VERSES WRITTEN IN THE CHURCHYARD OF RICHMOND. HERBERT KNOWLES, 1798-1817. METHINKS it is good to be here, If thou wilt, let us build-but for whom? Nor Elias nor Moses appear, But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, Shall we build to Ambition? Ah! no: For see! they would pin him below To a small narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, To Beauty? Ah! no: she forgets The skin which, but yesterday, fools could adore Shall we build to the purple of Pride, The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside, And here's neither dress nor adornment allowed, To Riches? Alas! 'tis in vain, Who hid, in their turns have been hid; The treasures are squandered again; And here in the grave are all metals forbid, To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh, and the jeer? Ah! here is a plentiful board, But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah! no; they have withered and died, Or fled with the spirit above, Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side, Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot grieve,— Not a sob, not a sigh, meets mine ear Which compassion itself could relieve; Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, or fear; Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? Ah! no; for his empire is known, And here there are trophies enow; Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone, The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to rise; The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfill'd; And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice, Who bequeathed us them both when He rose to the skies. SECTION IV. SELECTIONS IN POETRY, FROM MODERN AUTHORS. HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. S. T. COLERIDGE. HAST thou a charm to stay the morning-star In his steep course? So long he seems to pause O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought: entranc'd in prayer, Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy, Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfus'd Into the mighty vision passing-there, As in her natural form, swell'd vast to heaven! Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the Vale! Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink : And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, And who commanded (and the silence came), Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice! And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, Ye living flowers that skirt th' eternal frost ! Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene To rise before me,-rise, oh, ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth! THE VOICE OF SPRING. MRS. HEMANS. I COME, I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut-flowers By thousands have burst from the forest-bowers: |