« PreviousContinue »
TO A CHILD.
Tuy memory, as a spell Of love, comes o'er my mind As dew upon the purple bellAs perfume on the wind;As music on the seaAs sunshine on the river;So hath it always been to me, So shall it be for ever. I hear thy voice in dreams Upon me softly call, Like echoes of the mountain streams In sportive waterfall.. I see thy form as when Thou wert a living thing, And blossom'd in the eyes of men, Like any flower of spring. Thy soul to heaven hath fled, From earthly thraldom free: Yet, 't is not as the dead That thou appear'st to me. In slumber i behold Thy form, as when on earth, Thy locks of waving gold, Thy sapphire eye of mirth. I hear, in solitude, The prattle kind and free, Thou uttered’st in joyful mood While seated on my knee. So strong each vision seems, My spirit that doth fill, I think not they are dreams, But that thou livest still.
SONG. Fly to the desert, fly with me, Our Arab tents are rude for thee; But, oh! the choice what heart can doubt Of tents with love, or thrones without? Our rocks are rough, but smiling there The acacia waves her yellow hair, Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less For flowing in a wilderness. Our sands are bare, but down their slope The silvery-footed antelope As gracefully and gaily springs, As o'er the marble courts of kings. Then come,-thy Arab maid will be The loved and lone acacia-tree; The antelope, whose feet shall bless With their light sound thy loneliness. Oh! there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine through the heart, As if the soul that minute caught Some treasure it through life had sought;
As if the very lips and eyes
Come, if the love thou hast for me
Then, fare thee well, I'd rather make
THE snow! the snow!-t is a pleasant thing
To watch it falling, falling
As at some spirit's calling;
From teeming clouds let down, And earth is still, and air is mute,
As frost's enchanted zone.
The snow! the snow !-behold the trees
Their fingery boughs stretch out, The blossoms of the sky to seize,
As they duck and dive about:
And, ere the gray twilight,
An arctic cloak of white.
The snow! the snow !-alas! to me
It speaks of far-off days,
Amid the merry maze:
And my nerves all jangling feel, Blending with tones of voices shrill
The ring of the slider's heel.
The snow! the snow soon dusky night
Drew his murky curtains round
Peep'd from the blue profound.
Or warning bell remote?
And found the bliss we sought.
The snow! the snow!-'twas ours to wage,
How oft, a mimic war,
That left a gorgeous scar:
Till darkness none could find,
And caitiff chiefs behind.
The snow! the snow !-I see him yet,
That piled-up giant grim,
With Titan girth of limb.
Thy sceptre could have screen'd him;
And cruelly guillotined him!
Her starr'd map to the moon,
More bland than that of noon:
The fur-robed genii of the Pole
Dance o'er our mountains white,
And pearl the caves with light,
The snow! the snow !—It brings to mind
A thousand happy things,
Too sure that Time hath wings !
That tells of long ago ;
THE WINTER EVENING. HARK! 't is the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge, That with its wearisome but needful length Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright ;He comes, the herald of a noisy world, With spatter'd boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks; News from all nations lumb'ring at his back : True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind, Yet careless what he brings; his one concern, Is to conduct him to the destined inn; And, having dropp'd the expected bag, pass on. He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, Cold and yet cheerful, messenger of grief Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; To him indifferent whether grief or joy. Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks ; Births, deaths, and marriages; epistles wet
rs, that trickled down the writer's cheeks, Fast as the periods from his fluent quill ; Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains,