And, mingled with the rising roar, is swelling, From the far hunter's booth, the blood-hound's yelling,

The water-falls in various cadence chiming,
Or in one loud unbroken sheet descending,

Salute each other thro' the night's dark womb; The moaning pine-trees to the wild blast bending,

Are pictured faintly thro' the chequer'd gloom; The forests, half-way up the mountain climbing, Resound with crash of falling branches; quiver Their aged mossy trunks: the startled doe Leaps from her leafy lair: the swelling river Winds his broad stream majestic, deep, and slow.

"IN SUMMER, WHEN ALL NATURE GLOWS."

"Nature in every form inspires delight."--CowPER.
In summer, when all nature glows,
And lends its fragrance to the rose,
And tints the sky with deeper blue,
And copious sheds the fruitful dew;
When odors come with every gale,
And nature holds her carnival;
When all is bright and pure and calm,
The smallest herb or leaf can charm
The man whom nature's beauties warm.

The glitt'ring tribes of insects gay,
Disporting in their parent-ray,
Each full of life and careless joy,
He views with philosophic eye:
For well he knows the glorious Hand,
That bade the eternal mountains stand,
And spread the vast and heaving main,
And studded heaven's resplendent plain,
Gave life to nature's humbler train.

Nor less admires his mighty pow'r
In the fine organs of a flow'r,
Than when he bids the thunder roll,
Rebellowing o'er the stormy pole;
Or launches forth his bolts of fire
On the lost objects of his ire;

Or with the yawning earthquake shocks
The reeling hills and shatter'd rocks,
And every mortal project mocks.

No skeptic he-who bold essays

T' unravel all the mystic maze
Of the Creator's mighty plan-
A task beyond the pow'rs of man;
Who, when his reason fails to soar
High as his will, believes no more-
No-calmly thro' the world he steals,
Nor seeks to trace what God conceals,
Content with what that God reveals.

There's the smile o' friends when they come frae far,
There's the smile o' joy in the festive ha';
Yet the smile o' luve is sweeter than a'!

"BORNE ON LIGHT WINGS OF BUOYANT DOWN.”

"Nunc mihi, nunc alii benigna."

HORACE,

BORNE on light wings of buoyant down, Mounts the hoar thistle-beard aloft; An air scarce felt can bear it on,

A touch propel, tho' e'er so soft: Dislodged from yonder thistle's head, Upon the passing gale it fled.

See! to each object on its way

A faithless moment it adheres; But if one breeze upon it play,

Breaks its slight bonds and disappears: Its silken sail each zephyr catches, A breath its airy hold detaches.

The man who wins thy love awhile, Should never dream it will remain; For one fond word, one courteous smile, Will set thy heart afloat again.

But he whose eye the light can chase, That sports above the trembling vase,

Attend its roving sheen, pursne

Its rapid movements here and there, And with a firm unwavering view Arrest the fleeting phantom fair, May fix inconstancy-ensure Thy love, thy fickle faith secure!

How many have-for many ask

The kiss I fondly deem'd my own! And hundreds in succession bask

In eye-beams due to me alone: Tho' all, like me, in turu must prove The wandering nature of thy love.

Thon saw'st the glow-worm on our way, Last eve, with mellow lustre shine

Clad in pellucid flame she lay,

And glimmer'd in her amber shrineWould that those eyes of heavenly blue Were half as faithful and as true!

And lo! the blush, quick mantling, breaks
In rich suffusion o'er thy cheek;
In sudden vermeil Conscience speaks,
No further, fuller proof I seek:
The rosy herald there was sent,
To bid thee own it and repent.

"THE STARS OF YON BLUE PLACID

SKY."

....supereminet omnes."-VIRGIL.

THE stars of yon blue placid sky

In vivid thousands burn,

And beaming from their orbs on high, On radiant axes turn:

The eye with wonder gazes there, And could but gaze on sight so fair.

But should a comet, brighter still,
His blazing train unfold
Among the many lights that fill

The sapphirine with gold;

More wonder then would one bestow Than millions of a meaner glow.

