Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Bathed in a flood of glory, float in air, And sleep in the deep quietude of joy.

There is an awful stillness in this place, A Presence, that forbids to break the spell, Till the heart pour its agony in tears. But I must drink the vision while it lasts; For even now the curling vapours rise, Wreathing their cloudy coronals to grace These towering summits-bidding me away;But often shall my heart turn back again, Thou glorious eminence! and when oppress'd, And aching with the coldness of the world, Find a sweet resting-place and home with thee.

SPIRIT OF BEAUTY.

THE Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light,
And wheels her course in a joyous flight;
I know her track through the balmy air,
By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there;
She leaves the tops of the mountains green,
And gems the valley with crystal sheen.

At morn, I know where she rested at night,
For the roses are gushing with dewy delight;
Then she mounts again, and round her flings
A shower of light from her crimson wings;
Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high,
That silently fills it with ecstasy.

At noon she hies to a cool retreat,
Where bowering elms over waters meet;
She dimples the wave where the green leaves dip,
As it smilingly curls like a maiden's lip,
When her tremulous bosom would hide, in vain,
From her lover, the hope that she loves again.

At eve she hangs o'er the western sky
Dark clouds for a glorious canopy,
And round the skirts of their deepen'd fold
She paints a border of purple and gold,
Where the lingering sunbeams love to stay,
When their god in his glory has passed away.

She hovers around us at twilight hour,
When her presence is felt with the deepest power;
She silvers the landscape, and crowds the stream
With shadows that flit like a fairy dream;
Then wheeling her flight through the gladden'd air,
The Spirit of Beauty is everywhere.

LOVE UNCHANGEABLE.

YES! still I love thee:-Time, who sets His signet on my brow,

And dims my sunken eye, forgets

The heart he could not bow;Where love, that cannot perish, grows For one, alas! that little knows

How love may sometimes last;
Like sunshine wasting in the skies,
When clouds are overcast.

The dew-drop hanging o'er the rose,
Within its robe of light,

Can never touch a leaf that blows,

Though seeming to the sight;
And yet it still will linger there,
Like hopeless love without despair,-
A snow-drop in the sun!
A moment finely exquisite,
Alas! but only one.

I would not have thy married heart
Think momently of me,-
Nor would I tear the cords apart,

That bind me so to thee;

No! while my thoughts seem pure and mild,
Like dew upon the roses wild,

I would not have thee know,
The stream that seems to thee so still,
Has such a tide below!

Enough! that in delicious dreams

I see thee and forget-

Enough, that when the morning beams,

I feel my eyelids wet!

Yet, could I hope, when Time shall fall The darkness, for creation's pall,

To meet thee,--and to love,-

I would not shrink from aught below, Nor ask for more above.

EXTRACT FROM "GERALDINE.”

I KNOW a spot where poets fain would dwell,
To gather flowers and food for afterthought,
As bees draw honey from the rose's cell,

To hive among the treasures they have wrought;
And there a cottage from a sylvan screen
Sent up its curling smoke amidst the green.

Around that hermit-home of quietude,
The elm trees whisper'd with the summer air,
And nothing ever ventured to intrude,

But happy birds, that caroll'd wildly there,
Or honey-laden harvesters, that flew
Humming away to drink the morning dew.
Around the door the honeysuckle climbed,

And Multa-flora spread her countless roses, And never minstrel sang nor poet rhymed

Romantic scene where happiness reposes, Sweeter to sense than that enchanting dell, Where home-sick memory fondly loves to dwell Beneath a mountain's brow the cottage stood, Hard by a shelving lake, whose pebbled bed Was skirted by the drapery of a wood,

That hung its festoon foliage over head, Where wild deer came at eve, unharm'd, to drink, While moonlight threw their shadows from the brink.

The green earth heaved her giant waves around,
Where through the mountain vista one vast
height
[bound
Tower'd heavenward without peer, his forehead
With gorgeous clouds, at times of changeful light,
While far below, the lake, in bridal rest,
Slept with his glorious picture on her breast.

EDMUND D. GRIFFIN.

[Born, 1804. Died, 1830.]

EDMUND DORR GRIFFIN was born in the celebrated valley of Wyoming, in Pennsylvania, on the tenth day of September, 1804. During his infancy his parents removed to New York, but on account of the delicacy of his constitution, he was educated, until he was twelve years old, at various schools in the country. He entered Columbia College, in New York, in 1819, and until he was graduated, four years afterwards, maintained the highest rank in the successive classes. During this period most of his Latin and English poems were composed. He was admitted to deacon's orders, in the Episcopal Church, in 1826, and

LINES WRITTEN ON LEAVING ITALY.

