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And, rare perfection! calm unci sober Hinge Combined with fancy's wild magnificence; Struck with the pomp of Nature's wondrous

plan, i /mil with jor the dignity of man, And Koarinf; high above life's roaring sen, Spring to the dwelling of my God and Thee.

Short here thy stay! for souls of holiest

birth Dwell but a moment with the sons of earth; To this dim sphere by God's indulgence

given, Their friends urc angels, and their home is

heaven. The fairest rose in shortest time decays; The inn, when brightest, soon withdraws

his rays; The dew that gleams like diamonds on the

thorn, Helta instantaneous at the breath of morn; Tooioon a rolling shade of darkness shrouds The star that smiles amid the eveni tig-clouds; And sounds that come so sweetly on the car, That the soul wishes every sense could

henr, Are u the Light's unwearied pinions fleet, ii scarce as beauteous, and as short as sweet.

Yet, though the unpolluted soul requires Aire born in Heaven to fan her sacred fires, And mounts to God exulting to be free From fleshly chain that binds mortality, . The world is ballow'd by her blest sojourn, And glory dwells for ever round her urn! Her shirts of beauty sanctify the air That felt her breathings and that heard her

prayer; 'we dies where'er the radiant vision trod, And there e'en Atheists must believe in God! Sua the proud triumphs that the good

achieve! Sitch the blest gift that sinless spirits leave! The parted soul in god-given strength

sublime, Streams undimm'd splendour o'er unmeasured

time; Slill on the earth the sainted hues survive, "fad in the tomb, but in the heart alive, u vain the tide of ages strives to roll a bar to check the intercourse of soul; The hovering spirits of the good and great w'th fond remembrance own their former

state. And mnaing virtue often can behold '■> vision high their pinnies of wavy gold, tnd drink with tranced ear the silver sound to trraphs hymning on their nightly round. I'.1 death untaught, our range of thought

is small, Hound by the attraction of this earthly ball. Oar sorrows and our joys, our hopes and

fears, Kniilily pent within a few short years;

But when our hearts have rend Fate's mystic

book, On Heaven's gemm'd sphere we lift a joyful

look, Hope turns to Faith, Faith glorifies the

gloom, And life springs forth exulting from the


Oh, blest Eliza! though to me unknown Thine eye's mild lustre and thy melting tone; Though on this earth apart our lives were led, Nor my love found thee till thy soul was

fled; Yet, can affection kiss thy silent clay, And rend the glimmering veil of drat Ii away: Fancy beholds with fixed, delighted eye, Thy white-robed spirit gently gliding by; Deep sinks thy smile into my quiet breast. As moonlight steeps the ocean-wave in rest! While thus, bright shade! thine eyes of

mercy dwell On that fair land thou lnvedst of old so well, What holy raptures through thy being flow, To see thy memory blessing nil below, Virtue re-kindle at thy grnvc her fires, And lieu repentant shun his low desires! This the true Christian's heaven! on earth

to sec The sovereign power of immortality At war with sin, and in triumphant pride Spreading the empire of the Crucified.

Oft 'mid the calm of mountain-solitude. Where Nature's loveliness thy spirit woo'd; Where lonely cataracts with sullen roar To thy hush'd heart a fearful rapture bore, And caverns moaning with the voice of night, Stecp'd through the ear thy mind in strange

delight— I feel thy influence on my heart descend Like words of comfort whispered by a friend, And every cloud in lovelier figures roll, Shnped by the power of thy presiding soul! And when, slow-sinking in a blaze of light, The sun in glory bathes each radiant height, Amid the glow thy form seraphic seems To float refulgent with unborrow'd beams; For thou, like him, hadst still thy course

pursued, From thy own blessedness dispensing good; Brightly that soul in life's fair morn arose. And burn'd like him, more glorious at its