E'en so, sweet maid! thy beauties shine
With light so peerless and divine,
That others, who have charm'd before,
When match'd with thee, attract no more.

FRIENDSHIP.

"Neque ego nunc de vulgari aut de mediocri, quæ tamen ipsa et delectat et prodest, sed de vera et perfecta loquor [amicitia] qualis eorum, qui pauci nominantur, fuit."-CICERO.

O THOU most holy Friendship! whereso'er

Thy dwelling be-for in the courts of man But seldom thine all-heavenly voice we hear, Sweet'ning the moments of our narrow span; And seldom thy bright footsteps do we scan Along the weary waste of life unblest,

For faithless is its frail and wayward plan, And perfidy is man's eternal guest,

With dark suspicion link'd and shameless interest!

'Tis thine, when life has reach'd its final goal, Ere the last sigh that frees the mind be giv'n,

To speak sweet solace to the parting soul,

And pave the bitter path that leads to heav'n: "Tis thine, whene'er the heart is rack'd and riv'n By the hot shafts of baleful calumny,

When the dark spirit to despair is driv'n, To teach its lonely grief to lean on thee, And pour within thine ear the tale of misery.

But where art thou, thou comet of an age,
Thou phoenix of a century? Perchance
Thou art but of those fables which engage
And hold the minds of men in giddy trance.
Yet, be it so, and be it all romance,
The thought of thine existence is so bright
With beautiful imaginings-the glance
Upon thy fancied being such delight,

That I will deem thee Truth, so lovely is thy might!

ON THE DEATH OF MY GRANDMOTHER.

"Cul pudor et justitie soror

Incorrupta fides nudaque veritas,
Quando ullum invenient parem ?"
HORACE.

THERE on her bier she sleeps!

E'en yet her face its native sweetness keeps.
Ye need not mourn above that faded form,
Her soul defies the ravage of the worm ;
Her better half has sought its heavenly rest,
Unstain'd, unharm'd, unfetter'd, unopprest;

And far above all worldly pain and woe,
She sees that God she almost saw below.
She trod the path of virtue from her birth,
And finds in Heaven what she sought on earth;
She wins the smile of her eternal King,
And sings his praise where kindred angels sing.
Her holy patience, her unshaken faith,

343

How well they smooth'd the rugged path of Death!
She met his dread approach without alarm,
For Heaven in prospect makes the spirit calm.
In steadfast trust and Christian virtue strong,
Hope on her brow, and Jesus on her tongue;
Her faith, like Stephen's, soften'd her distress-
Scarce less her anguish, scarce her patience less!

"AND ASK YE WHY THESE SAD TEARS STREAM ?"

"Te somnia nostra reducunt."-OVID. AND ask ye why these sad tears stream? Why these wan eyes are dim with weeping?

I had a dream-a lovely dream,

Of her that in the grave is sleeping.

I saw her as 'twas yesterday,

The bloom upon her cheek still glowing; And round her play'd a golden ray,

And on her brows were gay flowers blowing.

With angel-hand she swept a lyre,

A garland red with roses bound it;

Its strings were wreath'd with lambent fire, And amaranth was woven round it.

I saw her mid the realms of light,
In everlasting radiance gleaming;
Co-equal with the seraphs bright,
Mid thousand thousand angels beaming.

I strove to reach her, when, behold, Those fairy forms of bliss Elysian, And all that rich scene wrapt in gold Faded in air-a lovely vision!

And I awoke, but oh! to me

That waking hour was doubly weary; And yet I could not envy thee, Although so blest, and I so dreary.

ON SUBLIMITY.

"The sublime always dwells on great objects and terrible.”

BURKE.

O TELL me not of vales in tenderest green,
The poplar's shade, the plantain's graceful tree;
Give me the wild cascade, the rugged scene,
The loud surge bursting o'er the purple sea:
On such sad views my soul delights to pore,
By Teneriffe's peak, or Kilda's giant height,
Or dark Loffoden's melancholy shore,

What time gray eve is fading into night;
When by that twilight beam I scarce descry
The mingled shades of earth and sea and sky.

