5. Then thy mount, Jerusalem,
Shall be gorgeous as a gem;
Then shall in the desert rise
Fruits of more than paradise,
Earth by angel feet be trod,
One great garden of her God!
Till are dried the martyr's tears,
Through a thousand glorious years!
Now in hope of HIM we trust,-
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust."
The Rose of the Wilderness.
1. Ar the silence of twilight's contemplative hour, I have mus'd in a sorrowful mood,
On the wind shaken weeds that embosom the bower,
Where the home of my forefathers stood.
All ruined and wild is their roofless abode,
And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree;
And travel'd by few is the grass-covered road,
Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode,
To his hills that encircle the sea.
2. Yet wand'ring, I found on my ruinous walk,
By the dial stone aged and green,
One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk,
To mark where a garden had been.
Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race,
All wild in the silence of Nature, it drew,
From each wandering sun-beam a lonely embrace,
For the night-weed and thorn overshadowed the place,
Where the flower of my forefathers grew.
3. Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all
That remains in this desolate heart!
The fabric of bliss to its center may fall;
But patience shall never depart!
Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright,
In the days of delusion by fancy combin'd,
With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight,
Abandon my soul like a dream of the night,
And leave but a desert behind.
4. Be hush'd my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns,
When the faint and the feeble deplore;
Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems
A thousand wild waves on the shore!
Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,
May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate;
Yea! even the name I have worshipp'd in vain,
Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again;
To bear is to conquer our fate.
Apostrophe to Mount Parnassus.
1. 0 THOU Parnassus! whom I now survey,
Not in the phrensy of a dreamer's eye,
Not in the fabled landscape of a lay,
But soaring, snow-clad, through thy native sky,
In the wild pomp of mountain majesty!
What marvel that I thus essay to sing?
The humblest of thy pilgrims, passing by,
Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string,
Though from thy heights no more one Muse shall wave her wing.
2. Oft have I dreamed of thee!-whose glorious name
Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore ;-
And now I view thee, 'tis, alas! with shame
That I, in feeblest accents, must adore.
When I recount thy worshippers of yore,
I tremble, and can only bend the knee;
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar,
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy
In silent joy, to think at last I look on thee!
3. Happier in this than mightiest bards have been,
Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot,
Shall I, unmoved, behold the halloweu scene
Which others rave of, though they know it not?
Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot,
And thou, the Muses' seat, art now 'their grave,
Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot,
Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave,
Or glides, with glassy foot, o'er yon melodious wave.
1. THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar':
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel,
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
2. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore;-upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depth with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
3. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,-
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war,-
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into the yeast of waves, which mar
Alike th' Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
4. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thes
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free,
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts;-not so thou,
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play
Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure brow :—
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
5. Thou glorious mirror, where th' Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convuls'd-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark heaving,-boundless, endless, and sublime-
The image of Eternity-the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
1. OH! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceas'd awhile,
And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile,
When leagu'd Oppression pour'd to Northern wars
Her whisker'd panders and her fierce hussars,
Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn,
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,
Presaging wrath to Poland-and to man!
2. Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd, Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid,
Oh! Heav'n, he cried, my bleeding country save!
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweeps these lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains!
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high,
And swear for her to live!-with her to die!-
3. He said, and on the rampart heights array'd
His trusty warriors, few but undismay'd;
Firm plac'd and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;
Low, murm'ring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge, or death-the watchword and reply ;-
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud toesin toll'd their last alarm!-
4. In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few!
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew ;
Oh bloodiest picture in the Book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime,-
Found not a gen'rous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her wo!
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear,
Clos'd her bright eye, and curb'd her high career;
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell;
And freedom shrieked-as Kosciusko fell!
5. The sun went down, nor ceas'd the carnage there, Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air;
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-dy'd waters murm'ring far below;
The storm prevails, the rampart yields away,
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay!
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call!
Earth shook, red meteors flash'd along the sky,
And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry!
6. Oh! righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave,
Why slept the sword Omnipotent to save?
Where was thine arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod,
That smote the foes of Zion and of God,-
That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car
Was yok'd in wrath, and thunder'd from afar?
Where was the storm that slumber'd till the host
Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast?
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow,
And heav'd an ocean on their march below!
7. Departed spirits of the mighty dead!
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled!
Friends of the world! restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own!
Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return,
The Patriot Tell-the Bruce of Bannockburn!
8. Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall see
That man hath yet a soul-and dare be free!
A little while, along thy sadd'ning plains,
The starless night of desolation reigns;
Truth shall restore the light by Nature giv'n,
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heav'n!
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurl'd,-
Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world!
The Greek and the Turkman.
1. THE Turkman lay beside the river;
The wind played loose through bow and quiver;
The charger on the bank fed free;
The shield hung glittering from the tree;
The trumpet, shawm, and attabal,
Were hid from dew by cloak and pall;
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