Hope grew fear, and fear grew hope, Till both alike were done: And the bride lay down in her grave alone, Years pass'd, and of that goodly ship Nothing of tidings came; Till, in after-time, when her fate had grown But a tale of fear and a name It was beneath a tropic sky The tale was told to me; The sailor who told, in his youth had been He said it was fearful to see them stand, For frost had done one-half life's part, Look'd the dead of yesterday. Peace to the souls of the graveless dead! THE MINSTREL'S MONITOR. SILENT and dark as the source of yon river, Whose birth-place we know not, and seek not to know, Though wild as the flight of the shaft from yon quiver, Like prisoners escaped during night from their prison, The waters fling gayly their spray to the sun; Who can tell me from whence that glad river has risen? Who can say whence it springs in its beauty?— not one. O my heart, and my song, which is as my heart's flowing, Read thy fate in yon river, for such is thine own! 'Mid those the chief praise on thy music bestowing, Who cares for the lips from whence issue the tone? Dark as its birth-place so dark is my spirit, Whence yet the sweet waters of melody came: "Tis the long after-course, not the source, will inherit The beauty and glory of sunshine and fame. THE SPIRIT AND THE ANGEL SPIRIT. I have been over the joyous earth, pearls, As an Eastern queen had unbound her curls, I saw a crimson rose, like an urn Wherein a thousand odours burn; It grew in the shade, but the place was bright Is the course of its waves as in music they flow. With the glory and glow of its fragrant light. The lily flings o'er it its silver white blossom, slumbers On the stream, as it loved the bright place of its rest; And its waves pass in song, as the sea shell's soft numbers Had given to those waters their sweetest and best. The banks that surround it are flower-dropt and sunny; Then a young lover came beside its dwelling, The tale was told in the sunny noon, I have been where the azure violet dwells; Next o'er a noble city I swept,— There the first birth of violets' odour-showers And its stately columns arose on the air weep There the bee heaps his earliest treasure of honey, Or sinks in the depths of the harebell to sleep. As cut from snow mountains-they were so fair. The voung and the gay were at festival: The cheek of rose flush'd a redder dye; Thence I went in the twilight dim, That dwelt at peace in their holy fane. Victory had dyed it of meteor red; Floating scarfs show'd their broider'd fold, In sooth, this earth is a lovely place; ANGEL OF DEATH. Thou has seen on earth, as a passer by, But the outward show of mortality: Go, let the veil from thine eyes depart; Search the secrets of every heart; Then come and say, are they not ripe for me. I have heard the voice of sorrow and pain; I saw a shining almond tree fling A cold breath came from the northern air; As she cut her path through the frothing wave. I heard, on the night-wind borne along, But look'd I now on the minstrel's thought- Work of wasting; pining for fame, I have watch'd the young,-there are thorns with their bloom; The gay, but their inward heart was gloom; I have seen the snake steal amid flowers; THE LOST STAR. A LIGHT is gone from yonder sky, A darkness on the night ?— And none think heaven less bright! What wert thou star of?-vanish'd one! What was thy sway and sign? And is it then for thee, Its frank glad thoughts, its stainless truth, So early cease to be? Of hope?-and was it to express An echo flung the winds among, Or didst thou sink as stars whose light Didst thou fade gradual from the time The first great curse was hurl'd, Till lost in sorrow and in crime, Star of our early world? Forgotten and departed star! A thousand glories shine u 2 O, love is strong!-the mother's heart One eve a light shone round her bed, "Lo! mother, see my shroud is dry, And down within the silent grave He laid his weary head; And soon the early violets Grew o'er his grassy bed. The mother went her household ways- And only ask'd of Heaven its aid THE CHURCHYARD. The shadow of the church falls o'er the ground, Make the spot sacred with themselves, and wake THE willow shade is on the ground, Flings down upon the lonely flowers A moment's sunshine, bright and briefA blessing look'd by passing hours. Those sweet, vague sounds are on the air, Half sleep, half song-half false, half true, As if the wind that brought them there Had touch'd them with its music too. It is the very place to dream Away a twilight's idle rest; Where Thought floats down a starry stream, With a shadow on its breast. Where Wealth, the fairy gift's our own, I cannot muse beside that mound- Where Death his restingplace has made. I feel my heart beat but to think And not feel kindred to its clay. There is a name upon the stone- Ere all of life save breath is fled: But thou, thy heart and cheek were brightNo check, no soil had either known; The angel natures of yon sky Will only be to thee thine own. Thou knew'st no rainbow hopes that weep Themselves away to deeper shade; Nor Love, whose very happiness Should make the wakening heart afraid. The green leaves e'en in spring they fall, The tears the stars at midnight weep, The dewy wild-flowers-such as these Are fitting mourners o'er thy sleep. For human tears are lava-drops, That scorch and wither as they flow; Then let them flow from those who live, And not for those who sleep below. O, weep for those whose silver chain Has long been loosed, and yet live onThe doom'd to drink of life's dark wave, Whose golden bowl has long been gone! Ay, weep for those, the wearied, worn, Dragg'd downward by some earthly tie, By some vain hope, some vainer love, Who loathe to live, yet fear to die. |