madness, with his frightful scream, Hatred, blasting with a glance; And Jealousy, that dotes, but dooms, and murders, yet adores. Mirth, his face with sunbeams lit, Waking Laughter's merry swell, That waves his tingling lash, while Folly shakes his bell. Despair, that haunts the gurgling stream, Then, broken-hearted, sinks to rest, Beneath the bubbling wave that shrouds her maniac breast. Young love, with eye of tender gloom, And now, when crimson buds are sleeping, Where Beauty's child, the frowning world forgot, To youth's devoted tale is listening, Rapture on her dark lash glistening, [spot. While fairies leave their cowslip cells and guard the happy |