Bat now, 1 feel my pensive spirit turn. Where parents, brothers, sisters, o'er thec

mourn. For though to all unconscious time supplies A strength of soul that stifles nseless sighs; And in our loneliest hours of grief is given To our dim gaze a nearer glimpse of heaven. Yet, human frailty pines in deep distress, £ven when a friend has soar'd to happiness, And sorrow, selfish from excess of lore, Would glad recal the seraph from above! And, chief, to thee! on whose delighted

breast. While, yet a babe, she play'd herself to

rest, Who rock'd her cradle with requited care, And bless'd her sleeping with a silent prayer; To thee, who first beheld, with watchful eye. From her flush'd cheek health's natural

radiance fly, And, though by fate denied the power to save, Smontli'il with kind care her passage lo the

grave. When slow consumption led with fatal bloom A rosy spectre smiling to the tomb; The strain of comfort first to thee would

flow, But thou hast comforts man could ne'er

bestow; And e'en misfortune's long and gloomy roll Wakes dreams of glory in thy stately soul. For reason whispers, anil religion proves, That God by sorrow clinstcneth whom he

loves; And suffering virtue smiles at misery's gloom, Chcer'd by the light that burns beyond the


All Nature speaks of thy departed child, The flowery meadow, and the mountainwild; Of her the lark 'mid sun-shine oft will sing, And torrents flow with dirge-like murmuring! The lake, that smiles to heaven a watery

gleam, Shows in the vivid beanty of a dream Her, whose fine touch in mellowing hues

nrray'd The misty summit and the woodland glade, The sparkling depth that slept in wavelcss

rest. And verdant isles reflected on its breast. As down the vale thy lonely footsteps stray, While eve stills dimly on retiring day, 'And the pale light that nameless calm

supplies, That holds communion with the promised

skies, When Nature's beauty overpowers distress, And stars soft-burning kindle holiness, Thy lips in passive resignation move, And peace broods o'er thee on the wings of

love. The languid mien, the cheek of hectic dye, The mournful beauty of the radiant eye, The placid smile, the light and easy breath Of nature blooming on the brink of death, When the fair phantom breathed in twilightbalm A dying vigour and deceitful calm. The tremulous voice that ever loved to tell Thy fearful heart, that all would soon be well,

Steal on thy memory, and though tears will

fall O'er scenes gone by that thou wouldst fain

recal, Yet oft has faith with deeper bliss beguiled A parent weeping her departed child, Than love maternal, when her baby lay Hush'd at her breast, or smiling in its play, And, as some glimpse of infant-fancy came. Murmuring in scarce-heard lisp some broken

name. Thou fcelst no more griefs palpitating start, Nor the drear night hangs heavy on thy

heart. Though sky and star may yet awhile divide Thy mortal being from thy bosom's pride. Your spirits mingle—while to thine is given A loftier nature from the touch of heaven.



She hath risen up from her morning-prayer.
And chained the waves of her golden hair.
Hath kissed her sleeping sister's cheek.
And breathed the blessing she might not

speak. Lest the whisper should break the dream

that smil'd Round the snow-white brow of the sinlrs*

child. Her radiant Lamb and her pnrpling Dove Have ta in their food from the hand they

love; The low deep coo and the plaintive bleat In the morning-calm, how clear and sweet! Ere the Sun has warmed the dawning hoars, She hath watered the glow of her garden

flowers, And welcomed the hum of the earliest Bee In the moist bloom working drowsily; Then up the flow of the rocky rill She trips away to the pastoral Hill; And, as she lifts her glistening eyes In the joy of her heart to the dewy skies. She feels that her sainted Parents bless The life of their Orphan Shepherdess.

Tis a lonely Glen! but the happy Child Hath friends whom she meets in the moraiag

wild! As on she trips, her native stream. Like her hath awoke from a joyful dream And glides away by her twinkling fret. With a face as bright and a voice aa avert In the osier-bank the Ouzel sitting. Hath heard her steps, and away is flitting From stone to stone, as she glides alnag. Then sinks in the stream with a broken son; The Lapwing, fearless of his nest, Stands looking round with his delicate i

