Yet from her own meek eyelids chas'd the sleep And softly parting clusters of jet curls At last the Fane was reach'd, It rose, a mountain of white marble, steep'd Turn'd from the white-rob'd 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 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 Turn'd from its door away, While, thro' its chambers wandering weary-hearted, Went like a singing rill? Under the palm-trees, thou no more shalt meet me, With the full water-urn! Nor will thy sleep's low, dove-like murmurs greet me, And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee 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, 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 me, As the stag panteth for the water-brooks, Yearning for thy sweet looks! But thou, my First-born! droop not, nor bewail me, The Rock of Strength-farewell !" HEMANS. POWER AND GENTLENESS. NOBLE the mountain-stream, Bursting in grandeur from its vantage-ground; Glory is in its gleam Of brightness ;-thunder in its deafening sound! Mark, how its foamy spray, Tinged by the sun-beams with reflected dyes, Mimics the bow of day Arching in majesty the vaulted skies; Thence, in a Summer-shower, Steeping the rocks around :-Oh! tell me where Be cloth'd in forms more beautifully fair? Yet lovelier, in my view, And livelier growth it gives;-itself unseen! It flows through flowery meads, Gladdening the herds which on its margin browse; The alders that o'er-shade it with their boughs Gently it murmurs by The Village Churchyard :-its low, plaintive tone, For worth and beauty modest as its own. More gaily now it sweeps By the small School-house, in the sunshine bright; Like happy hearts by holiday made light. May not its course express, In characters which they who run may read, Were but its still small voice allow'd to plead? What are the trophies gain'd By power alone, with all its noise and strife, To that meek wreath, unstain'd, Won by the charities that gladden life? Niagara's streams might fail, And human happiness be undisturb'd: But Egypt would turn pale, Were her still Nile's o'erflowing bounty curb'd! ΒΑΚΤΟΝ, STANZA S. LIKE the young spring-buds sweet and bright, And like the dew upon the thorn, And like the azure skies of June, E'en such is Life: the chang'd sky rains, THE DEPARTED. WHERE'S the snow-the summer snow- Where the hues the sunset shed O'er the rose's crimson hour? NEELE. Maiden, lovelier than the spring, Or thine eye its April blue? Where are thy sweet bursts of song? Where the wreaths that bound thy hair? Where the thousand prisoner curls? And thy sunny smiles are-Where?— Gone, gone-they all are gone. Youth, where is thine open brow? Where's thine eager step and sword? Where's the lighted hall; and where Where the lamps of starry light? Where are those fair dreams that made Where the many fantasies That young Hope so fondly nurst; Love with motto like a knight, Faithful even to the tomb; Fortune following the wish; Pleasure with a folded plume ?— Oh! mine own heart, where are they- When thy young hope's colours were |