We know not, and we ne'er may know,
The hidden springs of joy and wo
That deep within thee lie:
The silent workings of thy heart,
They almost seem to have a part
With our humanity!
BELINDA! the young blossom that doth lie
So lightly on thy bosom, clasp it there:
For on her brow an empress doth not wear,
Nor in her jewell'd zone, a gem more fair,
Or that doth deck her more becomingly.
Forget not, then, that deep within thy flower
The germes lie hid of lovelier, holier things:
Filial affection, that spontaneous springs;
High truth and maiden purity; the power
That comes of gentleness; ay, and more,
Piety, nourish'd in the bosom's core :
These, if so cherish'd, shall thy blossom bear,
And with the dews of heavenly love impearl'd,
It shall adorn thee in another world.
Он, pure and gentle ones, within your ark
Securely rest!
Blue be the sky above; your quiet bark
By soft winds bless'd!
Still toil in duty and commune with Heaven,
World-wean'd and free:
God to his humblest creatures room has given,
And space to be.
Space for the eagle in the vaulted sky
To plume his wing;
Space for the ringdove by her young to lie,
And softly sing.
Space for the sunflower, bright with yellow glow,
To court the sky;
Space for the violet, where the wild woods grow,
To live and die.
Space for the ocean, in its giant might,
To swell and rave;
Space for the river, tinged with rosy light,
Where green banks wave.
Space for the sun, to tread his path in might
And golden pride;
Space for the glow-worm, calling, by her light,
Then, pure and gentle ones, within
Blue be the skies above, and your still bark
By kind winds bless'd.
THE ROSE-TREE AT THE BIRTHPLACE OF WASHINGTON.
BRIGHT rose! what dost thou here, amid
These sad mementoes of the past?
The crumbling stones thy roots have hid,
The bramble's shade is o'er thee cast,
Yet still thy glowing beauty seems
Fair as young childhood's happy dreams.
The sunbeam on the heaving surf
Proclaims the tempest's rage is o'er;
The violet, on the frozen turf,
Breathes of the smiling spring once more;
But, rose, thy mission to the heart,
In things that alter, hath no part.
The mossgrown ruins round are spread,
Scarce rescued from earth's trodden mass,
And time-scathed trees, whose branches dead
Lie cumbering o'er the matted grass :
These tell the tale of life's brief day,
Hope, toil, enjoyment, death, decay!
The common record this of man,
We read, regret, and pass it by,
And rear the towers that deck our span,
Above the grave where nations lie;
And heroes, who like meteors shone,
Are, like that meteor's flashings, gone.
But, radiant rose, thy beauty breaks
Like eve's first star upon the sight;
A holier hue the vision takes,
The ruins shine with heaven's clear light;
His name, who placed thy root in earth,
Doth consecrate thy place of birth.
Yet 'tis not here his wreath we twine,
Nor here that Freedom's chief we praise,
The stars at rising softer shine,
Than when o'er night's dark vault they blaze; Not here, with Washington's great name, Blend his achievements or his fame.
But brighter, holier is the ray
Which rests on this devoted ground;
Here pass'd his childhood's happy day,
Here glory's bud meet culture found:
Maternal smiles, and tears, and prayer,
These were its light, its dew, its air.
Bright rose! for this thy flower hath sprung,
The mother's steadfast love to show;
Thy odour on the gale is flung,
As pours that love its lavish flow:
The mother's lot with hope to cheer,
Type of her heart, thou bloomest here.
LIGHT as love's smiles, the silvery mist at morn
Floats in loose flakes along the limpid river;
The bluebird's notes, upon the soft breeze borne,
As high in air she carols, faintly quiver;
The weeping birch, like banners idly waving,
Bends to the stream, its spicy branches laving;
Beaded with dew the witch elm's tassels shiver;
The timid rabbit from the furze is peeping,
[ing.
And from the springy spray the squirrel's gayly leap-
I love thee, Autumn, for thy scenery, ere
The blasts of winter chase the varied dyes
That gayly deck the slow-declining year;
I love the splendour of thy sunset skies,
The gorgeous hues that tinge each falling leaf,
Lovely as Beauty's cheek, as woman's love too
brief;
I love the note of each wild bird that flies,
As on the wind she pours her parting lay, [away.
And wings her loitering flight to summer climes
Oh, Nature! still I fondly turn to thee
With feelings fresh as e'er my childhood's were; Though wild and passion-toss'd my youth may be, Towards thee I still the same devotion bear; To thee to thee-though health and hope no more Life's wasted verdure may to me restore
I still can, childlike, come as when in prayer
I bow'd my head upon a mother's knee,
And deem'd the world, like her, all truth and purity.
TIME! thou destroy'st the relics of the past,
And hidest all the footprints of thy march
On shatter'd column and on crumbled arch,
By moss and ivy growing green and fast.
Hurl'd into fragments by the tempest-blast,
The Rhodian monster lies: the obelisk,
That with sharp line divided the broad disc
Of Egypt's sun, down to the sands was cast:
And where these stood, no remnant-trophy stands,
And even the art is lost by which they rose :
Thus, with the monuments of other lands,
The place that knew them now no longer knows. Yet triumph not, oh Time; strong towers decay, But a great name shall never pass away!
To see a fellow of a summer's morning,
With a large foxhound of a slumberous eye
And a slim gun, go slowly lounging by,
About to give the feather'd bipeds warning,
That probably they may be shot hereafter,
Excites in me a quiet kind of laughter;
For, though I am no lover of the sport
Of harmless murder, yet it is to me
Almost the funniest thing on earth to see
A corpulent person, breathing with a snort,
Go on a shooting frolic all alone;
For well I know that when he's out of town,
He and his dog and gun will all lie down,
And undestructive sleep till game and light are flown.
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