XIII.-ON READING PAUL AND VIRGINIA IN CHILDHOOD.
O GENTLE story of the Indian isle!
I loved thee in my lonely childhood well
On the sea-shore, when day's last purple smile
Slept on the waters, and their hollow swell
And dying cadence lent a deeper spell
Unto thine ocean-pictures. 'Midst thy palms
And strange bright birds, my fancy joy'd to dwell,
And watch the southern cross through midnight
calms,
And track the spicy woods. Yet more I bless'd
Thy vision of sweet love; kind, trustful, true,
Lighting the citron groves—a heavenly guest,
With such pure smiles as Paradise once knew.
Even then my young heart wept o'er the world's
To reach and blight that holiest Eden flower.
XIV.-A THOUGHT AT SUNSET.
STILL that last look is solemn! though thy rays,
O sun! to-morrow will give back, we know,
The joy to nature's heart. Yet through the glow
Of clouds that mantle thy decline, our gaze
Tracks thee with love half fearful; and in days
When earth too much adored thee, what a swell
Of mournful passion, deepening mighty lays,
Told how the dying bade thy light farewell,
O sun of Greece! O glorious, festal sun!
Lost, lost for them thy golden hours were done,
And darkness lay before them! Happier far
Are we, not thus to thy bright wheels enchain'd,
Not thus for thy last parting unsustain'd,
Heirs of a purer day, with its unsetting star.
XV.-IMAGES OF PATRIARCHAL LIFE.
CALM scenes of patriarch life!—how long a power
Your unworn pastoral images retain
O'er the true heart, which in its childhood's hour
Drank their pure freshness deep! The camels' train
Winding in patience o'er the desert plain—
The tent, the palm-tree, the reposing flock,
The gleaming fount, the shadow of the rock,
Oh! by how subtle, yet how strong a chain,
And in the influence of its touch how bless'd,
Are these things link'd, in many a thoughtful breast,
To household memories, for all change endear'd!
The matin bird, the ripple of a stream
Beside our native porch-the hearth-light's gleam,
The voices, earliest by the soul revered!
XVI. ATTRACTION OF THE EAST.
WHAT Secret current of man's nature turns
Unto the golden east with ceaseless flow?
Still, where the sunbeam at its fountain burns,
The pilgrim spirit would adore and glow;
Rapt in high thoughts, though weary, faint and
Still doth the traveller through the deserts wind
Led by those old Chaldean stars, which know
Where pass'd the shepherd fathers of mankind.
Is it some quenchless instinct, which from far
Still points to where our alienated home
Lay in bright peace? O thou true eastern star
Saviour! atoning Lord! where'er we roam,
Draw still our hearts to thee; else, else how vain
Their hope, the fair lost birthright to regain.
XVII. TO AN AGED FRIEND.*
Not long thy voice amongst us may be heard,
Servant of God!-thy day is almost done;
The charm now lingering in thy look and word
Is that which hangs about thy setting sun,
That which the spirit of decay hath won
Still from revering love. Yet doth the sense
Of life immortal-progress but begun-
Pervade thy mien with such clear eloquence,
That hope, not sadness, breathes from thy decline ;
And the loved flowers which round thee smile fare-
Of more than vernal glory seem to tell,
By thy pure spirit touch'd with light divine; While we, to whom its parting gleams are given, Forget the grave in trustful thoughts of heaven.
*The late Dr Percival of Dublin.
COME forth, and let us through our hearts receive The joy of verdure!—see, the honied lime
Showers cool green light o'er banks where wildflowers weave
Thick tapestry; and woodbine tendrils climb
Up the brown oak from buds of moss and thyme.
The rich deep masses of the sycamore
Hang heavy with the fulness of their prime,
And the white poplar, from its foliage hoar,
Scatters forth gleams like moonlight, with each gale
That sweeps the boughs-the chestnut flowers are
past,
The crowning glories of the hawthorn fail,
But arches of sweet eglantine are cast
From every hedge:-Oh! never may we lose,
Dear friend! our fresh delight in simplest nature's hues!
FATHER in Heaven! from whom the simplest flower
On the high Alps or fiery desert thrown,
Draws not sweet odour or young life alone,
But the deep virtue of an inborn power
To cheer the wanderer in his fainting hour,
With thoughts of Thee; to strengthen, to infuse
Faith, love, and courage, by the tender hues
That speak thy presence; oh! with such a dower Grace thou my song -the precious gift bestow From thy pure Spirit's treasury divine,
To wake one tear of purifying flow,
To soften one wrung heart for Thee and thine;
So shall the life breathed through the lowly strain,
Be as the meek wild-flower's-if transient, yet not
vain.
"What in me is dark
Illumine; what is low raise and support."
FAR are the wings of intellect astray,
That strive not, Father! to thy heavenly seat;
They rove, but mount not; and the tempests beat
Still on their plumes :-O source of mental day!
Chase from before my spirit's track the
Of mists and shadows, raised by earthly care
In troubled hosts that cross the purer air,
And veil the opening of the starry way,
Which brightens on to thee!-Oh! guide thou right
My thought's weak pinion, clear mine inward sight,
The eternal springs of beauty to discern,
Welling beside thy throne; unseal mine ear,
Nature's true oracles in joy to hear:
Keep my soul wakeful still to listen and to learn.
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