Imagens das páginas

“I see, with loose, dishevelled hair,

Covering her snowy bosom, come The angel of my childhood there,

And dew, with tears, my early tomb.

"Then in the autumn's silent eve,

With fluttering wing and gentlest tread, My spirit its calm bed shall leave,

And hover o'er the mourner's head.”

Then he was silent;—faint and slow

His steps retraced. He came no more : The last leaf trembled on the bough,

And his last pang of life was o'er.
Beneath the aged oaks he sleeps :-

The angel of his childhood there.
No watch around his tombstone keeps;

But, when the evening stars appear,
The woodman, to his cottage bound,

Close to that grave is wont to tread: But his rude footsteps, echoed round,

Break not the silence of the dead.


THROUGH shades and solitudes profound

The fainting traveller wends his way; Bewildering meteors glare around,

And tempt his wandering feet astray.

Welcome, thrice welcome to his eye

The sudden moon's inspiring light, When forth she sallies through the sky,

The guardian angel of the night. Thus mortals blind and weak below

sue the phantom bliss in vain; The world's a wilderness of wo,

And life's a pilgrimage of pain ! Till mild Religion from above

Descends, a sweet engaging form, The messenger of heavenly love,

The bow of promise 'mid the storm. Ambition, pride, revenge, depart,

And folly flies her chastening rod; She makes the humble, contrite heart

A temple of the living God. Beyond the narrow vale of time,

Where bright celestial ages roll, To scenes eternal, scenes sublime,

She points the way, and leads the soul. At her approach, the grave appears

The gate of paradise restored ;
Her voice the watching cherub hears,

And drops his double flaming sword.
Baptized with her renewing fire,

May we the crown of glory gain; Rise when the hosts of heaven expire,

And reign with God, forever reign.


I DREAMED :-I saw a rosy child,

With flaxen ringlets, in a garden playing ;

Now stooping here, and then afar off straying, As flower or butterfly his feet beguiled. 'T was changed: one summer's day I stepped aside,

To let him pass; his face had manhood's seeming,

And that full eye of blue was fondly beaming
On a fair maiden, whom he call’d his bride.
Once more: 't was evening, and the cheerful fire

I saw a group of youthful forms surrounding,

The room with harmless pleasantry resounding; And, in the midst, I mark'd the smiling sire. The heavens were clouded—and I heard the tone Of a slow-moving bell: the white-haird man had



SWEET harp of Judah ! shall thy sound
No more be heard on earthly ground,
Nor mortal raise the lay again,
That rung through Judah’s sainted reign ?
No-for to higher worlds belong
The wonders of thy sacred song ;
Thy prophet-bards might sweep thy chords,
Thy glorious burden was the Lord's.

Thy lay, descending from above,
Full fraught with justice, truth, and love;
His Spirit breathed and mingled there
As much of heaven as earth could bear.

Kind was its tone-its warning plain ;
But rebel Israel scorn'd the strain;
Proud, careless, unabash'd, they trod,
Nor own'd the voice of Zion's God.

Then fell at length his vengeful stroke;
The necks that scorn'd to bend he broke;
The shrine his hand had guarded well,
Himself destroy'd-and Zion fell.

Final and unretrieved her fall :
The heathen ploughshare razed her wall,
And o'er the race of Judah's kings
Rome's slaughtering eagle clapp'd her wings.
Yet, harp of Judah! rung thy strain,
And woke thy glories not in vain;
Yet, though in dust thy frame be hurlid,
Thy spirit rules a wider world.

Though faintly swell thy notes sublime,
Far distant-down the stream of time;
Yet to our ears the sounds are given,
And even thy echo tells of heaven.

Through worlds remote--the old—the new; Through realms nor Rome nor Israel knew; The Christian hears

and by thy tone, Sweet harp of Judah! tunes his own.



OH! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream;
Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;
Mourn—where their God hath dwelt, the godless

And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
And where shall Zion's songs again seem sweet ?
And Judah's melody once more rejoice
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice ?
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
How shall ye flee away and be at rest ?
The wild dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country—Israel but the grave !


DEAR is the hallow'd morn to me,

When village bells awake the day,
And, by their sacred minstrelsy,

Call me from earthly cares away.
And dear to me the winged hour,

Spent in thy hallow'd courts, O Lord !
To feel devotion's soothing power,
And catch the manna of thy word.

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