Or a lovelike joy is in his cry,
Ai he wheels and darts and glances by.
Is the Heron asleep on the silvery sand
Of his little lake? Lo! his wings expand
A» a dreamy thought, and withouten dread,
Cloudlikc he floats o'er the Maiden's head.
She looks to the birch-wood-gladc, and lo!
There is brow zing there the mountain-roe,
Who lifts up her gentle eyes, nor moves
As on glides the form whom all nature loves.
Having spent in heaven an hour of mirth,
The Lark drops down to the dewy earth,
And at silence smooths his yearning breast
In the gentle fold of his lowly nest,
The Linnet takes up the hymn, unseen
In the yellow broom or the bracken green.
And now, as the morning-hours are glowing,
From the hillside-cots the cocks are crowing,
And the Shepherd's Dog is bnrking shrill
From the mist fast rising from the hill,
And the Shepherd's-self, with locks of gray.
Hath blessed the Maiden on her way!
And now she sees her own dear flock
On a verdant mound beneath the rock;
All close together in beauty and love,
Like the small fair clouds in heaven above,
And her innocent soul at the peaceful sight
I* iwimming o'er with a still delight.

And how shall sweet Edith pass the day, From her home and her sister so far away, » ith none to whom she may speak the while, Or share the silence and the smile, When the stream of thought flows calm and

deep, And the face of Joy is like that of Sleep? rrar not—the long, still Summer-day On downy wings hath sailed away. And is melting unawares in Even, Like a pure cloud in the heart of Heaven, Nor Weariness nor Woe hath paid One_ visit to the happy Maid "'Ming in sunshine or in shade. For many a wild tale doth she know, framed in these valleys long ago "}' pensive Shepherds, unto whom The tweet breath of the heather-bloom Brought inspiration, and the sky Folding the hill-tops silently, And airs so spirit-like, and streams Aye murmuring through a world of dreams. A hundred plaintive tunes hath she— A hundred ehaunts of sober glee— *"« the hath sung them o'er and o'er,— At, on some solitary shore, Til said the Mermaid oft doth sing Brneath some cliffs o'ershadowing, "hile melteth o'er the waters clear A sosg which there is none to hear! Still at the close of each wild strain "ath gentle Edith lived again Oer long-past hoars—while smiles and sighs Obeyed their own loved melodies. Sow rose to sight the hawthorn -glade, "here that old blind Musician played

So blithely to the dancing ring—

Or, in a lit of sorrowing,

Sung mournful songs of other years

That filled his own dim eyes with tears.

And then the Sabbath seemed to rise

In stillness o'er the placid skies,

And from the small Kirk in the DeU

Came the clear chime of holy Bell,

Solemnly ceasing, when appeared

The gray-hoired Man beloved and feared—

The Man of God—whose eyes were filled

With visions in the heavens beheld,

And rightfully inspired fear,

Whose yoke, like Love's, is light to bear.

—And thus sole-sitting on the brae,

From human voices far away,

Even like the flowers round Edith's feet,

Shone forth her fancies wild or sweet;

Some in the shades of memory

Unfolding Out reluctantly.

But breathing from that tender gloom

A faint—ethcrial—pure perfume;

Some burning in their full-blown pride,

And by the Sun's love beautified;

None wither'd—for the nir is holy,

Of a pure spirit's melancholy;

And God's own gracious eye hath smiled

On the sorrows of this Orphan-Child;

Therefore, her Parents' Grave appears

Green, calm, and sunbright through her

tears, Beneath the deep'ning hush of years.

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Now night comes wavering down the sky The clouds like ships at anchor lie, All gathered in the glimmering air, After their pleasant voyage: there One solitary bark glides on So slow, that its haven will ne'er he won. But a wandering wind hath lent it motion, And the last Sail hath passed o'er the

/ heavenly ocean.

Are these the hills so steeped by day,
In a greenness that seemed to mock decay.
And that stole from the Sun so strong and

That it well might dare th' eclipse of night?
Where is the sound that filled the air
Around—and above—and every where?
Soft wild pipes hushed! and a world of wings
All shut with their radiant shiverings!
The wild bees now are all at rest
In their earthen cell—or their mossy nest—
Save when some luted labourers come
From the far-off hills with a weary hum,
And drop down 'mid the flowers, till morn
Shall awaken to life each tiny horn.
Dew sprinkles sleep on every flower,
And each bending stalk has lost its power—
No toils have they, but In beauty blest,
They seem to partake in Nature's rest.
Sleep calms the bosom of the Karth,
And a dream just moves it in faintest mirth.

