THE VALLEY OF FERN.

PART 1.

THERE is a lone valley, few charms can it number, Compar'd with the lovely glens north of the Tweed;

No mountains enclose it where morningmists slumber,

And it never has echoed the shepherd's soft reed.

No streamlet of crystal, its rocky banks laving,

Flows through it, delighting the ear and

On its sides no proud forests, their foliage

the eye; waving, wind's sigh;

And felt grateful and tranquil while gazing on thee. Yes! moments there are, when mute nature is willing

To teach, would proud man but be humble and learn;

When her sights and her sounds on the heartstrings are thrilling:

And this I have felt in the Valley of Fern.

For the bright chain of being, though widely extended, Unites all its parts in one beautiful whole; In which Grandeur and Grace are enchantOf which GOD is the Centre, the Light, ingly blended, and the Soul!

Yet by me it is priz'd, and full dearly I

love it, And oft my steps thither I pensively turn; It has silence within, Heaven's proud arch above it,'

And my fancy has nam'd it the Valley of

Fern.

And have found in my musings a bond of connexion

With thy landscape so peaceful, and all that was there:

In the verdure that sooth'd, in the flowers that brighten'd,

brings;

It gives silence a voice-and to calm contemplation Unseals the pure fountain whence happiness springs. Then Nature, most loved in her loneliest

silent bosom Shall hold him who loves thee, thy beauties may live:

the bee,

yellow blossom,

lighten'd,

may give.

ing

from sleep;

And as softly the moon, in still loveliness resting, To gaze on its charms, thy lone landscape may steep.

Then, should friend of the bard, who hath paid with his praises The pleasure thou'st yielded, e'er seek thy sojourn, Should one tear for his sake fill the eye while it gazes,

It may fall unreprov'd in the Valley of Fern.

PART II.

That dazzles, and fades in the morning's first beam.

The gloom of dark forests, the grandeur of mountains,

The verdure of meads, and the beauty of flowers;

The seclusion of valleys, the freshness of fountains,

The sequester'd delights of the loveliest bowers:

thou displayest,

To the eye of thy votary, that negligent

grace, Which, in moments the saddest, the tenderest, the gayest,

Allur'd him so oft thy recesses to trace. The hand of the spoiler has fallen upon thee, And marr'd the wild beauties that deck'd thee before;

And the charms, which a poet's warm praises had won thee,

Exist but in memory, and bless thee no more. Thy green, palmy fern, which the softest and mildest

Of Summer's light breezes could ruffle,-is fled; And the bright-blossom'd ling, which spread o'er thee her wildest And wantonest hues,—is uprooted and dead.

Yet now, even now, that thou neither belongest, Or seemst to belong, unto Nature or Art; The love I still bear thee is deepest and

strongest,

And thy fate but endears thee the more to my heart.

Thou art passing away, like some beautiful vision,

From things which now are, unto those that have been!

And wilt rise to my sight, like a landscape elysian,

With thy blossoms more bright, and thy verdure more green. Thou wilt dwell in remembrance, among those recesses Which fancy still haunts; though they were, and are not; Whose loveliness lives, and whose beauty still blesses, Which, though ceasing to be, can be never forgot.

Yet, acknowledging this, it may be that the feelings

Which these have awaken'd, the glimpses they 've given,

Combin'd with those inward and holy revealings

That illumine the soul with the brightness of heaven,

May still be immortal, and destin❜d to lead us, Hereafter, to that which shall not pass away;

To the loftier destiny God hath decreed us,
The glorious dawn of an unending day.
And thus, like the steps of the ladder ascended
By angels (which rose on the patriarch's
eye),
With the perishing beauties of earth may
be blended
Sensations too pure, and too holy to die.

Nor would Infinite Wisdom have plann'd and perfected,

With such grandeur and majesty, beauty and grace,

The world we inhabit, and thus have connected

The heart's better feelings with nature's fair face,

If the touching emotions, thus deeply excited, Towards Him who made all things, left nothing behind, Which, enduring beyond all that sense has delighted, Becomes intellectual, immortal, as mind! But they do; and the heart that most fondly has cherish'd

Such feelings, nor suffer'd their ardour to chill, Will find, when the forms which inspir'd them have perish'd, Their spirit and essence remain with it still.

