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Nor canst thou boast the many-tinted robe
Thine is a veil of gray,
Thou nurse of saddening thoughts, prolong thy stay,
Night's fire-embroider'd vest,
For I am sorrow's child, and thy cold showers,
For, oh! to me futurity appears
Nor seems one tint or star
To deck her furrow'd brow;
And pale my cold, sunk cheek. But see—the unwelcome Moon unveils her head, (Those hours are gone in which I hail'd her beams)
Distinctness spreads around,
I loathe the cheerful sight, as still my fate,
And, envy-struck, I shun
TO A LADY. Lady, too fair! the sleepless mariner,
With anxious heart, scanneth the midnight sky, On one bright star alone, though hosts shine near,
Fixing his eye.
For, though the sea in cloud-high waves may rise,
Though the storm rage, and felon winds rebel, He knows that sweet star beameth in the skies
Alas! for him who life's rough sea would try,
Fixing his gaze on meteors blazing far, Making the changeful beam of beauty's eye
His polar star.
The seaman trusts, indeed, nor trusts in vain,
For constant are the bright-eyed host of heaven; While the swift changing of the fickle main
To beauty's given.
But thou! who in the pride of beauty brave,
Shinest brighter than the fairest star on high, Take not thy pattern from the fickle wave,
But from the sky.
SONG FOR MAY-DAY.
And all earth is gay,
And now it is May! it is May!
It is May! it is May!
And we bless the day
And the slenderest spray
It is May! it is May!
And the flowers obey
And of perfumes—'Tis May! it is May!
And delights, that lay
THE FALLEN STAR.
There is a blank in heaven!
His airy course this even.
He sat upon the orb of fire
That hung for ages there; And lent his music to the choir
That haunts the nightly air.
But when his thousand years were past,
With a cherubic sigh
For even cherubs die.
Hark how his angel-brethren mourn,
The minstrels of the spheres! Each chiming sadly in his turn,
And dropping splendid tears.
The planetary sisters all.
Join in the mournful song,
Who sang with them so long.
But deepest of the choral band
The lunar Spirit sings,
Sweeps all her sullen strings.
From the bright chambers of the dome
Where sleepless Uriel lies,
Mingled with mighty sighs.
The thousand car-bound cherubim,
The wandering Eleven,
TO HER DAUGHTER ADA. THINE is the smile, and thine the bloom,
Where hope might fancy ripen'd charms; But mine is dyed in memory's gloom
Thou art not in a father's arms!
And there have own'd thou wert so dear, That, though my worldly all were lost,
I still had felt my life was here! What art thou now?-A monument,
Which rose to weep o'er buried love;A fond and filial mourner, sent
To dream of ties, restored above! Thou, Dove! who may'st not find a rest,
Save in this frail and shatter'd bark. A lonely mother's offer'd breast,
May Heaven provide a surer ark,
To bear thee over Sorrow's waves,
Which deluge still this world below! Till thou, through Him alone that saves,
A holier Ararat shalt know.
Nor think me frozen, if for thee
No earthly wish now claims a partToo dear such wish; too vain to me; Thou art not in a father's heart!
Returning fondly home,
Where idle warblers roam;