The slumber of the hills and sly
Hath hushed into a reverie
The soul of Edith—by degrees,
With half-closed eyes she nothing sees
But the glimmer of twilight stretched afar,
And one bright solitary star,
That comes like an angel with his beams,
To lead her on through the world of dreams.
She feels the soft grass beneath her head,
And the smell of flowers around her shed,
Breathing of Earth,—as yet, she knows
Whence is the sound that past her flows,
; (The flowery fount in its hillside-cell)

But a beauty there is which she cannot tell
To her soul that beholds it, spread all around;
And she feels a rapture, oh! more profound
Than e'er by a dream was breathed, or

Through a bosom, all suddenly filled with


Oh! come ye from heaven ye blessed

Things, So silent wfth your silvery wings Folded in moonlight-glimmerings? —They have dropt like two soft gleams of

light, Those gracious Forms, on the verdant height Where Edith in her slumber lies, With calm face meeting the calm skies, Like one whose earthly course is o'er, And sleepeth to awake no more! Gazing upon the Child they stand, Till one with small soft silent hand Lifts from that brow the golden hair— Was ever mortal face so fair? God gives to us the sleeping maid! And scarcely arc the kind words said, Than Edith's lovely neck is wreathed With arms as soft as zephyrs breathed O'er sleeping lilies,—and slowly raised The still form of the child, amazed To see those visages divine, And ryes so filled with pity, shine On her, a simple Shepherdess, An orphan in the wilderness!

"O, happy child! who livest in mirth And joy of thine own on this sinful Earth, Whose heart, like a lonely stream, keeps

singing, Or, like a holy bell, is ringing So sweetly in the silent wild— Wilt thou come with us, thou happy child, And live in a land where woe and pain Are heard but as a far-off strain Of mournful music,—where the breath Of Life is murmuring not of Death;

And Happiness alone doth weep,

And nought but Bliss doth breathe our sleep.

Wilt thou come with us to the Land of

Dreams?" —A kiss as soft as moonlight seems To fall on Edith's brow and cheek— As that voice no more is heard to speak; And bright before her half-closed eyes Stand up these Shapes from Paradise, Breathing sweet fear into her heart! —She trembleth lest their beauty part, Cloudlikc, ere she be full awake, And leave her weeping for their sake, An orphan Shepherdess again, Left all by herself in that lonely glen!

"Fear not, sweet Edith! to come along With us, though the voice of the Fair)'*

Song Sound strange to thy soul thus murmuring

near— Fear not, for thou hast nought to fear! Oft Hast thou heard our voice before, Hymnlike pass by thy cottage-door When thou and thy sister were at prayers,— Oft hast thou heard it in wild low airs. Circling thy couch on the heathery hill,— And when all the stars in heaven were still, As their images in the lake below. That was our voice that seemed to flow. Like softest waters through'the night. The music breathed from our delight. Then, come with us, sweet Edith! come And dwell in the Lake-Fairy's home; And happier none can be in heaven. Than we in those green rallies, given By Nature's kind beneficence To us, who live in innocence; And on our gentle missions go, Up to the human world of woe. To make by our music mortal Elves For a dream ns happy as ourselves; All flitting back ere the morn arise, To our own untroubled Paradise."

"O waft me there, ere my dream is gssr. For dreams have u wild world all their ows! And never was vision like to this— O waft me away ere I wake from blis«! But where is my little sister? Where The child whom her mother with dying

prayer Put into my bosom, and bade us be True to each other, ns on the sea Two loving birds, whom n wave may divide. But who float back soon to each other'*

side! Bring Nora here, and we two will take Our journey with you deep down the Lik'And let its waters for ever close O'er the upper world of human woes. For young though we bo, and have knsvn

no strife. Yet we start at the shadows of mortal lift;

And many a tear have we two shed
In each other's arms, on nn orphan hed,—
So let Nora to my heart be given.
And with you will wc fly, and trust in

