THE DEPARTED. REST thee, old hunter! the evening cool Thou art very weary-O, rest thee now! O, give some rest to thy tired feet! There's not a nook in the forest wide Nor a leafy dell unknown to thee; Or thy whistle shrill, were heard before. To hail thy coming ere fall of day;But thou art a score of miles from home, And the hues of the kindling autumn leaves Grow brown in the shadow of evening's dome, And swing to the rush of the freshening breeze. Thou must even rest! for thou canst not tread Till yon star in the zenith of midnight glows, And a sapphire light over earth is spread, The place where thy wife and babes repose. Rest thee a while-and then journey on Through the wide forest, and over the moor: Then call to thy dogs, and fire thy gun, And a taper will gleam from thy cottage-door! THE departed! the departed! They visit us in dreams, And they glide above our memories But where the cheerful lights of home In constant lustre burn, The departed, the departed Can never more return! The good, the brave, the beautiful, In the cities of the dead! I look around and feel the awe Is borne upon the breeze. That solemn voice! it mingles with I scarce can think earth's minstrelsy As their remember'd words. I sometimes dream their pleasant smiles I know that they are happy, I AM NOT OLD. I AM not old-though years have cast I am not old-though youth has pass'd For in my heart a fountain flows, I am not old-Time may have set Thoughts, sweet as flowers, that once were mine. THE DOVE'S ERRAND. Now I bind a perfumed letter In that vale, with dwellings strown, By a lattice, wreathed with flowers She will meet your searching eye. To her lips the lines she'll press, And again my dove caress. Mine, yes, mine-O, would that I Could on rapid pinions fly! Then I should not send you, dove, On an errand to my love: For I'd brave the sharpest gale, And along the tempest sail; Caring not for danger near, Hurrying heedless, void of fear, But to hear one tender word, Breathed for me, my happy bird! At the early dawn of day, She will send you on your way, Twining with another fetter Round your neck another letter. Speed ye, then, O, swiftly speed, Like a prisoner newly freed: O'er the mountain, o'er the vale, Homeward, homeward, swiftly sail! Never, never poise a plume, Though beneath you Edens bloom: Never, never think of rest, Till night's shadow turns your breast From pure white to mottled gray, And the stars are round your way,Love's bright beacons, they will shine, Dove, to show your home and mine! "HOW CHEERY ARE THE MARINERS!" How cheery are the mariners- Those lovers of the sea! Their hearts are like its yesty waves, As bounding and as free. They whistle when the storm-bird wheels And sing when deep in foam the ship What care the mariners for gales? With streamers down and canvass furl'd, God keep those cheery mariners! Safe in the hollow of His hand, To brave the mighty sea! LINES SPOKEN BY A BLIND BOY. THE bird, that never tried his wing, I never saw my mother smile: Yet though delightful flew the hours, And though I never long'd to view Now, since I've learn'd to read and write, Tell me, kind friends, in one short word, I live in song, and peace, and joy,- THE ELYSIAN ISLE. "It arose before them, the most beautiful island in the world."-IRVING'S Columbus. It was a sweet and pleasant isle— And the wave that kiss'd its sandy shore It seem'd an emerald set by Heaven It glows as greenly now. I've wander'd oft in its valleys bright, Through the gloom of its leafy bowers, And breathed the breath of its spicy gales And the scent of its countless flowers. I've seen its bird with the crimson wing In the starry noon of its brilliant night, I dream'd of the shipwreck'd gems that lie And I gather'd the shells that buried were There are sister-spirits that dwell in the sea, Of the spirits that dwell in the air; But around the shores of the Indian isles Elysian isle! I may never view Thy birds and roses more, Yet thou art treasured in my heart As in thine own deep sea; And, in all my dreams of the spirits' home, Dear isle, I picture thee! A GREAT NAME. The Rhodian monster lies; the obelisk, The place that knew them now no longer knows. Yet triumph not, O, Time; strong towers decay, But a great name shall never pass away! INDOLENCE. THERE is no type of indolence like this: A ship in harbour, not a signal flying, The wave unstirr'd about her huge sides lying, No breeze her drooping pennant-flag to kiss, Or move the smallest rope that hangs aloft: Sailors recumbent, listless, stretch'd around Upon the polish'd deck or canvass-soft To his tough limbs that scarce have ever found A bed more tender, since his mother's knee The stripling left to tempt the changeful sea. Some are asleep, some whistle, try to sing, Some gape, and wonder when the ship will sail, Some damn' the calm and wish it was a gale; But every lubber there is lazy as a king. SPORT. To see a fellow of a summer's morning, That probably they may be shot hereafter, Of harmless murder, yet it is to me Almost the funniest thing on earth to see A corpulent person, breathing with a snort, Go on a shooting frolic all alone; For well I know that when he's out of town, He and his dog and gun will all lie down, And undestructive sleep till game and light are flown. M. I. BORN in the north, and rear'd in tropic lands: No coldness in her deep, melodious words, TO MY SISTER. SISTER! dear sister, I am getting old: My hair is thinner, and the cheerful light That glisten'd in mine eyes is not as bright, Though while on thee I look, 't is never cold. My hand is not so steady while I pen These simple words to tell how warm and clear Flows my heart's fountain toward thee,sister dear! For years I've lived among my fellow-men, [joys. Shared their deep passions, known their griefs and And found Pride, Power, and Fame but gilded And, sailing far upon Ambition's waves, {toys: Beheld brave mariners on a troubled sea, [graves. Meet, what they fear'd