"Deh! fossi tu men bella, o almen piu forte."-FILICAIA.

WOULD that thou wert more strong, at least less fair,
Land of the orange grove and myrtle bower!
To hail whose strand, to breathe whose genial air,
Is bliss to all who feel of bliss the power;
To look upon whose mountains in the hour

When thy sun sinks in glory, and a veil
Of purple flows around them, would restore

The sense of beauty when all else might fail.

Would that thou wert more strong, at least less fair, Parent of fruits, alas! no more of men! Where springs the olive e'en from mountains bare, The yellow harvests loads the scarce till'd plain. Spontaneous shoots the vine, in rich festoon

From tree to tree depending, and the flowers Wreathe with their chaplets, sweet though fading

soon,

E'en fallen columns and decaying towers. Would that thou wert more strong, at least less fair, Home of the beautiful, but not the brave! Where noble form, bold outline, princely air, Distinguish e'en the peasant and the slave: Where, like the goddess sprung from ocean's wave, Her mortal sisters boast immortal grace, Nor spoil those charms which partial Nature gave, By art's weak aids or fashion's vain grimace. Would that thou wert more strong, at least less fair, Thou nurse of every art, save one alone, The art of self-defence! Thy fostering care

Brings out a nobler life from senseless stone, And bids e'en canvass speak; thy magic tone, Infused in music, now constrains the soul With tears the power of melody to own, [trol. And now with passionate throbs that spurn conWould that thou wert less fair, at least more strong, Grave of the mighty dead, the living mean!

after spending two years in the active discharge of the duties of his profession, set out on his travels. He passed through France, Italy, Switzerland, England, and Scotland, and returned to New York in the spring of 1830. He was then appointed an associate professor in Columbia College, but resigned the office after a few months, in consequence of ill health, and closed a life of successful devotion to learning, and remarkable moral purity, on the first day of September, in the same year. His travels in Europe, sermons, and miscellaneous writings were published in two large octavo volumes, in 1831.

Can nothing rouse ye both? no tyrant's wrong, No memory of the brave, of what has been? Yon broken arch once spoke of triumph, then

That mouldering wall too spoke of brave defence: Shades of departed heroes, rise again!

Italians, rise, and thrust the oppressors hence!

O, Italy! my country, fare thee well!

For art thou not my country, at whose breast Were nurtured those whose thoughts within me

dwell,

The fathers of my mind? whose fame impress'd E'en on my infant fancy, bade it rest

With patriot fondness on thy hills and streams, E'er yet thou didst receive me as a guest,

Lovelier than I had seen thee in my dreams? Then fare thee well, my country, loved and lost: Too early lost, alas! when once so dear; I turn in sorrow from thy glorious coast, And urge the feet forbid to linger here. But must I rove by Arno's current clear,

And hear the rush of Tiber's yellow flood, And wander on the mount, now waste and drear, Where CAESAR's palace in its glory stood;

And see again Parthenope's loved bay,

And Paestum's shrines, and Baiae's classic shore, And mount the bark, and listen to the lay

That floats by night through Venice-never Far off I seem to hear the Atlantic roar- [more? It washes not thy feet, that envious sea, But waits, with outstretch'd arms, to waft me o'er To other lands, far, far, alas, from thee. Fare-fare thee well once more. I love thee not As other things inanimate. Thou art The cherish'd mistress of my youth; forgot

Thou never canst be while I have a heart. Launch'd on those waters, wild with storm and wind, I know not, ask not, what may be my lot; For, torn from thee, no fear can touch my mind, Brooding in gloom on that one bitter thought.

DESCRIPTION OF LOVE, BY VENUS.

THOUGH old in cunning, as in years,
He is so small, that like a child
In face and form, the god appears,

And sportive like a boy, and wild;
Lightly he moves from place to place,
In none at rest, in none content;
Delighted some new toy to chase-

On childish purpose ever bent. Beware! to childhood's spirit gay

Is added more than childhood's power; And you perchance may rue the hour That saw you join his seeming play.

He quick is anger'd, and as quick

His short-lived passion's over past,
Like summer lightnings, flashing thick,
But flying ere a bolt is cast.
I've seen, myself, as 't were together,

Now joy, now grief assume its place,
Shedding a sort of April weather,

Sunshine and rain upon his face.
His curling hair floats on the wind,
Like Fortune's, long and thick before,
And rich and bright as golden ore:
Like hers, his head is bald behind.

His ruddy face is strangely bright,
It is the very hue of fire,
The inward spirit's quenchless light,
The glow of many a soft desire.
He hides his eye that keenly flashes,

But sometimes steals a thrilling glance
From 'neath his drooping silken lashes,

And sometimes looks with eye askance; But seldom ventures he to gaze

With looks direct and open eye;
For well he knows-the urchin sly—
But one such look his guile betrays.

