Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

For there harbours love, with its smiles and its tears,
Its tender forebodings, its tenderer fears,
And its hopes, the sweetest on earth that rest-
The matchless love of a mother's breast.

'Tis that which lends life to her form's proud grace,
Which awakens the charm of her sparkling face ;
Her glance may be wandering around the wide land,
But her thoughts on the treasure she holds by the hand.

MITFORD.

THE MISSIONARY.

My heart goes with thee, dauntless man,

Freely as thou dost hie,
To sojourn with some barbarous clan,

For them to toil, or die.
Fondly our spirits to our own

Cling, nor to part allow;
Thine to some land forlorn has flown,-

We turn,--and where art thou ?

Thou climb’st the vessel's lofty side,

Numbers are gathering there;
The youthful warrior in his pride,

The merchant in his care :
Hearts which for knowledge track the seas

Spirits which lightly rove,
Glad as the billows and the breeze-

And thou-the child of love.

A savage shore receives thy tread;

Companion thou hast none;
The wild boughs wave above thy head,

Yet still thou journeyest on;
Threading the tangled wild-wood drear,

Piercing the mountain glen,
Till wearily thou drawest near

The hanints of lonely men.
Strange is thine aspect to their eyes ;

Strange is thy foreign speech;
And wild and strong is their surprise

At marvels thou dost teach.

Thy strength alone is in thy words ;

Yet armies could not bow
The spirit of those barbarous hordes

So readily as thou.

But oh! thy heart, thou home-sick man,

With saddest thoughts runs o'er,
Sitting, as fades the evening wan,

Silently at thy door.
Yet, that poor hut upon the wild,

A stone beneath the tree,
And souls to heaven's love reconciled-

These are enough for thee.

How T.

THE QUIET MIND.
Though low my lot, my wish is won,

My hopes are few and staid ;
All I thought life would do, is done,

The last request is made :
If I have foes, no foes I fear ;

To fate I live resigned :
I have a friend I value here-

And that's a quiet mind.

I wish not it was mine to wear

Flushed honour's sunny crown:
I wish not I was fortune's heir ;

She frowns, and let her frown:
I have no taste for pomp and strife,

Which others love to find :
I only wish the bliss of life-

A poor and quiet mind.

The trumpet's taunt in battle-field,

The great man's pedigree-
What peace can all their honours yield,

And what are they to me?
Tho' praise and pomp, to eke the strife,

Rave like a mighty wind,
What are they to the calm of life-

A still and quiet mind ?

I mourn not that my lot is low,

I wish no higher state ;
I sigh not that fate made me so,

Nor tease her to be great :
I am content, for well I see,

What all at last shall find,
That life's worst lot the best shall be

And that's a quiet mind.

I see the great pass heedless by,

And pride above me tower; It costs me not a single sigh

For either wealth or power :
They are but men, and I'm a man

Of quite as great a kind,
Proud, too, that life gives all she can-

A calm and quiet mind.

I never mock'd at beauty's shrine,

To stain her lips with lies ;
No knighthood's fame, or luck was mine,

To win love's richest prize :
And yet I found in russet weed,

What all will wish to find,
True love, and comfort's prize indeed-

A glad and quiet mind.

And come what will of care or woe,

As some must come to all,
I'll wish not that they were not so,

Nor mourn that they befall :
If tears for sorrows start at will,

They're comforts in their kind, And I am blest, if with me still

Remains a quiet mind.

When friends depart, as part they must,

And love's true joy decay,
That leave us like the summer's dust

The whirlwind puffs away :
While life's allotted time I brave,

Tho' left the last behind,
A prop and friend I still shall have,

If I've a quiet mind.

CLARE. DARKNESS.

Still margined with gold are the clouds of the west,

The last steps of day on the mountains are seen; Haste, haste ye away, to the isles of the blest,

Let darkness unmingled envelope the scene !
In me, lone and friendless, the fair eye of light

But points out a laugh to a world of scorn ;
Kind, kind to the wretched, the shadows of night;

But bitter and taunting the looks of the morn.

Come, daughter of night, gloomy darkness come forth!

Why tarry so long in the place of thy sleep? Dost thou dwell in the cold icy halls of the north,

Or slumber the day in the caves of the deep ?

Deep muffle the moon in the garments of night,

Roll back from the welkin the stars' twinkling sheen ; By fits, from thy clouds, send the red meteor's light,

And let thy dread visage be awfully seen.

Sweet, sweet is thy brow, to a soul wed with grief !

The broad, idle gaze of the world in vain Seeks for mirth in my face :-I ask not relief,

Burst, my heart, when thou wilt, but never complain.

As watches the wand'rer for way-pointing fires,

As the maid for her love by the moon's dewy light, As the sailor looks out for the land of his sires,

So wait I the slow-coming footsteps of night.

The notes of thy minstrel, the grave-watching owl,

The voice of the wind through the sad piny grove, The roar of the torrent, the waves' distant growl,

When shrouded in gloom, make the music I love.

Oh, when wilt thou take me, dark night, to thy place,

Where the sleep-frighting footsteps of day never treail, Where no cold eye of pride scowls on misery's face,

Where death makes the weary and friendless a bed ?

POLLOCK.

THE JUDGMENT OE IDUMEA.

COME near, ye nations ! Around me gather
And list to the words of your God and your Father,
For my fury is forth on a city and nation,
That are doomed to the slaughter and dire desolation.
In Bozrah the Lord has his sacrifice fitted,
His altar the land where the sins were committed,
Let the dead and the living around him assemble,
And time and eternity hear and tremble.

Oh, wail for Idumea, cast forth unforgiven!
My sword is bathed red in the vengeance of heaven;
And down on the mountains unnerved and supine,
They shall fall as the dead leaves descend from the vine,
Where heaps upon heaps shall their corpses remain,
And the mountains shall melt with the blood of the slain.

"Tis the day of the Lord ;-prepare thee ! prepare thee!
And mark its approach that it may not ensnare thee ;
Look well to the plain at its throes and its bending,
Lest it swallow you up in the gulf of its rending;
Attend to the sea when to blood it is turning;
Attend to the mountains when clothed in mourning ;
Observe the pale moon when her radiance is clouded;
And look to the sun when his glory is shrouded ;
To the stars when appearing in dimness involving,
In the breath of Jehovah annealed and dissolving;
Then to the blue heavens heaved hither and thither
Then folded and rolled like a scroll up together ;
Then, then, is approaching o'erwhelming and early,
The day of the Lord; prepare thee! prepare thee !

It is past, it is over! The earth's in amazement;
The people stand silent in dreadful debasement
Before the dire wrath of the mighty Avenger
Of Israel, thus wreaked on the land of the stranger.
Idumea is fallen ! No arm to deliver !
The contest of Zion is settled for ever.

The beauty of Edom no age shall restore it,
The curse of the Lord is in it and o'er it.
The rivers and springs into pitch are turning,
The dust is brimstone, the breeze is burning,
The city is shaken unto its foundations,
The land is a waste unto all generations,

« ПредишнаНапред »