Give me to wander at midnight alone,
Through some august cathedral, where, from high,
The cold, clear moon on the mosaic stone
Comes glancing in gay colors gloriously,
Through windows rich with gorgeous blazonry,
Gilding the niches dim, where, side by side,
Stand antique mitred prelates, whose bones lie
Beneath the pavement, where their deeds of pride

Were graven, but long since are worn away By constant feet of ages day by day.

Then, as Imagination aids, I hear

Wild heavenly voices sounding from the choir, And more than mortal music meets mine ear,

Whose long, long notes among the tombs expire, With solemn rustling of cherubic wings,

If thou hast seen all this, and could'st not feel, Then know, thine heart is framed of marble or of steel.

The hurricane fair earth to darkness changing,
Kentucky's chambers of eternal gloom,*
The swift-paced columns of the desert ranging
Th' uneven waste, the violent Simoom,

Do flit athwart the moonlit windows there; And my blood curdles at the chilling sound

Of lone, unearthly steps, that pace the hallow'd ground!

I love the starry spangled heav'n, resembling
A canopy with fiery gems o'erspread,
When the wide loch with silvery sheen is trembling,
Far stretch'd beneath the mountain's hoary head.
But most I love that sky, when, dark with storms,
It frowns terrific o'er this wilder'd earth,
While the black clouds, in strange and uncouth forms,
Come hurrying onward in their ruinous wrath;
And shrouding in their deep and gloomy robe
The burning eyes of heav'n and Dian's lucid globe!

I love your voice, ye echoing winds, that sweep Thro' the wide womb of midnight, when the veil Of darkness rests upon the mighty deep,

The laboring vessel, and the shatter'd sail— Save when the forked bolts of lightning leap On flashing pinions, and the mariner pale Raises his eyes to heav'n. Oh! who would sleep What time the rushing of the angry gale Is loud upon the waters?-Hail, all hail! Tempest and clouds and night and thunder's rending peal!

All hail, Sublimity! thou lofty one,

For thou dost walk upon the blast, and gird Thy majesty with terrors, and thy throne

Is on the whirlwind, and thy voice is heard In thuuders and in shakings: thy delight

Is in the secret wood, the blasted heath, The ruin'd fortress, and the dizzy height,

The grave, the ghastly charnel-house of death, In vaults, in cloisters, and in gloomy piles, Long corridors and towers and solitary aisles!

Thy joy is in obscurity, and plain

Is naught with thee; and on thy steps attend Shadows but half distinguish'd; the thin train Of hovering spirits round thy pathway bend, With their low tremulous voice and airy tread,* What time the tomb above them yawns and gapes: For thou dost hold communion with the dead Phantoms and phantasies and grisly shapes; And shades and headless spectres of St. Mark,† Seen by a lurid light, formless and still and dark!

What joy to view the varied rainbow smile
On Niagara's flood of matchless might,
Where all around the melancholy islet

The billows sparkle with their hues of light!
While, as the restless surges roar and rave,

The arrowy stream descends with awful sound, Wheeling and whirling with each breathless wave,§ Immense, sublime, magnificent, profound!

* According to Burke, a low, tremulous, intermitted sound is conducive to the sublime.

It is a received opinion, that on St. Mark's Eve all the persons who are to die in the following year make their appearances without their heads in the churches of their respective parishes. See Dr. Langhorne's Notes to Collins.

This island, on both sides of which the waters rush with astonishing swiftness, is 900 or 800 feet long, and its lower edge is just at the perpendicular edge of the fall.

§ "Undis Phlegethon perlustrat anhelis.”—CLAUDIAN.

Whence springs the hallow'd Jumna's echoing tide, Hoar Cotopaxi's cloud-capt majesty,

Enormous Chimborazo's naked pride,

The dizzy cape of winds that cleaves the sky,†
Whence we look down into eternity,

Shone starlike on the shrinking crowd, With lustre borrow'd from his God:

They could not brook it, and they bow'd.

