Vase Enamell'd fields of green, where herding kine Crop the wet grass, or in the shade recline; The tapping woodbird, and the minstrel bee, The squirrel racing on his moss-grown tree, With clouds of pleasant dreams, demand in vain arty Creative thought to give them life again. I turn where, glancing down, the eye surveys sp Art building up the wreck of other days; For graves of silent tribes upheave the sod, Grasps the glad soil where freemen plant their feet; née No ruin'd castle here with ivy waves, To make us blush for ancestry of slaves; But thou shalt rend the virtuous-seeming guise, ANNE BOLEYN. I WEEP While gazing on thy modest face, The beautiful and young, that while their path SUNRISE, FROM MOUNT WASHINGTON. THE laughing hours have chased away the night, Plucking the stars out from her diadem:And now the blue-eyed Morn, with modest grace, Looks through her half-drawn curtains in the east, Blushing in smiles and glad as infancy. And see, the foolish Moon, but now so vain Of borrow'd beauty, how she yields her charms, And, pale with envy, steals herself away! The clouds have put their gorgeous livery on, Attendant on the day-the mountain-tops Have lit their beacons, and the vales below Send up a welcoming;-no song of birds, Warbling to charm the air with melody, Floats on the frosty breeze; yet Nature hath The very soul of music in her looks! The sunshine and the shade of poetry. I stand upon thy lofty pinnacle, Temple of Nature! and look down with awe On the wide world beneath me, dimly seen; Around me crowd the giant sons of earth, Fixed on their old foundations, unsubdued; Firm as when first rebellion bade them rise Unrifted to the Thunderer-now they seem A family of mountains, clustering round Their hoary patriarch, emulously watching To meet the partial glances of the day. Far in the glowing east the flickering light, Mellow'd by distance, with the blue sky blending, Questions the eye with ever-varying forms. The sun comes up! away the shadows fling From the broad hills-and, hurrying to the west Sport in the sunshine, till they die away. The many beauteous mountain-streams leap down, Out-welling from the clouds, and sparkling light Dances along with their perennial flow. And there is beauty in yon river's path, The glad Connecticut! I know her well, By the white veil she mantles o'er her charms: At times, she loiters by a ridge of hills, Sportfully hiding-then again with glee Out-rushes from her wild-wood lurking-place. Far as the eye can bound, the occan-waves, And hills and rivers, mountains, lakes and woods, And all that hold the faculty entranced, Bathed in a flood of glory, float in air, There is an awful stillness in this place, SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. THE Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light, At morn, I know where she rested at night, At noon she hies to a cool retreat, At eve she hangs o'er the western sky She hovers around us at twilight hour, LOVE UNCHANGEABLE. YES! still I love thee:-Time, who sets 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; The dew-drop hanging o'er the rose, Can never touch a leaf that blows, I would not have thy married heart That bind me so to thee; I would not have thee know, Yet, could I hope, when Time shall fall To meet thee,--and to love,- I would not shrink from aught below, EXTRACT FROM "GERALDINE." I KNOW a spot where poets fain would dwell, To hive among the treasures they have wrought; But happy birds, that caroll'd wildly there, And Multa-flora spread her countless roses, Romantic scene where happiness reposes, Where home-sick memory fondly loves to dwell 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, [hound Where through the mountain vista one vast height Tower'd heavenward without peer, his forehead 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, Would that thou wert more strong, at least less fair, 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: I turn in sorrow from thy glorious coast, And hear the rush of Tiber's yellow flood, And wander on the mount, now waste and drear, Where CESAR's palace in its glory stood; And see again Parthenope's loved bay, And Paestum's shrines, and Baiae's classic shore, Fare-fare thee well once more. I love thee not 313 DESCRIPTION OF LOVE, BY VENUS. THOUGH old in cunning, as in years, He is so small, that like a child And sportive like a boy, and wild; Is added more than childhood's power; He quick is anger'd, and as quick His short-lived passion's over past, Now joy, now grief assume its place, Sunshine and rain upon his face. His ruddy face is strangely bright, But sometimes steals a thrilling glance And sometimes looks with eye askance; But seldom ventures he to gaze With looks direct and open eye; His tongue, that seems to have left just then 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. His ruddy lips are always dress'd, 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. YON rose, that bows her graceful head to hail And giving stores of perfume in return- Threshing the air that flies their frequent stress, Daring the thunder that its height provokes, From noonday heats to guard the weary flocks- The moon, that sits so lightly on her throne, Gliding majestic on her silent way, '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 they- On which our passions and our hopes dilate: Meets oft a sudden and a hapless fate; Gifted with feelings that must have an aim, To aid his virtue or to stamp his shaine: Where shall he fix a soul thus form'd and given? Fix it on Gon, and it shall rise to Heaven. TO A LADY. LIKE target for the arrow's aim, Like snow beneath the sunny heats, 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. FAST J. H. BRIGHT. [Born, 1804. Died, 1837.] JONATHAN HUNTINGTON BRIGHT was born in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1804. At an early age he went to New York, where he resided several years, after which he removed to Albany, and subsequently to Richmond, in Virginia, where he was married. In the autumn of 1836 he sailed for New Orleans, and soon after his arrival in that city was induced to ascend the Mississippi, to take part in a mercantile interest at Manchester, where he died, very suddenly, in the thirty-third year of his age. He was for several years a writer for the public journals and literary magazines, under the signature of "Viator." His poetry has never been published collectively. Then out it spake: "My name is Death!" And a voice from that unnatural shade "Dig me a grave! dig me a grave!" "And make it deep, and long, and wide, And bury me my dead." A corpse without sheet or shroud, at my feet, With trembling hand the tool I spann'd, And I sought to detach my stiffen'd grasp, "Now cautiously turn up the sod; And time shall be when each small blade To life He will restore, Deeply my spade the soft earth pierced, The vulture circled, and flapp'd his wings, O, then I sought to rest my brow, "Toil on! toil on !" scream'd the ugly fiend, "My servants never stop! Toil on! toil on! at the judgment-day Now, wheresoe'er I turn'd my eyes, How the grave made bare her secret work, While the ground beneath me heaved and roll'd The spectre skinn'd his yellow teeth "Ye like not this, I trow: Six thousand years your fellow-man And ever when he cursed I laugh'd, In this dark spot I've laid- And tender Indian maid; "Yet here they may no more remain; Of deeper, lonelier gloom; The forward banners shine: Anon a pale and silvery mist Was girdled round the moon : "Now marshal all the numerous host In one concentred band, 315 |