Fare thee well, land of my birth, The one spot most sacred of earth!- At last I have burst through the spell That bound my heart to thee!-Farewell!
WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS IN AMPTHILL PARK.
Out upon time-LORD BYRON.
BRIGHTLY the moon-beams slept amid Chambers 'mid rifled ruin hid; For the alder rankled at the door, And thistles grew on the chill damp floor; And proudly the flourishing ivy wound Pillar and column and roof around! The vacant and desolate windows now Waving grass and herbage flout; And from the night raven's sheltering bough, At times the howling fox looks out; And each massy court and tower sublime, Is eat by the silent tusk of TIME! O, how unlike their years of prime, By chieftains visited! - Our UPON TIME! RUIN, and ravin, and wild decay, Herald him on his blighting way! Where points his finger, -lours the storm; Where his eye fixes-feeds the worm; Where treads his step,-there glory lies; Where breathes his breath, there beauty dies. He breaks the oppressor's iron rod;
Crumbles the robes of the Priest of God; On the palace of kings and the peasant's cot, He turns his visage and they are not! Even lofty song and the magic of rhyme
Yield at length to his power ! - OUT-OUT UPON TIME!
BY THE REV. GEORGE CROLY.
THERE's a sound of arrows on the air,- A sound of the thundering atabal; I see through the trees the banners glare,- This eve they shall hang on the christian's wall; And the haughty hands that those banners bore, This eve shall be stiff in their own dark gore.
Then leave me, sweet lady! thy starry eyes Are made for love, and love alone; Those glowing lips are for passion's sighs,
That form! for the silk and the gold of a throne.Before the dawning sky is red,
Yon plain shall be heaped with the dying and dead.
Hark!-Hark!- "Tis the christian's battle horn!, Behold the red-cross standard wave,
Like a fiery gleam in the opening morn !
The shout is 'glory or the grave!' Unclasp my hand; no tears-away! The Saracen shouts his last to-day.
One kiss, sweet love;-go pray for Spain- Light every taper; -pray for him, Whose soul may on that fatal plain,
But linger for thy parting hymn!- No. Be that idle thought forgiven !- We'll meet in bliss, in earth-or Heaven!
I CALL upon thee in the night, When none alive are near;
I dream about thee with delight, And then thou dost appear Fair as the day-star o'er the hill, When skies are blue, and all is still.
Thou stand'st before me silently,
The spectre of the past; The trembling azure of thine eye, Without a cloud o'ercast, Calm as the broad and silent deep, When winds are hushed and waves asleep.
Thou gazest on me!-But thy look
Of angel tenderness,
So pierces, that I less can brook, Than if it spoke distress; Or came in anguish here to me, To tell of evil boding thee!
Around thee robes of snowy white, With virgin taste, are thrown; And at thy breast a lily bright, In beauty scarcely blown; Calmly thou gazest, like the moon, Upon the leafy woods of June.
It is a dream and thou art gone, The midnight breezes sigh; And downcast, sorrowful, alone, With sinking heart I lie, To muse on days when thou to me Wert more than all on earth can be.
O lonely is the lot of him
Whose path is on the earth,
And when his thoughts are dark and dim Hears only vacant mirth;
A swallow left when all his kind
Have crossed the seas and winged the wind.
The auburn hair is braided soft,
Upon thy snowy brow :
Why dost thou gaze on me so oft ?
I cannot follow now!
It would be crime, a double death- To follow thy forbidden path.
But let me press that hand again,
I oft have pressed in love,
When sauntering through the grassy plain,
Or summer's evening grove; Or pausing as we marked afar The twinkling of the evening star,
Blackwood's Magazine.
LAST smile of the departing year, Thy sister sweets are flown! Thy pensive wreath is far more dear From blooming thus alone!
Thy tender blush, thy simple frame, Unnoticed might have passed; But now thou com'st, with softer claim, The loveliest and the last.
Sweet are the charms in thee we find,- Emblem of Hope's gay wing;
'Tis thine to call past bloom to mind, To promise future spring.
WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE.
NAY, reproach me not, sweet one! I still am thine own, Though the world in its toils hath detained me awhile ! The deep vision that spelled my lone bosom is flown, And a truant to love I return to thy smile! It hath ever been thus, when condemned or deceived By the many I scorned or the few that I loved,- Whilst I breathed my contempt, or in silentness grieved, It was bliss to remember whose truth I had proved; And the falsehood of friends, the crowd's hollow decree- Served to bind me more fondly and firmly to thee.
Yes, I still am thine own, though I sometimes may mingle
In lightness of spirit with fools I despise;
In my heart my dark heart-dwelling silent and single- Is the thought of all others, it soothes me to prize.
If I join the loud throng in its madness of mirth,
I but think how much purer our pleasures have been ;If I gaze on the fair-bosomed daughters of earth,
'Tis to turn to thy beauties of beauty the Queen ! And if from man's dwelling to Nature I flee, Glen-mountain and ocean-seem breathing of thee.
When a soft soothing glance from the eye of affection Breaks my midnight of gloom with its halo divine, How surpassingly sweet is the bright recollection
Of the passionate love ever beaming from thine!- Twill beam on me no more! - Yet though death has bereft me Of a form such as Seraphs from heaven might adore,- In this image thy features of beauty are left me, And the lines of thy soul in my heart's core of core' Then reproach me not, sweet one! for time shall not see The hour that estranges one deep thought of thee.
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