The mere reflection of the blaze

That lighten'd round creation's Lord, Was too puissant for their gaze; And he that caught it was adored.

Then how ineffably august,

How passing wond'rous must He be, Whose presence lent to earthly dust Such permanence of brilliancy!

Throned in sequester'd sanctity,

And with transcendent glories crown'd; With all His works beneath His eye,

And suns and systems burning round,

How shall I hymn Him? How aspire
His holy Name with song to blend,
And bid my rash and feeble lyre
To such an awless flight ascend?

THE REIGN OF LOVE.

"In freta dum fluvii current," etc.-VIRGIL.
WHILE roses boast a purple dye,
While seas obey the blast,
Or glowing rainbows span the sky-
The reign of love shall last.

While man exults o'er present joy,
Or mourns o'er joy that's past,
Feels virtue soothe, or vice alloy-
The reign of love shall last.

While female charms attract the mind, In moulds of beauty cast;

While man is warm, or woman kindThe reign of love shall last.

TIS THE VOICE OF THE DEAD."

"Non omnis moriar."-HORACE.

"TIs the voice of the dead

From the depth of their glooms:

Hark! they call me away

To the world of the tombs!

I come, lo! I come

To your lonely abodes,

For my dust is the earth's

But this soul is my God's!

Thine is not the triumph,
O invincible Death!
Thon hast not prevail'd,

Tho' I yield thee my breath: Thy sceptre shall wave

O'er a fragment of clay,

But my spirit, thon tyrant,
Is bounding away!

I fear not, I feel not

The pang that destroys,

Then weep not for me,

Tho' I sink, I shall rise;
I shall live, tho' I sleep-
'Tis the guilty who dies.
E'en now in mine ear

"Tis a seraph who sings: Farewell!-for I go

On the speed of his wings!

TIME: AN ODE.

I SEE the chariot, where,

Throughout.the purple air,

The forelock'd monarch rides:
Arm'd like some antique vehicle for war,
Time, hoary Time! I see thy scythèd car,
In voiceless majesty,

Cleaving the clouds of ages that float by,
And change their many-color'd sides,
Now dark, now dun, now richly bright,
In an ever-varying light.

The great, the lowly, and the brave Bow down before the rushing force Of thine unconquerable course; Thy wheels are noiseless as the grave, Yet fleet as Heaven's red bolt they hurry on, They pass above us, and are gone!

In dusky cavalcade,

Imperfectly descried,

Through that intense, impenetrable shade.

Four gray steeds thy chariot draw;

In th' obdurate, tameless jaw

Their rusted iron bits they sternly champ;
Ye may not hear the echoing tramp

Of their light-bounding, windy feet,
Upon that cloudy pavement beat.
Four wings have each, which, far outspread,
Receive the many blasts of heav'n,

As with unwearied speed,

Throughout the long extent of ether driv'n,
Onward they rush forever and for aye:

Thy voice, thou mighty Charioteer!
Always sounding in their ear,

Throughout the gloom of night and heat of day.

Fast behind thee follows Death,

Thro' the ranks of wan and weeping,

That yield their miserable breath,

On with his pallid courser proudly sweeping. Arm'd is he in full mail,*

Bright breastplate and high crest,

Nor is the trenchant falchion wanting:

So fiercely does he ride the gale,

Ou Time's dark car, before him, rest

The dew-drops of his charger's panting,

*I am indebted for the idea of Death's armor to that famous

chorus in "Caractacus" beginning with

"Hark heard ye not that footstep dread ?"

346

On, on they go along the boundless skies,

All human grandeur fades away Before their flashing, fiery, hollow eyes;

Beneath the terrible control

Of those vast arméd orbs, which roll Oblivion on the creatures of a day. Those splendid monuments alone he spares Which, to her deathless votaries, Bright Fame, with glowing hand, uprears Amid the waste of countless years.

"Live ye!" to these he crieth; "live! To ye eternity I give

Ye, upon whose blessed birth

The noblest star of heaven hath shone; Live, when the ponderous pyramids of earth Are crumbling in oblivion!

