Thought, dream, and action,—ev'ry pulse of soul
The awe of Christ will solemnly control:
Girt by the Spirit, wheresoe'er they rove,
True faith is feeding on His breath of love.
Nature is now a more than nature far;
Each miracle of sun, or moon, or star,
Each sight, and sense, and sound of outward things
Seems haunted by august imaginings ;
A dream of Calvary around her floats,
And oft the dew of those delicious notes
By angels once in Bethlehem's valley pour'd
Descends, with all their melody restored,
Till-peace on earth! to pardon'd man, goodwill!
With tones of heaven the ear of fancy fill.
CALM AFTER A TEMPEST.
THE Tempest dies, the winds have tamed their ire,
The sea-birds hover on enchanted wing;
And, save a throb of thunder faintly heard,
And ebbing knell-like o'er yon western deep,
That now lies panting with a weary swell,
Like a worn monster at his giant length
Gasping, with foam upon his troubled mane,
No sound of elemental wrath is heard ;
The Sun is up! look where he proudly comes,
In blazing triumph wheeling o'er the earth,
A victor in full glory! At his gaze
The heavens magnificently smile, and beam
With many a sailing cloud-isle sprinkled o'er,
In sumptuous array.
CHEERLESSNESS OF CELIBACY.
ALAS! for them whose toil-worn days,
Uncheer'd by Love's adorning rays,
In wintry loneliness depart,
Yet fret the bloom from out the heart;
Though Life, as lord of each desire,
To intellectual thrones aspire,
May win the laurel, wear the crown,
And madden envy with renown,—
How much beyond what dreams bestow
Their loveless hours can never know!
With nothing but cold self to please.
The waters of the spirit freeze,
And years but harden while they chill
A bosom left unsocial still:
And like a tree by autumn shorn
Of all that summer boughs had borne,-
A leafless, bare, and blighted thing,
Where scarce a breeze will deign to sing,-
Is man bereft of that control
That flashes from a female soul.
For heart with heart was born to beat,
And soul with soul was made to meet,
And sex for sex designed to be
The dawn of endless sympathy !—
CHRIST STILLS THE TEMPEST.
THE air was toned with sadness, like a sigh
Of broken hearts, or moan of guilty dreams
When midnight is confessor! O'er the lake
There ran a sudden and a breezy life,
Till ripples flash'd, and bubbling foam began
To whiten o'er the waters: in the sky
No mercy dawns! for all is scowling there,
And savage clouds are in funereal march,
Benighting heaven with one enormous gloom!
But hark! with ominous array
it comes,
Creation's tyrant !-list, the tempest howls;
The south-east sends her hurricane, and back
The Jordan with affrighted motion rolls!
The lake upheaves her dark and dreadful might,
Till billows writhe in agonizing play
Along the surface!—loud and living shapes
Of water, battling with the winds they seem,
And make a thunder wheresoe'er they move!-
In that wild hour, when star nor moon reveal'd
A solace, and the only light that gleam'd,
Shone when the lightning with a wizard flash
Call'd the dun mountains into dreary form
And station!-then the pale disciples ran
And cried,' We perish! save us, Lord! arise!'
He heard; He rose; and while the vessel creak'd,
And cordage rattled in the roaring gale
Like wither'd branches in a forest-wind,
Till o'er the deck the climbing billows rush'd,
And darken'd round her with devouring yell!
His hand He wav'd, the rolling storm rebuked,-
The Tempest knew her God,-and all was still!
OH! thou, whose eloquence and wit combined
To make their throne the heart of all mankind;
Whom Mem❜ry visions in his wonted place
Where passions lighten'd o'er a speaking face,
And sounds of feeling from the soul were heard,
While music hung on every magic word,-
Regretted Canning! oft has Christchurch seen
Thine eye of glory sparkle round her scene.
From Eton famed, where noble merit shone
In each young theme thy genius glanced upon,
Her walls receiv'd thee! where thy talents grew,
Bright in the welcome of her fost❜ring view,
Till glowing Senates mark'd thy spirit rise,
And England hail'd it with adoring eyes !—
Alas! that in thy fame's triumphant bloom,
The shades of death hung grimly o'er thy doom!
A frame too weak a fiery spirit wore,
And Mind prevail'd till life's last pulse was o'er!
Thy funeral knell,-oh! when I heard it moan
Like the deep echo of a nation's groan,
And thought how soon thy glorious sun had set!
I felt a sadness that doth linger yet:
But had I, demon-like, e'er wing'd the dart
Whose poison fed upon thy feeling heart,
Inflicted pangs where only praise was due,
And vilely thwarted ev'ry nobler view;
A more than melanch❜ly for him who died,
Slain by the weapons which renown supplied,
My soul had borne; and, wrung with inward shame,
Curs'd the dark hour that wounded Canning's fame!
CLOSE OF A BEAUTIFUL DAY.
-THE day declines, and to his throne The sun is wheeling. What a world of pomp The heavens put on in homage to his power! Romance hath never hung a richer sky,Or sea of sunshine, o'er whose aureate deep Triumphal barks of beauteous form career,As though the clouds held festival, to hail Their god of glory to his western home. And now the earth is mirror'd on the skies! While lakes and valleys, drown'd in dewy light, And rich delusions, dazzlingly array'd,
Form, float, and die in all their phantom joy.
At length the Sun is throned; but from his face
A flush of beauty o'er Creation flows,
That brightens into rapturous farewell!
Then faints to paleness; for the day hath sunk
Beneath the waters, dash'd with ruby dyes,
And Twilight in her nun-like meekness comes;
The air is fragrant with the soul of flowers,
The breeze comes panting like a child at play,
While birds, day-worn, are couch'd in leafy bowers
And, calm as clouds, the sunken billows sleep:
The dimness of a dream o'er Nature steals,
Yet hallows it; a hush'd enchantment reigns;
The mountains to a mass of mellowing shade
Are turn'd, and stand like temples of the night
While field and forest, fading into gloom,
Depart, and rivers whisper sounds of fear.-
|