His tongue, that seems to have left just then
His mother's breast, discourses sweet,

And forms his lisping infant strain

In words scarce utter'd, half-complete; Yet, wafted on a winged sigh,

And led by Flattery, gentle guide, Unseen into the heart they fly,

Its coldness melt, and tame its pride.
In smiles that hide intended wo,

His ruddy lips are always dress'd,
As flowers conceal the listening crest
Of the coil'd snake that lurks below.
In carriage courteous, meek, and mild,
Humble in speech, and soft in look,
He seems a wandering orphan child,
And asks a shelter in some nook
Or corner left unoccupied :

But, once admitted as a guest,
By slow degrees he lays aside

That lowly port and look distress'dThen insolent assumes his reign,

Displays his captious, high-bred airs, His causeless pets and jealous fears, His fickle fancy and unquiet brain.

EMBLEMS.

Yox rose, that bows her graceful head to hail
The welcome visitant that brings the morn,
And spreads her leaves to gather from the gale
The coolness on its early pinions borne,
Listing the music of its whisper'd tale,

And giving stores of perfume in return-
Though fair she seem, full many a thorn doth hide;
Perhaps a worm pollutes her bosom's pride.
Yon oak, that proudly throws his arms on high,
Threshing the air that flies their frequent strokes,
And lifts his haughty crest towards the sky,

Daring the thunder that its height provokes, And spreads his foliage wide, a shelter nigh,

From noonday heats to guard the weary flocksThough strong he seem, must dread the bursting And e'en the malice of the feeble worm. [storm, The moon, that sits so lightly on her throne, Gliding majestic on her silent way, And sends her silvery beam serenely down,

'Mong waving boughs and frolic leaves to play, To sleep upon the bank with moss o'ergrown,

Or on the clear waves, clearer far than theySeems purity itself; but if again

We look, and closely, we perceive a stain.
Fit emblems all, of those unworthy joys

On which our passions and our hopes dilate:
We wound ourselves to seize on Pleasure's toys,
Nor see their worthlessness until too late;
And Power, with all its pomp and all its noise,
Meets oft a sudden and a hapless fate;
And Fame of gentle deeds and daring high,
Is often stain'd by blots of foulest dye.
Where then shall man, by his Creator's hand

Gifted with feelings that must have an aim, Aspiring thoughts and hopes, a countless band; Affections glowing with a quenchless flame, And passions, too, in dread array that stand, To aid his virtue or to stamp his shame: Where shall he fix a soul thus form'd and given? Fix it on GoD, and it shall rise to Heaven.

TO A LADY.

LIKE target for the arrow's aim,

Like snow beneath the sunny heats, Like wax before the glowing flame, Like cloud before the wind that fleets, I am 't is love that made me so, And, lady, still thou sayst me no. The wound's inflicted by thine eyes,

The mortal wound to hope and me, Which naught, alas, can cicatrize,

Nor time, nor absence, far from thee. Thou art the sun, the fire, the wind, That make me such; ah, then be kind! My thoughts are darts, my soul to smite; Thy charms the sun, to blind my sense, My wishes-ne'er did passion light

A flame more pure or more intense. Love all these arms at once employs, And wounds, and dazzles, and destroys.

1

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

THE moon was high in the autumn sky,
The stars waned cold and dim,
Where hoarsely the mighty Oregon
Peals his eternal hymn;

And the prairie-grass bent its seedy heads
Far over the river's brim.

An impulse I might not defy,

Constrain'd my footsteps there,

When through the gloom a red eye burn'd
With fix'd and steady glare;
And a huge, misshapen form of mist
Loom'd in the midnight air.

Then out it spake: "My name is Death!"
Thick grew my blood, and chill—
A sense of fear weigh'd down my breath,
And held my pulses still;

And a voice from that unnatural shade
Compell'd me to its will.

[blocks in formation]

O, then I sought to rest my brow,
The spade I held, its prop;

"Toil on! toil on!" scream'd the ugly fiend, My servants never stop!

[ocr errors]

Toil on toil on! at the judgment-day
Ye'll have a glorious crop!"

Now, wheresoe'er I turn'd my eyes,

'Twas horrible to see

How the grave made bare her secret work,
And disclosed her depths to me;

While the ground beneath me heaved and roll'd
Like the billows of the sea.

The spectre skinn'd his yellow teeth-
"Ye like not this, I trow:

Six thousand years your fellow-man
Has counted me his foe,

And ever when he cursed I laugh'd,
And drew my fatal bow.
"And generations all untold

In this dark spot I've laid—
The forest ruler and the young

And tender Indian maid;
And moulders with their carcasses
Behemoth of the glade.