Live, when, wrapt in sullen shade,

The golden hosts of heaven shall fade;
Live, when you gorgeous sun on high
Shall veil the sparkling of his eye!

Live, when imperial Time and Death himself shall die!"

GOD'S DENUNCIATIONS AGAINST PHARAOH-HOPHRA, OR APRIES.

THOU beast of the flood, who hast said in thy soul,
"I have made me a stream that forever shall roll!"*
Thy strength is the flower that shall last but a day,
And thy might is the snow in the sun's burning ray.

Arm, arm from the east, Babylonia's son!
Arm, arm for the battle-the Lord leads thee on!
With the shield of thy fame, and the power of thy
pride,

Arm, arm in thy glory-the Lord is thy guide.

Thou shalt come like a storm when the moonlight is dim,

And the lake's gloomy bosom is full to the brim;

Who, hymn'd by archangelic tongues,

In majesty and might,

The subject of ten thousand songs,
Sits veil'd in circling light.

Benignly great, serenely dread,
Amid th' immortal choir,
How glory plays around his head
In rays of heavenly fire!

Before the blaze of Deity

The deathless legions bend, And to the grand co-equal Three Their choral homage lend.

They laud that God, who has no peers, High-holy-searchless-pure;

Who has endured for countless years, And ever will endure:

Who spoke, and fish, fowl, beast, in pairs,
Or swam, or flew, or trod;
Space glitter'd with unnumber'd stars,
And heaving oceans flow'd.

Then let us join our feeble praise
To that which angels give;
And hymns to that great Parent raise,
In whom we breathe and live!

THE BATTLE-FIELD.
"When all is o'er, it is humbling to tread
O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead!"
BYRON.

THE heat and the chaos of contest are o'er,
To mingle no longer-to madden no more:
And the cold forms of heroes are stretch'd on the
plain;

Those lips cannot breathe thro' the trumpet again!

Woe, woe to thee, Tanis !t thy babes shall be thrown By the barbarous hands on the cold marble-stone: Woe, woe to thee, Nile! for thy stream shall be red With the blood that shall gush o'er thy billowy bed!

Woe, woe to thee, Memphis !t the war-cry is near, And the child shall be toss'd on the murderer's spear;

For fiercely he comes in the day of his ire,

Like lightning, electric and sudden they came; They took but their life, and they left them their fame!

I heard, oh! I heard, when, with barbarous bray,
They leapt from the month of the cannon away;
And the loud-rushing sound of their passage in air
Seem'd to speak in a terrible language-"Beware!"

Farewell to ye, chieftains; to one and to all,
Who this day have perish'd by sabre or ball;
Unbroken and silent and dreamless and deep!

"ALL JOYOUS IN THE REALMS OF

DAY."

"Hominum divomque pater."-VIRGIL.

ALL joyous in the realms of day,
The radiant angels sing,

In incorruptible array,

Before the Eternal King:

"Pliny's reproach to the Egyptians, for their vain and foolish pride with regard to the inundations of the Nile, points out one of their most distinguishing characteristics, and recalls to my mind a fine passage of Ezekiel, where God thus speaks to Pharaoh, one of their kings: Behold, I am against thee, Pharaoh king of Egypt, the

great dragon that lieth in the midst of his rivers, that hath said, My river is mine own, and I have made it for myself."-ROLLIN, vol. i., p. 216.

+ The Scriptural appellations are " Zoan" and "Noph."

THE THUNDER-STORM.

"Non imitabile fulmen."-VIRGIL

THE storm is brooding!-I would see it pass,
Observe its tenor, and its progress trace.
How dark and dun the gathering clouds appear,
Their rolling thunders seem to rend the ear!
But faint at first, they slowly, sternly rise,
From mutt'rings low to peals which rock the skies,
As if at first their fury they forbore,
And nursed their terrors for a closing roar.
Creation's trembling objects quake around;
And hark! they rise into a loftier sound,
In silent awe the subject-nations hear
Th' appalling crash of elemental war: