A master key of truth that shall unlock The true, the noble, pure, and beautiful, Can have or claim an immortality Of goodness, truth, or beauty - 'tis to those Whose hearts are right, whose beings one with God, Who in Him find their all: to other men, The beauteous things that pass them by on earth, Oh, yes, they are immortal, but it is An immortality of deathless woe, That haunts them with the sting of lost delight." And once again, retracing all my steps, I gazed upon those lovely scenes of life; Those passion fountains of unfathom'd depth, Those springs of human love, those beautiful homes Of friendship and affection, which the dove Of Peace broods over evermore, and there A father's heart, a mother's, or a child's, In tenfold loveliness before me, rose More passionately beautiful than ever; And oh, the blessed change! — they vanish'd not. At first my faithless heart grew chill with fear, In peace, my spirit linger'd on the scenes Of her eternal Past:- in peace I mused Those isles too often few and far between, Those sunbeams 'mid the storm-clouds all astray, Those gushing springs within a thirsty land, There, there I mused — there wander'd like a child Trinity College, 1845. SAMSON. [The story of Samson is put into the mouth of Manoah, who relates it to his attendant shortly before his death.] "Ibi demum morte quievit." VIRGIL. Eneid. ix. 445. GIVE me thy hand, brave stripling, for mine eyes Are dim with age and many sorrows: rise And lead me to that rocky seat, whereon His chariot wheels in yonder western waves, - Before I sink to silence and to rest. Yes, thou hast urged me oftentimes to tell How my child Samson lived and fought and fell; By all the silent pleading of those years And by thy hopes to light the latent fire Of thy young heart at Samson's funeral pyre; Though school'd in grief, refused the mourner's part: I could not tell thee without tears his story — I could not weep o'er Samson's tomb of glory: :But now I feel, I know my hour is nigh. Who weeps with heaven before him? fix thine eye Now listen to an old man's tale, and tell So spake Manoah of his only son. Yes, the dark clouds are breaking from my sight, Again I see my fond parental home Smiling in beauty, and again I roam Its green and quiet pastures. Like a dream Flow'd on apace with me life's early stream, |