"Yet here they may no more remain;
I fain would have this room:
And they must seek another rest,

Of deeper, lonelier gloom;
Long ages since I mark'd this spot
To be the white man's tomb.

"Already his coming steps I hear,
From the east's remotest line,
While over his advancing hosts

The forward banners shine:

And where he builds his cities and towns,
I ever must build mine."

Anon a pale and silvery mist

Was girdled round the moon:

Slowly the dead unclosed their eyes,
On midnight's solemn noon.
"Ha!" mutter'd the mocking sprite, "I fear
We've waken'd them too soon!

"Now marshal all the numerous host

In one concentred band,

And hurry them to the west," said he, "Where ocean meets the land: They shall regard thy bidding voice,

And move at thy command."

Then first I spake-the sullen corpse Stood on the gloomy sod,

Like the dry bones the prophet raised,
When bidden by his GoD;

A might company, so vast,
Each on the other trod.

They stalk'd erect as if alive,
Yet not to life allied,

But like the pestilence that walks,
And wasteth at noontide,
Corruption animated, or
The grave personified.

The earth-worm drew his slimy trail
Across the bloodless cheek,

And the carrion bird in hot haste came
To gorge his thirsty beak;
But, scared by the living banquet, fled,
Another prey to seek.

While ever as on their way they moved,
No voice they gave, nor sound,

And before and behind, and about their sides,
Their wither'd arms they bound;

As the beggar clasps his skinny hands

His tatter'd garments round.

On, on we went through the livelong night,
Death and his troop, and I;

We turn'd not aside for forest or stream

Or mountain towering high,

But straight and swift as the hurricane sweeps
Athwart the stormy sky.

Once, once I stopp'd, where something gleam'd,
With a bright and star-like ray,
And I stoop'd to take the diamond up
From the grass in which it lay;
"T was an eye that from its socket fell,
As some wretch toil'd on his way.

At length our army reach'd the verge
Of the far-off western shore;
Death drove them into the sea, and said,
"Ye shall remove no more."
The ocean hymn'd their solemn dirge,
And his waters swept them o'er.

[ocr errors]

The stars went out, the morning smiled With rosy tints of light,

The bird began his early hymn,

And plumed his wings for flight:

And the vision of death was broken with The breaking up of night.

HE WEDDED AGAIN.

ERE death had quite stricken the bloom from her

cheek,

Or worn off the smoothness and gloss of her brow, When our quivering lips her dear name could not speak,

And our hearts vainly strove to God's judgment

to bow;

He estranged himself from us, and cheerfully then
Sought out a new object, and wedded again.
The dust had scarce settled itself on her lyre,

And its soft, melting tones still held captive the ear, While we look'd for her fingers to glide o'er the wire,

And waited in fancy her sweet voice to hear; He turn'd from her harp and its melody then, Sought out a new minstrel and wedded again. The turf had not yet by a stranger been trod, Nor the pansy a single leaf shed on her grave, The cypress had not taken root in the sod, (gave; Nor the stone lost the freshness the sculptor first He turn'd from these mournful remembrances then, Wove a new bridal chaplet, and wedded again. His dwelling to us, O, how lonely and sad!

When we thought of the light death had stolen

away,

Of the warm hearts which once in its keeping it had,
And that one was now widow'd and both in decay;
But its deep desolation had fled even then-
He sought a new idol, and wedded again.

But can she be quite blest who presides at his board?
Will no troublesome vision her happy home shade,
Of a future love luring and charming her lord,

When she with our lost one forgotten is laid? She must know he will worship some other star then, Seek out a new love, and be wedded again.

SONG.

SHOULD Sorrow o'er thy brow

Its darken'd shadows fling, And hopes that cheer thee now,

Die in their early spring; Should pleasure at its birth

Fade like the hues of even, Turn thou away from earth,There's rest for thee in heaven!

If ever life shall seem

To thee a toilsome way,
And gladness cease to beam
Upon its clouded day;
If, like the wearied dove,

O'er shoreless ocean driven, Raise thou thine eye above.— There's rest for thee in heaven! But, O! if always flowers Throughout thy pathway bloom, And gayly pass the hours,

Undimn'd by earthly gloom;
Still let not every thought
To this poor world be given,
Not always be forgot

Thy better rest in heaven!
When sickness pales thy cheek,
And dims thy lustrous eye,
And pulses low and weak

Tell of a time to die-
Sweet hope shall whisper then,

[ocr errors]

Though thou from earth be riven, There's bliss beyond thy ken,There's rest for thee in heaven!"

« AnteriorContinuar »