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Sure, 't was a thing for angels to have seen,
When God did hang those lustres through the sky;
And Darkness, turning pallid, sought to screen
With dusky wing her dazed and haggard eye ;
But 't was in vain-for, pierced with light, she died;
And now her timid ghost dares only brood
O'er planets in their midnight solitude,
Doom'd all the day in ocean's caves to hide.
Thou burning axle of a mighty wheel!
Dost thou afflict the beings of thy ray
With feelings such as we on earth must feel-
Pride, passion, envy, hatred, agony ?
Doth any weep o'er blighted hope? or curse
That hour thy light first usher'd them to life?
Or malice, keener than the assassin's knife,
Stab in the dark ? or hollow friendship, worse,
Skill'd round the heart with viper coil to wind,
Forsake, and leave his sleepless sting behind!
No! If I deem'd it, I should cease to look
Beyond the scene where thousands know such ills;
Nor longer read that brightly-letter'd book
Which heaven unfolds, whose page of beauty fills
The breast with hope of an immortal lot,
When tears are dried, and injuries forgot.
Oh, then the soul, no longer earthward weigh’d,
Shall soar tow'rds heaven on exulting wing.
Among the joys past Fancy's picturing:
It may be one to scan, through space display'd,
Those wondrous works our blindness now debars
The awful secrets written in the stars.


Night's wing is on the east-the clouds repose
Like weary armies of the firmament,
Encamp'd beneath their vanes of pearl and rose,
Till the wind's sudden trumpet through them sent,
Shakes their pavilions, and their pomps are blent

In rich confusion. Now the air is fill'd
With thousand odours, sigh'd by blossoms bent

In closing beauty, where the dew distillid
From Evening's airy urns their purple lips has chill'd.

Twilight has come in saffron mists embower'd,
For the broad sun on the Atlantic surge,
Now sparkling in the fiery flashes shower'd
From his swift wheels—the forest vapours urge
Their solemn wings above-white stars emerge
From the dark east, like spires of mountain snows
Touch'd by the light upon th’horizon's verge;

Just rising from her sleep, the young Moon shows, Supine upon the clouds, her cheeks suffused with rose.

This is the loveliest hour of all that Day
Calls upwards through its kingdom of the air. -
The sights and sounds of earth have died away;
Above, the clouds are roll'd against the glare
Of the red west-high volumed waves, that war
Against a diamond promontory's side,
Crested with one sweet, solitary star,

That like a watch-fire trembles o'er the tide, Brightning with every shade that on its surge doth ride.


Hail, and farewell, thou lovely guest,

may not woo thy stay,
The hues that paint thy glowing vest

Are fading fast away,
Like the retiring tints that die
At evening on the western sky,

And melt in misty gray.
It was but now thy radiant smile

Broke through the season's gloom,
As, bending, I inhaled a while

Thy breathing of perfume;

And traced on every silken leaf
A tale of summer, sweet and brief,

And sudden as thy doom.

The morning sun thy petals hail'd

New from their mossy cell,
At eve his beam, in sorrow veil'd,

Bade thee a last farewell ;
To-morrow's ray shall mark the spot
Where, loosen'd from their fairy knot,

Thy withering beauties fell.

Alas! on thy forsaken stem

My heart shall long recline,
And mourn the transitory gem,

And make the story mine;
So on my joyless winter hour
Has oped some fair and fragrant flower,

With smile as soft as thine.

Like thee, the vision came and went,

Like thee, it bloom'd and fell,
In momentary pity sent

Of fairer climes to tell,
So frail its form, so short its stay,
Thạt naught the lingering heart could say
But, Hail, and Fare thee well!


ON THE STARRY FIRMAMENT. I GAZE upon yon orbs of light

The countless stars that gem the sky; Each in its sphere serenely bright,

Wheeling its course-how silently! While in the mantle of the night

Earth, and its cares and troubles lie.

Temple of light and loveliness,

And throne of grandeur, can it be That souls, whose kindred loftiness

Nature hath framed to rise to thee,
Should pine within this narrow space,

This prison of mortality ?
What madness from the path of right

For ever leads our steps astray,
That, reckless of thy pure delight,

We turn from this divine array,
To chase a shade that mocks the sight-

A good that vanisheth away.
Awake, ye mortals ! raise your eyes

To these eternal starry spheres ; Look on these glories of the skies,

And see how poor this world appears, With all its pomps and vanities

With all its hopes and all its fears. Who can look forth upon this blaze

Of heavenly lamps, so brightly shining Through the unbounded void of

spaceA hand unseen their course assigning All moving with unequal pace,

Yet in harmonious concord joining : Who sees the silver chariot move

Of the bright moon; and, gliding slow, The star whose influence from above

Sheds knowledge on the world below; And the resplendent Queen of Love

All bright and beautifully glow: Or, where the angry God of War

Rolls fiercely on his bloody way, And near the mild majestic star

That o'er the gods of old held sway; That beams his radiance from afar,

And calms the heavens beneath his ray:

Where Saturn shows his distant beam,

God of the golden days of yore;
Or where the countless stars, that seem

Thick as the sand upon the shore,
From their eternal seats a stream

Of glory and of radiance pour :
Who that hath seen these splendours roll,

And gazed on this majestic scene,
But sigh'd to 'scape this world's control,

Spurning its pleasures poor and mean,
To burst the bonds that bind the soul,
And pass the gulf that yawn'd between?


HUMAN LIFE. THE lark has sung his carol in the sky; The bees have humm’d their noontide lullaby ; Still in the vale the village bells ring round, Still in Llewellyn-hall the jesls resound : For now the caudle-cup is circling there, Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer, And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire The babe, the sleeping image of his Sire. A few short years, and then these sounds shall hail The day again, and gladness fill the vale : So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, Eager to run the race his fathers ran. Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin ; The ale, new brew'd, in floods of amber shine; And basking in the chimney's ample blaze, 'Mid many a tale told of his boyish days, The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled, “ 'Twas on these knees he sat so oft, and smiled." And soon again shall music swell the breeze; Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees

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