Into a cup the folded linden leaf, And dipped thy sliding crystal. From the wars Returning, the plumed soldier by thy side Has sat, and mused how pleasant 'twere to dwell At eve, In such a spot, and be as free as thou, And bind the motions of eternal change, And from the gushing of thy simple fount Is there no other change for thee, that lurks The pleasant landscape which thou makest green? Thy channel perish, and the bird in vain MARIUS SEATED ON THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE. BY MRS. M. L. CHILD. PILLARS are fallen at thy feet, Fanes quiver in the air, A prostrate city is thy seat, And thou alone art there. No change comes o'er thy noble brow, Thine eyebeam burns as proudly now, As when the laurel crowned thee. It cannot bend thy lofty soul 80 TO MARIUS. And genius hath electric power, Which earth can never tame; Bright suns may scorch, and dark clouds lower- The dreams we loved in early life, May melt like mist away; High thoughts may seem, mid passion's strife, Like Carthage in decay; And proud hopes in the human heart May be to ruin hurled; Like mouldering monuments of art Heaped on a sleeping world: Yet, there is something will not die, Where life hath once been fair; Some towering thoughts still rear on high, Some Roman lingers there! He wields the awful lightning-brand, Or, conquering, tramps right royally Or holds high carnival among The crashing mountain trees! His earthquakes shake the eternal hills And toss "old ocean's locks;" And the swift whirlwind spinning The mountain bald and pale, Raves wildly to the angry flood That thunders in the vale. He sows death in the red simoon, And cities shrink aghast; He speaks! and mist-wrapt pestilen In horrid gloom, moves past! Oh mighty is the Lord of Hosts! And from his throne of majesty, Upon the bended sky, Around the universe he casts His all-beholding eye! |