Yet the spirit of the storm
Masks his elemental form
Underneath this silent rest,
Which is over nature's breast:
And a day may hardly pass
'Ere a dark and heavy mass
Will beneath the sunshine spread,
Like a canopy of lead.
And the shrieking gale will fly
Trailing vapors through the sky;
And the waves will crowd and roar
To the rock-engirdled shore,
And the rustling forest swing
To the tempest's mighty wing,
And the ocean, and the land,
Feel the fury of his hand.
Is not this alternate strife
Like the changes of our life ?
And may not the storm arise
In the quiet of our skies,
And the folds of darkness roll
O'er the radiance of the soul,
And the gladness of the heart
Like a flash of light depart ?—
Far above the shifting clouds,
Nought the perfect lustre shrouds,
And the sheeting sunlight there
THE BANNER OF MURAT.
Fills the blue untroubled air;
So when we may once be clear
From the mists around us here→→→
Shadows from the realms of night
Will not cross our path of light.
"Thou, of the snow white plume!'-Byron.
FOREMOST among the first,
And bravest of the brave!
Where'er the battle's fury burst,
Or rolled its purple wave—
There flashed his glance like a meteor,
As he charged the foe afar;
And the snowy plume that his helmet bore,
Was the banner of Murat!
Mingler on many a field,
Where rung wild victory's peal! That fearless spirit was like a shield—
A panoply of steel:
For very joy in a glorious name,
He rushed where danger stood;
And that banner-plume like a winged flame, Streamed o'er the field of blood!
His followers loved to gaze
On his form, with a fierce delight,
As it towered above the battle's blaze-
A pillar 'midst the fight:
And eyes looked up, ere they closed in death,
Through the thick and sulphury air-
And lips shrieked out with their parting breath, "The lily plume is there!'
A cloud is o'er him now
For the peril hour hath come
And he stands with his high unshaded brow,
On the fearful spot of doom:
Away! no screen for a soldier's eye—
No fear his soul appals;
A rattling peal-and a shuddering cry—
And bannerless he falls!
BY JAMES 0. ROCKWELL
GRAVE of waters gone to rest!
Jewel, dazzling all the main !
Father of the silver crest!
Wandering on the trackless plain,
Sleeping mid the wavy roar,
Sailing mid the angry storm,
Ploughing ocean's oozy floor,
Piling to the clouds thy form!
Wandering monument of rain,
Prisoned by the sullen north!
But to melt thy hated chain,
Is it that thou comest forth?
Wend thee to the sunny south,
To the glassy summer sea,
And the breathings of her mouth
Shall unchain and gladden thee!
Roamer in the hidden path,
'Neath the green and clouded wave!
Trampling in thy reckless wrath,
On the lost, but cherished brave;
Parting love's death-linked embrace-
Crushing beauty's skeleton-
Tell us what the hidden race
With our mourned lost have done!
Floating ship, who in the sun
Art an icy coronal;
And beneath the viewless dun,
"Throw'st o'er barks a wavy pall;
Shining Death upon the sea!
Wend thee to the southern main
Bend to God thy melting knee!
Mingle with the wave again!
THE LAST PROPHECY OF CASSANDRA.
THE LAST PROPHECY OF CASSANDRA.
THE sun is fading in the skies,
And evening shades are gathering fast; Fair city, ere that sun shall rise,
Thy night hath come-thy day is past!
Ye know not-but the hour is nigh;
Ye will not heed the warning breath;
No vision strikes your clouded eye,
To break the sleep that wakes in death.
Go, age, and let thy withered cheek
Be wet once more with freezing tears;
And bid thy trembling sorrow speak,
In accents of departed years.
Go, child, and pour thy sinless prayer
Before the everlasting throne;
And he who sits in glory there
May stoop to hear thy silver tone.
Go, warrior, in thy glittering steel,
And bow thee at the altar's side;
And bid thy frowning gods reveal
The doom their mystic counsels hide.
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