not-shipwreck and their My spirit seeks its haven, dear, with thee! ΤΟ "TIs Winter now-but Spring will blossom soon, And flowers will lean to the embracing airAnd the young buds will vie with them to share Each zephyr's soft caress; and when the Moon Bends her new silver bow, as if to fling Her arrowy lustre through some vapour's wing, The streamlets will return the glance of night From their pure, gliding mirrors, set by Spring Deep in rich frames of clustering chrysolite, Instead of Winter's crumbled sparks of white. So, dearest! shall our loves, though frozen now By cold unkindness, bloom like buds and flowers, Like fountain's flash, for Hope with smiling brow Tells of a Spring, whose sweets shall all be ours! ΤΟ LADY; farewell! my heart no more to thee Bends like the Parsee to the dawning sun; No more thy beauty lights the world for me, Or tints with gold the moments as they run. A cloud is on the landscape, and the beams That made the valleys so divinely fair, And scatter'd diamonds on the gliding streams, And crown'd the mountains in their azure airAre veil'd forever!--Lady, fare thee well! Sadly as one who longeth for a sound To break the stillness of a deep profound, I turn and strike my frail, poetic shell:-Listen! it is the last; for thee alone My heart no more shall wake its sorrowing tone. TO A LADY WITH A BOUQUET. FLOWERS are love's truest language; they betray, Like the divining rods of Magi old, Where priceless wealth lies buried, not of gold, But love-strong love, that never can decay! I send thee flowers, O dearest! and I deem That from their petals thou wilt hear sweet words, Whose music, clearer than the voice of birds, When breathed to thee alone, perchance, may seem All eloquent of feelings unexpress'd. O, wreathe them in those tresses of dark hair! Let them repose upon thy forehead fair, And on thy bosom's yielding snow be press'd! Thus shall thy fondness for my flowers reveal The love that maiden coyness would conceal! NEW YORK HARBOR, ON A CALM DAY. Is this a painting? Are those pictured clouds Life with a thousand pulses-in the scene Billows! there's not a wave! the waters spread One broad, unbroken mirror; all around Is hush'd to silence-silence so profound, That a bird's carol, or an arrow sped Into the distance, would, like larum bell, Jar the deep stillness and dissolve the spell. A MONUMENT TO WALTER SCOTT. 'Tis said, that mid the Alps and Pyrenees, And other lofty mountains, and in groves, And hidden places where the bandit roves, Uptowering piles of stones the traveller sees, That mark the spot where some have fallen and died: For them these shapeless monuments are rear'd, And, though to none who passes by endear'd, Each from his journeying, will turn aside To cast his mite upon the rising moles, And guard the memory of the lost unknown; In this a deep, strong sentiment is shown A kindred for the dead in living souls. If such, O, world-renown'd, thy grave could be, An Alp would rise a monument to thee! TWILIGHT. CALM twilight! in thy mild and silent time, Who join in dances when the strain is heard: SPRING. THE birds sing cheerily, the streamlets shout Slight spears of emerald glitter from the ground, Marshal their busy cohorts on the lea. Life, life in action-'tis all music, all From the enlivening cry of children free To the swift dash of waters as they fall; Released by thee, O, Spring, to glad, wild liberty! THE STARS. WHAT marvel is it that, in other lands And ancient days, men worshipp'd the divine And brilliant majesty of stars that shine Pure in their lofty spheres, like angel-bands? With a deep reverence, when evening came With her high train of shadows, have I bow'd Beneath the heaven, as each new-lighted flame Glow'd in the sapphire free from mist or cloud: A holy presence seem'd to fill the air; Invisible spirits, such as live in dreams, Came floating down on their celestial beams, And from my heart there rose a silent prayer. What marvel, then, that men of yore could see In each bright star a glorious Deity! WHILE DEPARTING FOR ITALY. FAREWELL, dear friend! the land is slowly fading; Our vessel spreads her white wings to the gale-Some eyes are dim and many cheeks are pale; The sailor's hand his storm-worn brow is shading, As from the sea he gazes on the shore [home Where his own loved ones dwell--the home, dear Of deep and true affections, valued more, Since from their blessings Fate compels to roam. I go to seek fair health in softer climes; Yet, dearest, ever lives my heart with thee! O, in the winter's chill and gloomy times, Send o'er the waters thy best hopes to me; And when Favonian airs around me stray, My thoughts, like summer-birds, shall homeward take their way. DOMESTIC LOVE. WHEN those we love are present to the sight, When those we love hear fond affection's words, The heart is cheerful, as in morning light The merry song of early-waken'd birds: And, O! the atmosphere of home-how bright It floats around us, when we sit together Under a bower of vine in summer weather, Or round the hearthstone in a winter's night! This is a picture, not by Fancy drawnThe eve of life contrasted with its dawn; A gray-hair'd man-a girl with sunny eyes; He seems to speak, and, laughing, she replies: While father, mother, brothers smile to see [tree! How fair their rosebud blooms beneath the parent THE SAME. WHEN those we love are absent--far away, When those we love have met some hapless fate, How pours the heart its lone and plaintive lay, As the wood-songster mourns her stolen mate! Alas! the summer-bower--how desolate! The winter-hearth--how dim its fire appears! While the pale memories of by-gone years Around our thoughts like spectral-shadows wait. How changed the picture! here, they all are parted To meet no more-the true, the gentle-hearted! The old have journey'd to their bourne-the young Wander, if living, distant lands among-And now we rest our dearest hopes above; For heavenly joy alone can match domestic love! |