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The sun went down on many a brow,
Which, full of bloom and freshness then, Is rankling in the pest-house now,
And ne'er will feel that sun again!
Woe to the half-dead wretch, who meets The glaring of those large blue eyes
Amid the darkness of the streets!
But see,—who yonder comes by stealth,
This melancholy bower to seek, Like a young envoy, sent by Health,
With rosy gifts upon her cheek? 'Tis she-far off through moonlight dim,
He knew his own betrothed bride, She, who would rather die with him,
Than live to gain the world beside !
«Poor race of Men!" said the pitying Spirit,
“Dearly ye pay for your primal fallSome flowerets of Eden ye still inherit,
But the trail of the Serpent is over them all!" She wept—the air grew pure and clear
Around her, as the bright drops ran;
Close by the lake, she heard the moan
Her arms are round her lover now,
His livid cheek to hers she presses, And dips, to bind his burning brow,
In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses. An!once, how little did he think An hour would come, when he should shrink With horror from that dear embrace,
Those gentle arms, that were to him
Of Eden's infant cherubim !
One who in life, where'er he moved,
Drew after him the hearts of many; Yet now, as though he ne'er were loved,
Dies here, unseen, unwept by any! None to watch near him-none to slake
The fire that in his bosom lies, With e'en a sprinkle from that lake,
Which shines so cool before his eyes. No voice, will know through many a day,
To speak the last, the parting word, Which, when all other sounds decay,
Is still like distant music heard. That tender farewell on the shore Of this rude world, when all is o'er, Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark Puts oft into the unknown dark.
“Oh! let me only breathe the air,
The blessed air, that's breathed by thee, And, whether on its wings it bear
Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me! There—drink my tears, while yet they fall,
Would that my bosom's blood were balm, And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all,
To give thy brow one minute's calm. Nay, turn not from me that dear face
Am I not thine—thy own loved bride-
In life or death is by thy side!
In this dim world, from thee hath shone, Could bear the long, the cheerless night,
That must be hers, when thou art gone?
Deserted youth! one thought alone
Shed joy around his soul in deathThat she, whom he for years had known, And loved, and might have call’d his own,
Was safe from this foul midnight's breath;Safe in her father's princely halls, Where the cool airs from fountain falls, Freshly perfumed by many a brand Of the sweet wood from India's land, Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd.
That I can live, and let thee go,
Her lover is no longer living!
Long kiss, which she expires in giving!
To one, who look'd from upper air
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of tearless rainbows, such as span
Banqueting through the flowery vales;And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine,
And woods, so full of nightingales!
“Sleep,” said the Peri, as softly she stole
Unearthly breathings through the place,
Such luster o'er each paly face,
Upon the eve of doomsday taken
While that benevolent Peri beam'd
Watch o'er them, till their souls would waken. But morn is blushing in the sky;
Again the Peri svars above,
Of pure, self-sacrificing love.
The Elysian palm she soon shall win,
Smiled as she gave that offering in; And she already hears the trees
Of Eden, with their crystal bells
That from the Throne of Alla swells;
Their first sweet draught of glory take!
Now, upon Syria's land of roses
And whitens with eternal sleet,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 1 “In the East, they suppose the Phænix, after living one thousand years, builds himself a funeral pile, sings a melodious air of different harmonies, tiaps his wings with a velocity which sets fire to the wood, and consumes himself.”
But naught can charm the luckless Peri;
Flinging their shadows from on high, Like dials, which the wizard, Time,
Had raised to count his ages by!
Yet haply there may lie conceal'd
Beneath those chambers of the sun,
With the great name of Solomon,
Which, spelld by her illumined eyes, May teach her where, beneath the moon, In earth or ocean lies the boon, The charm, that can restore so soon,
An erring Spirit to the skies!
Cheer'd by this hope, she bends her thither;
Still laughs the radiant eye of heaven,
Nor have the golden bowers of even In the rich west begun to wither;-) When, o'er the vale of Baalbec winging
Slowly, she sees a child at play,
As rosy and as wild as they;
1 The Temple of the Sun at Baalbec.
When, young and haply pure as thou,
And, near the boy, who tired with play,
From his hot steed, and on the brink
Impatient Aling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd
To the fair child, who fearless sat, Though never yet hath daybeam burn'd
Upon a brow more fierce than that,Sullenly fierce—a mixture dire, Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire; In which the Peri's eye could read Dark tales of many a ruthless deed; The ruin'd maid—the shrine profaned Oaths broken and the threshold stain'd With blood of guests!—there written, all, Black as the damning drops that fall From the denouncing angel's pen, Ere Mercy weeps them out again!
Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!
In whose benign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense
Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.
“There's a drop," said the Peri, “that down from tho
The precious tears of repentance fall?
One heavenly drop hath dispell’d them all!"
Yet tranquil now that man of crime
Met that unclouded joyous gaze
Encounter morning's glorious rays.
'Twas when the golden orb had set,
But hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
From Syria's thousand minarets!
Kneels, with his forehead to the south,
From purity's own cherub mouth, And looking, while his hands and eyes Are lifted to the glowing skies, Like a stray babe of Paradise, Just lighted on that flowery plain, And seeking for its home again! Oh, 'twas a sight—that heaven-that child A scene, which might have well beguiled E'en haughty Eblis of a sigh For glories lost and peace gone by! And how selt he, the wretched man Reclining there--while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace. “There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones—thou blessed child !
"Joy, joy forever! my task is doneThe gates are pass'd, and heaven is won! Oh! am I not happy? I am, I am
To thee, sweet Eden! how dark and sad Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam,'
And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad!
• Farewell, ye odors of earth, that die,
1 The miraculous drop, which is said to fall in Egypt precisely on St. John's day, is supposed to have the effect of stopping the plague.
The Country of Delight—the name of a province in Fairy Land, the capital of which is called the City of Jewels. Am. berabad is another of the cities of Jinnistan. 3 The tree Tooba, stands in Paradise in the palace of Mahomet.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act-act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'er head!
And I again am strong: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the echoes through the mountain throng,
Land and sea
Thou Child of Joy,
Thou happy Shepherd boy!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us
Footsteps on the sands of time:
Footsteps, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
Ye to each other make; I see
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
O evil day! if I were sullen
On every side,
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is filed the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLEC
TIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD.
To me did seem
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The moon doth with delight
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
And not in utter nakedness,
From God, who is our home:
Upon the growing boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
Is on his way attended;
III. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief,