Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub
[graphic][merged small][merged small][subsumed]

But, lovely child! thy magic stole
At once into my inmost soul,
With feelings as thy beauty fair,
And left no other vision there.

To me thy parents are unknown;
Glad would they be their child to own!
And well they must have loved before,
If since thy birth they loved not more.
Thou art a branch of noble stem,
And, seeing thee, I figure them.
What many a child'ess one would give,
If thou in their still home would'st live!
Though in thy face no family line
Might sweetly say, "This babe is mine!"
In time thou would'st become the same
As their own child,-all but the name!

How happy must thy parents be
Who daily live in sight of thee!
Whose hearts no greater pleasure seek
Than see thee smile, and hear thee speak,
And feel all natural griefs beguiled
By thee, their fond, their duteous child.
What joy must in their souls have stirred
When thy first broken words were heard;
Words, that, inspired by Heaven, expressed
The transports dancing in thy breast!
And for thy smile!-thy lip, cheek, brow,
Even while I gaze are kindling now.

I called thee duteous; am I wrong?
No! truth I feel is in my song:
Duteous thy heart's still beatings move
To God, to Nature, and to Love!
To God!-for thou, a harmless child,
Hast kept his temple undefiled:
To Nature!-for thy tears and sighs
Obey alone her mysteries:

To Love!-for fiends of hate might see
Thou dwell'st in love and love in thee!
What wonder then, though in thy dreams
Thy face with mystic meaning beams!

Oh! that my spirit's eye could see
Whence burst those gleams of ecstasy
That light of dreaming soul appears
To play from thoughts above thy years.
Thou smilest as if thy soul were soaring
To Heaven, and Heaven's God adoring!
And who can tell what visions high
May bless an infant's sleeping eye!
What brighter throne can brightness find,
To reign on than an infant's mind,
Ere sin destroy, or error dim,
The glory of the Seraphim?

COLISEUM.

BY EDGAR A. POE.

TYPE of the antique Rome' rich reliquary Of lofty contemplation, left to Time By buried centuries of pomp and power! At length, at length-after so many days Of weary pilgrimage, and burning thirst, (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) I kneel, an alter'd and an humble man, Within thy shadows-and so drink, within My very soul, thy grandeur, gloom, and glory. Vastness, and age, and memories of old: Silence, and desolation, and dim night! I fec. ye now-I feel ye in your strength. O, spells more sure than e'er Judæan king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane! O, charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls! Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair Waved to the wind. now wave the reed and thistle! Here, where on golden throne the CESAR sate, On bed of moss lies gloating the foul adder! Here, where on ivory couch the monarch loll'd,

« ПредишнаНапред »