« PreviousContinue »
It sheds a halo of repose
Around the wrecks of Time ;To beauty give the flaunting rose,
The wall-flower is sublime. Flower of the solitary place!
Gray ruin's golden crown!
To haunts of old renown;
By strife or storm decay'd;
Time's canker-tooth hath made.
Thy roots outspread the ramparts o'er,
Where, in war's stormy day,
In battle's grim array:
The beacon on the hill
But thou art blooming still !
That fill'd the abbey's nave?
O'er many a level grave;
Her young brood nurseth well, Whilst thou, lone flower, dost shed above
A sweet decaying smell.
In the season of the tulip cup,
When blossoins clothe the trees, How sweet to throw the lattice up,
And scent thee on the breeze!
The bee is on the wing,
The linnets sit and sing.
Sweet wall-flower, sweet wall-flower!
Thou conjurest up to me
Of boyhood's thoughtless glee,
In woodland pastures green,
Than since they e'er have been.
Now autumn's pensive voice is heard
Amid the yellow bowers, The robin is the regal bird,
And thou the Queen of Flowers!
Amid the twilight dim,
Such scents as thou to him.
The rose is summer's guest;
Of flowers, first, last, and best !
And statelier on the tree,
THOUGHT IN A BALL-ROOM.
THE room is like the heaven of eve,
In floating beauty there.
Along the sleeping flowers.!
Some crimson-edged, resplendent sail,
In plenitude of ease :
And so smiles now this rose-wreath'd room,
The maidens of the night.
And yonder trips a blue-eyed troop,
All languid with their bloom!
And near them glides a gentle pair
Partakers of their joy.
Upon each cheek the blood-stream warms, While tinctured with their Paphian charms, The maidens twine their ivory arms
And circle through the dance.
Like sunshine shivering on the lake,
With heart-beams in their eye.
Then why amid the heaven of joy
The elysium of the hour?
With cold condemning cares
Some hearts will pine, and some will weep,
Ere we meet here again!
PASSAGE OF THE BERESINA.
The haggard French,
With maniac haste They throng the bridge, those fugitives of France, Reckless of all, save that last, desperate chance Rush, struggle, strive, the powerful thrust the weak, And crush the dying.
Hark! a thundering crash, A cry of horror! Down the broken bridge Sinks, and the wretched multitude plunge deep ’Neath the devouring tide. That piercing shriek With which they took their farewell of the sky Did haunt the living, as some doleful ghost Troubleth the fever-dream. Some for a while, With ice and death contending, sink and rise, While some in wilder agony essay To hold their footing on that tossing mass Of miserable life, making their path O'er palpitating bosoms. "Tis in vain! The keen pang passes, and the satiate flood Shuts silent o'er its prey.
The sever'd host Stand gazing on each shore. The gulf—the dead Forbid their union. One sad throng is warn'd To Russia's dungeons, one with shivering haste Spread o'er the wild, through toil and pain to hew Their many roads to death. From desert plains, From sack'd and solitary villages Gaunt Famine springs to seize them; Winter's wrath Unresting day or night, with blast and storm, And one eternal magazine of frost, Smites the astonish'd victims.
God of Heaven! Warrest thou with France, that thus thine elements Do fight against her sons! Yet on they press, Stern, rigid, silent-every bosom steeld By the strong might of its own misery Against all sympathy of kindred ties. The brother on his fainting brother treads Friend tears from friend the garment and the bread