Thus thinking, I would not recall the brief

measure

Of praise, lovely valley! devoted to thee; Well has it been won by the moments of pleasure

Afforded to some, justly valued by me. May their thoughts and mine often silently ponder

Over every lov'd spot that our feet may have trod;

And teach us, while through nature's beauties we wander,

All space is itself but the temple of God! That 80, when our spirits shall pass through the portal Of Death, we may find, in a state more sublime, Immortality owns what could never be mortal!

And Eternity hallows some visions of Time!

VERSES,

While the dark tempest's terrors last,
We guess at evils round us ;
The clouds disperse, we stand aghast;
Its ravages confound us.

The thunder's roar, the lightning's gleam,
Might seem a vision only;

But when we know we do not dream,
The stillness! oh, how lonely!

One hope in such an hour is left,
And may this hour reveal it;
HE, who hath thus of bliss bereft
The heart, has power to heal it.

Our dearest hopes He would not crush,
And pass unheeding by them;
Nor bid our eyes with sorrows gush,
Unless his Love could dry them.

A bruised reed He will not break: But hearts that bow before Him, Shall own his Mercy while they ache, And gratefully adore Him!

How much was done in hours so few! Hopes wither'd, hearts divided:

STANZA S.

MARY! I wake not now for thee
My simple lyre's rude melody,

As once I tonch'd its strings,
With joyful hand; for then I thought
That many years, with rapture fraught,
Might yet be thine, which should have
brought

Fresh pleasure on their wings.

But HE, who gave thee vital breath,
Sovereign supreme of life and death!

Hath visited thy frame
With sickness, which forebodes thy end;
And heavenward now thy prospects tend,
And soon thy spirit must ascend

To God! from whence it came.

Well, HE is good! and surely thou
Mayst well in resignation bow,

And gratefully confess,
That this, his awful, wise decree,
Though hard to us, is kind to thee;
Since Death's dark portals will but be
The gate of happiness.

With Thee 'tis over! There are some, Who, in mute consternation, Fearfully shrink from hours to come Of heartfelt desolation.

Let Faith and Hope beyond the tomb
Their eagle-glances fling:
Angels unseen are hovering nigh,
And seraph-hosts exulting cry,
O Grave! where is thy victory?

O Death! where is thy sting?

May that pure innocence, which now
Is infancy's best spell,
Encircle long thy cloudless brow,
And in thy bosom dwell.

It is the talisman, whose touch
Is like Ithuriel's spear;

And it shall teach thee, us'd as such,
Both what to love and fear.

In all the countless codes and creeds Which man for man has plann'd, Is much, that he who oftenest reads Can never understand.

May these be as a volume seal'd;-
A fountain clos'd to thee;
And in thy heart shall be reveal'd
Life's true philosophy.

Thus should it be; for thou art one
Round whom the enlight'ning ray
Of nature's outward, glorious sun,
Will freely sport and play.

And the uncharter'd breeze, that sweeps
Thy native valley fair,
Will dry the tear thy young eye weeps,
And wave thy flowing hair.

Then be a child of Nature's school,
Her silent teachings trace;
And she shall fit thee for the rule
Of holy, heavenly grace.

For they are still the truly wise,
Who earliest learn to look

Farewell! I dare not hope that prayer

Of mine can prove of worth; Yet this may not disperse in air, Since thou hast given it birth.

Oh, for thy sake! and theirs no less,
Who on thy being build!
May the warm hopes these lines express,
In mercy be fulfill'd.

SILENT WORSHIP.

THOUGH glorious, O God! must thy temple have been,

On the day of its first dedication, When the Cherubim's wings widely waving

were scen

On high, o'er the ark's holy station;

When even the chosen of Levi, though skill'd To minister, standing before Thee, Retir'd from the cloud which the temple then fill'd,

And thy glory made Israel adore Thee:

Though awfully grand was thy majesty then; Yet the worship thy gospel discloses, Less splendid in pomp to the vision of men, Far surpasses the ritual of Moses.

And by whom was that ritual for ever repeal'd?

But by HIM, unto whom it was given

As wisdom's open book.

There may thy dawning reason read
Instruction, line by line;

And guileless thought, and virtuous deed,
In life's first bloom be thine.

Thus taught, nor art, nor base deceit Shall mar thy opening youth;

Not the cloud, but the brightness of heaven.

Who, having once enter'd, hath shown us the way,

O Lord! how to worship before thee; Not with shadowy forms of that earlier day, But in spirit and truth to adore thee!

known,

When she of Samaria found him