A Hound of parting wings is heard, Ai when at night some wandering bird FliU by us, absent from its nest Beyond the hour of the Songsters' rest. For, the younger Fairy away hath flown, And bath Nora found in her sle^p atone, Hath raised her up between her wings, And lulled her with gentlest murmurings, And borne her over plain and steep With soft smooth glide that breaks not sleep, And laid her down as still as death By Edith's side on the balmy heath, And all ere twice ten waves have broke On the Lake's smooth sand, or the aged oak Hath reased to shiver its leaves so red Beneath the breeze that just touched its head. The heath-flowers all are shining bright, *>i every star has it own soft light, sad all the quiet clouds are there, And the name sweet sound is in the air, From stream and echo mingling well "> the silence of the glimmering dell,— Bat no more is seen the radiant fold W Fairy-wings bedropt with gold, J1 w those sweet human faces! They Hare melted like the dew away, And Edith and Nora never more Shall be sitting seen on the earthly shore! For they drift away with peaceful motion, Mie birds into the heart of ocean. Some silent spot secure from storms— "bo float on with their soft-plumed forms Whiter than the white sea-foam. Still dancing on from home to home; Fair Creatures! in their lonely glee "■'Ppier than Stars in Heaven or Sea.

Long years arc past—and every stone W the Orphans' cot is with moss o'ergrown, And wild-stalks beautiful and tall TM*Ht o'er the little garden-wall, TM>d the clear well within the rock J*i with its smiling calm unbrnke "J dipping pitcher! There the hives! Bat no faint feeble hum survives— Jf*id is that Cottage once so sweet, Shrouded as in a winding-sheet— Nir even the sobbing of the air Mourns o'er the life that once was there!

0 happy ye! who have flown afar 'rem the sword of those ruthless men of

wnr, That, for many a year, have bathed in blood '"'"tland's gre-en glens of solitude! "'phani were ye—but your lips were calm "hrn together ye sang the cvening-psalm;

Nor sound of terror on the breeze,

E'er startled you up from your humble knees,

When on the dewy daisied sod,

In heaven ye worshipp'd your Father's God,

After the simple way approved

Ry men whom God and Angels loved.

Dark—dark days come—when holy prayers

Are sinful held, and snow-white hairs

Ky ruffian hands are torn and strewed,

Even where the Old Man bows to God!

Sabbath is heavy to the soul,

When no kirk-bell is heard to toll,

Struck dumb as ice—no bridal show

Shines cheerful through these days of woe;

Now are the blest baptismal rites

Done by lone streams, in moonless nights;

Now every lover loves in dread;

Sleep flies from cradle and from bed;

The silent meal in fear is blest;

In fear the mother gives her breast

To the infant, whose dim eyes can trace

A trouble in her smiling face.

The little girl her hair has braided.

Over a brow by terror shaded;

And virgins, in youth's lovely years,

Who fear not death, have far worse fears.

Wailing is heard o'er all the land,

For, by day and night, a bloody hand

A bloody sword doth widely wave,

And peace is none, but in the grave.

But Edith and Nora lead happy hours In the Queen Lake-Fairy's palace-bowers, Nor troubles from the world of ill E'er reach that kingdom calm and still, A dream-like kingdom sunk below, The fatal reach of waking woe! There, radiant water-drops are shed, Like strings of pearl round each Orphan's

head, Glistening with many a lovely ray. Yet, all so light, that they melt away, Unfelt by the locks they beautify— The flowers that bloom there never die, Breathing for ever through the calm A gentle breath of honeyed balm; Nor ever happy Fairy grieves O'er the yellow fall of the forest-leaves Nor mourns to hear the rustling dry Of their faded pride in the frosty sky; For all is young and deathless there, All things unlike—but all things fair. Nor is that saddest beauty known That lies in the thoughts of pleasure flown; Nor doth joy ever need to borrow A charm to its soul from the smiles of

Nor are the upper world and skies Withheld, when they list, from these

Orphans' eyes— The shadow of green trees on earth Falls on the Lake — and the small bird's


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