With which the widowed turtle wooed, in vain, Her absent lover to her lonely nest.
2. Now, one by one, emerging to the sight,
The brighter stars assume their seats on high;
The moon's pale crescent glowed serenely bright,
As the last twilight fled along the sky,
And all her train, in cloudless majesty,
Were glittering on the dark blue vault of night.
3. I lingered, by some soft enchantment bound,
And gazed, enraptured, on the lovely scene;
From the dark summit of an Indian mound
I saw the plain, outspread in living green;
Its fringe of cliffs was in the distance seen,
And the dark line of forest sweeping round.
4. I saw the lesser mounds which round me rose;
Each was a giant heap of mouldering clay;
There slept the warriors, women, friends, and foes,
There, side by side, the rival chieftains lay;
And mighty tribes, swept from the face of day,
Forgot their wars, and found a long repose.
5. Ye mouldering relics of departed years,
Your names have perish'd; not a trace remains, Save where the grass-grown mound its summit rears From the green bosom of your native plains. Say, do your spirits wear oblivion's chains? Did death forever quench your hopes and fears ?—
6. Or did those fairy hopes of future bliss,
Which simple nature to your bosoms gave, Find other worlds with fairer skies than this, Beyond the gloomy portais of the grave,
In whose bright climes the virtuous and the brave Rest from their toils, and all their cares dismiss ?—
7. Where the great hunter still pursues the chase,
And, o'er the sunny mountains tracks the deer,
Or where he finds each long-extinguish'd race,
And sees once more the mighty mammoth rear
The giant form which lies imbedded here,
Of other years the sole remaining trace.
8. Or, it may be, that still ye linger near
The sleeping ashes, once your dearest pride
And, could your forms to mortal eye appear,
Or the dark veil of death be thrown aside,
Then might I see your restless shadows glide,
With watchful care, around these relics dear.
9. If so, forgive the rude, unhallowed feet
Which trod so thoughtless o'er your mighty dead.
I would not thus profane their lone retreat,
Nor trample where the sleeping warrior's head
Lay pillowed on his everlasting bed,
Age after age, still sunk in slumbers sweet.
10. Farewell! and may you still in peace repose; Still o'er you may the flowers, untrodden, bloom, And softly wave to every breeze that blows,
Casting their fragrance on each lonely tomb, In which your tribes sleep in earth's common womb And mingle with the clay from which they rose.
1. I've seen, in twilight's pensive hour,
The moss-clad dome, the mouldering tower
In awful ruin stand;
That dome, where grateful voices sung,
That tower, whose chiming music rung
Majestically grand!
2. I've seen, 'mid sculptur'd pride, the tomb
Where heroes slept, in silent gloom,
Unconscious of their fame;
Those who, with laurel'd honors crown'd,
Among their foes spread terror round,
And gain'd-an empty name!
3. I've seen, in death's dark palace laid,
The ruins of a beauteous maid,
Cadaverous and pale!
That maiden who, while life remain'd,
O'er rival charms in triumph reign'd,
The mistress of the vale.
4. I've seen, where dungeon damps abide,
A youth, admir'd in manhood's pride,
In morbid fancy rave;
He who, in reason's happier day,
Was virtuous, witty, nobly gay,
Learn'd, generous, and brave.
5. Ncr dome, nor tower in twilight shade,
Nor hero fallen, nor beauteous maid,
To ruin all consign'd,-
Can with such pathos touch my breast,
As (on the maniac's form impress'd)
The ruins of the MIND!
A Summer Evening Meditation.
1. 'Tis past! The sultry tyrant of the south Has spent his short-lived rage; more grateful hours Move silent on: the skies no more repel
The dazzled sight, but with mild maiden beams
Of tempered luster, court the cherish'd eye
To wander o'er their sphere, where, hung aloft,
Dian's bright crescent, like a silver bow
New strung in heaven, lifts high its beamy horns,
Impatient for the night, and seems to push
Her brother down the sky.
Even in the eye of day; with sweetest beam
Propitious shines, and shakes a trembling flood
Of softened radiance from her dewy locks.
The shadows spread apace; while meek-eyed Eve,
Her cheek yet warm with blushes, slow retires
Through the Hesperian gardens of the west,
And shuts the gates of day.
3.
'Tis now the hour
When Contemplation, from her sunless haunts,
The cool damp grotto, or the lonely depth
Of unpierc'd woods, where wrapt in solid shade
She mus'd away the gaudy hours of noon,
And fed on thoughts unripen'd by the sun,
Moves forward; and with radiant finger peints
To yon blue concave swelled by breath divine,
Where, one by one, the living eyes of heaven'
Awake, quick kindling o'er the face of ether
One boundless blaze-ten thousand trembling fires,
And dancing lusters, where th' unsteady eye,
Restless and dazzled, wanders unconfined
O'er all this field of glories-spacious field,
And worthy of the Master--he, whose hand
With hieroglyphics older than the Nile,
Inscrib'd the mystic tablet, hung on high
To public gaze, and said-Adore, O Man!
The finger of thy God!
4. How deep the silence, yet how loud the praise But are they silent all? or is there not
A tongue in every star, that talks with man
And woos him to be wise-or woos in vain-
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought,
And wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.
At this still hour, the self-collected soul
Turns inward, and beholds a stranger there
Of high descent, and more than mortal rank—
An embryo God-a spark of fire divine,
Which must burn on for ages, when the sun,
(Fair transitory creature of a day!)
Has closed his golden eye, and, wrapt in shades,
Forgets his wonted journey through the east.
Seized in thought,
On fancy's wild and roving wing I sail,
From the green borders of the people'd earth,
And the pale moon, her duteous fair attendant;
From solitary Mars; from the vast orb
Of Jupiter,-whose huge gigantic bulk
Dances in ether like the lightest leaf,-
To the dim verge the suburbs of the system,
Where cheerless Saturn 'midst his watery moons,
Girt with a lucid zone, in gloomy pomp,
Sits like an exiled monarch. Fearless thence
I launch into the trackless deeps of space,
Where, burning round, ten thousand suns appear
Of elder beam, which ask no leave to shine
Of our terrestrial star, nor borrow light
From the proud regent of our scanty day-
Sons of the morning, first-born of creation,
And only less than He who marks their track,
And guides their fiery wheels.
6. But O thou mighty mind! whose powerful word Said, "Thus let all things be," and thus they wereWhere shall I seek thy presence? how, unblaned, Invoke thy dread perfection?
Have the broad eye-lids of the morn beheld thee?
Or does the beamy shoulder of Orion
Support thy throne? Oh! look with pity down
On erring guilty man; not in thy names
Of terror clad; nor with those thunders armed
That conscious Sinai felt, when fear appalled
The scattered tribes-thou hast a gentler voice,
That whispers comfort to the swelling heart,
Abashed, yet longing to behold her Maker.
7. But now my soul, unused to stretch her powers
In flight so daring, drops her weary wing,
And seeks again the known accustomed spot,
Drest up with sun, and shade, and lawns, and streams
A mansion fair and spacious for its guest,
And all replete with wonders. Let me here,
Content and grateful, wait th' appointed time,
And ripen for the skies: the hour will come
When all these splendors, bursting on my sight,
Shall stand unveiled, and to my ravished sense
Unlock the glories of the world unknown.
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