Whom thoughts abstruse or high have chanced to Forth from the walks of men, revolving oft, Him, thus engaged, the Sabbath bells salute OLD FAMILIAR FACES. I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, I have been laughing, I have been carousing, I loved a love once, fairest among women; I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man; T O B Να Of Fro But Of th But & An a With As n Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my child hood; Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar faces How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. LINES ON THE CELEBRATED PICTURE BY LEONARDO DA VINCI, CALLED THE VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS. WHILE young John runs to greet The greater Infant's feet, The Mother standing by, with trembling passion Of devout admiration, Beholds the engaging mystic play, and pretty adoration; Nor knows as yet the full event Of those so low beginnings, From whence we date our winnings, But wonders at the intent Of those new rites, and what that strange childworship meant. But at her side An angel doth abide, An intuition, A glory, an amenity, As if he surely knew All the blest wonders should ensue, Or he had lately left the upper sphere, And had read all the sovran schemes and divine riddles there. MRS GRANT OF LAGGAN. HYMN FOR THE SONS OF THE CLERGY. How blest those olive plants that grow 'Twas thus the swallow rear'd her young, Secure within the house of GOD, Of whom the Royal Prophet sung, When banish'd from that blest abode. When, like the swallow's tender brood, On weary wing to seek their food, Where'er they roam, where'er they rest, Or doom'd to share the deadly strife; Still may the streams of grace divine To change their darkness into day. Still may they with fraternal love Each other's shield and aid become; And while through distant realms they rove, Remember still their childhood's home; The simple life, the frugal fare, The kind parental counsels given, The tender love, the pious care, That early winged their hopes to heaven. And when the evening shades decline, And when the faithful shepherds view MRS HEMANS. THE HEBREW MOTHER. THE rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain, When a young mother, with her First-born, thence Went up to Zion; for the boy was vow'd Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think So pass'd they on, O'er Judah's hills; and wheresoe'er the leaves Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon, Like lulling rain-drops, or the olive-boughs, With their cool dimness, cross'd the sultry blue Of Syria's heaven, she paused, that he might rest; Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the sleep That weigh'd their dark fringe down, to sit and watch The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose, And softly parting clusters of jet curls At last the Fane was reach'd, The earth's One Sanctuary; and rapture hush'd Her bosom, as before her, thro' the day It rose, a mountain of white marble, steep'd In light like floating gold. But when that hour Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye Beseechingly to hers, and, half in fear, Turn'd from the white-robed priest, and round her arm |