THE SONG OF NIGHT. I COME to thee, O Earth! With all my gifts :-for every flower, sweet dew, Not one which glimmering lies I come with every star : Making thy streams, that on their noon-day track I come with peace; I shed Sleep through thy wood-walks o'er the honey-bee, The lark's triumphant voice, the fawn's young glee, The hyacinth's meek head. On my own heart I lay The weary babe, and, sealing with a breath I come with mightier things! Who calls me silent?—I have many tones: I waft them not alone From the deep organ of the forest shades, But in the human breast A thousand still small voices I awake, Strong in their sweetness from the soul to shake The mantle of its rest. T I bring them from the past: From true hearts broken, gentle spirits torn, I bring them from the tomb; I come with all my train : Who calls me lonely?-Hosts around me tread, Looks from departed eyes, These are my lightnings !-filled with anguish vain, They smite with agonies. I, that with soft control Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song, I, that shower dewy light Through slumbering leaves, bring storms!-the tempest birth Of memory, thought, remorse :-be holy, Earth! I am the solemn Night! THE HEBREW MOTHER. THE rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain, She led him; and her silent soul, the while, Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think So passed they on, And softly parting clusters of jet curls At last the fane was reached, The earth's one sanctuary; and rapture hushed Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm Alas! my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me, And silver cords again to earth have won me, How the lone paths retrace, where thou wert playing So late along the mountains at my side? And I, in joyous pride, By every place of flowers my course delaying, And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted! Will it not seem as if the sunny day Turned from its door away, While, through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted, "Under the palm-trees thou no more shall meet me, When from the fount at evening I return, With the full water-urn! Nor will thy sleep's low, dove-like murmurs greet me, "And thou, wilt slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee, Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed? Wilt thou not vainly spread Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, "What have I said, my child?—will He not hear thee And, in the hush of holy midnight near thee, "I give thee to thy God!-the God that gave thee, A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart! And, precious as thou art, And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee, And thou shalt be His child! Therefore, farewell!—I go! my soul may fail As the stag panteth for the water-brooks, Yearning for thy sweet looks! me, But thou, my firstborn! droop not, nor bewail me, The Rock of Strength,-farewell!" THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT. 'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound! And the knight look'd down from the Paynim's tower, And a Christian host, in its pride and power, Through the pass beneath him wound. Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill, Cease! let them hear the captive's voice,-be still! "I knew 'twas a trumpet's note! And I see my brethren's lances gleam, And their pennons wave, by the mountain stream, Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill, I am here, with my heavy chain ! And I look on a torrent, sweeping by, And an eagle, rushing to the sky, And a host, to its battle plain! Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill, Cease! let them hear the captive's voice,-be still! "Must I pine in my fetters here? With the wild wave's foam, and the free bird's flight, And the tall spears glancing on my sight, And the trumpet in mine ear? Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill, Cease! let them hear the captive's voice,-be still! They are gone! they have all pass'd by! Sound again, clarion! clarion, pour thy blast! THE TRUMPET. THE trumpet's voice hath roused the land, Light up the beacon-pyre! A hundred hills have seen the brand, And waved the sign of fire! |