« ПредишнаНапред »
The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven,
So the multitude goes-like the flower and the weed
That wither away to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes-even those we behold,
To repeat every tale that has often been told.
For we are the same things that our fathers have been,
The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think, From the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink,
To the life we are clinging to, they too would cling,
They loved-but their story we cannot unfold,
They died-ay, they died! and we things that are now,
Yea; hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain,
And the smile, and the tear, and the song, and the dirge,
'Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,
OH! Youth is like the springtide morn,
Through all Judea's echoing land!
That spread their blossoms to the day;
But Age is like the winter's night,
When Hermon wears his mantle cloud,
Forsaken by each friendly ray;
Oh! Youth is firmly bound to earth,
When hope beams on each comrade's glance; His bosom chords are tuned to mirth,
Like harp-strings in the cheerful dance;
Where all his household comforts lay;
THE fool hath said, "There is no God:"
A far and brilliant course to run ?
No God!-Who gives the evening dew,
The fanning breeze, the fostering shower? Who warms the spring-morn's budding bough,
And paints the summer's noontide flower? Who spreads in the autumnal bower, The fruit-tree's mellow stores around;
And sends the winter's icy power, T'invigorate the exhausted ground?
No God!-Who makes the bird to wing
Its flight like arrow through the sky, And gives the deer its power to spring
From rock to rock triumphantly? Who formed Behemoth, huge and high, That at a draught the river drains, And great Leviathan to lie, Like floating isle, on ocean plains?
No God!-Who warms the heart to heave
The earth we tread beneath our feet,
With fair ethereal forms to meet, That tell us of an after life?
No God!-Who fixed the solid ground
Who doth the ocean bounds allot?
Go ask the fool of impious thought That dares to say,-"There is no God!"
TO-MORROW!-Mortal, boast not thou
To-day-while hearts with rapture spring,
To-day-the blooming spouse may press
To-day-the clasping babe may drain.
To-day-the merry heart may feast
To-morrow!-Mortal, boast not thou
JAMES A. HILLHOUSE.
THIS poet was born of a family distinguished in the history of Connecticut, at New Haven, on the 26th of September, 1789. He graduated at Yale College, with a high reputation for abilities and scholarship, in 1808, and afterwards entered upon the business of a merchant. His principal works are "The Vision of Judgment," published in 1812; "Percy's Mosque," published originally while he was on a visit to England, in 1820; “Hadad,” which appeared in 1825, and "Demetria," written in 1816, but not printed until it was included in the collection of his works which he gave to the world in 1840, a few months before his death. As a poet, Mr. Hillhouse possessed qualities seldom found united: a masculine strength of mind, and a most delicate perception of the beautiful. With an imagination of the loftiest order with the vision and the faculty divine" in its fullest exercise, the wanderings of his fancy were chastened and controlled by exquisite taste. The grand characteristic of his writings is their classical beauty. Every passage is polished to the utmost, yet there is no exuberance, no sacrifice to false and meretricious taste. He threw aside the gaudy and affected brilliancy with which too many set forth their poems, and left his to stand, like the doric column, charming by its simplicity.
CLOSE OF THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
As, when from some proud capital that crowns
Pagods of gold, and mosques with burnished domes,