ANTIGONE. Paraphrased from Eurip. Phoem. vss. 163-172. Yes, yes, I do; I look for him But ah! it is so faint and dim, Oh! that I Could leap and fly, That I could haste Like a cloudlet chased By a summer wind through a summer sky, His beauty is like the breaking day, And the glance that darts from that kindling eye, Man, that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of My life was like a gloomy day The fleeting brilliance fled away, And left a darker, drearier night All my fierce passions sunk to rest I voyaged on a summer sea The dark sad youth thou didst not spurn, But when thou braved'st withering scorn, My spirit's utter happiness. Nought had gone well with me before, All smiled upon me now; With fair winds down life's stream we bore It was a dream too bright to last; They say when thou wert lying dead, I spoke no word—no tears I shed— I cannot tell, I only know I saw not, heard not, for my woe. Dim and confused seemed all things round, When mens' eyes, though their sense is bound, Only it seemed the passing bell Crushed my bruised heart beneath each knell. The funeral past, in order meet, Uprose that wondrous prayer; Thy form half seen before me hung, The trance passed by, and I awoke, Then gushing tears poured down my cheek, The sullen cloud dissolved in rain; The hard parched earth was wet; This gnarled cedar's branches wave The fleecy clouds, the sunny air, They bid me not to pour my grief, As though no hope were mine, But with the mourner's cypress leaf Some brighter flowers to twine; For here from death and dank decay Life blossoms beautiful and gay. So thou art passed the veil within, To strive against my load of sin If haply it may yet be given. To join thee once again in heaven. THE VIGIL OF COLUMBUS. . The homeless guest of Rabida On the silent chapel-floor, Of sloth and fear, By the puny mindlings taught By the smiles that fade away, By the patrons insincere, Who have duped him with delay, Year after year. Poor-weak-and old before his time, Panting all the while To draw his breath beneath the clime He hath toiled so long, that now, Hope and fancy 'gin to rust; His heart is weary of its vow, And all but learning to distrust. 2. Oh! but how can faith give in, Where the shadows bar out sin, And guards his soul from thoughts of ill Beneath the moon-lit altar? Oh! his care is broken, Holy spells come o'er him ; In a dream he boweth low, Forms of heroes run before him, Till we and they shall dare assay, 3. Hold by thy great endeavour, Fearless now and ever, |