I'M PLEASED, YET SAD.

113

Is it that here I must not stop,
But o'er yon blue hill's woody top
Must bend my lonely way?
No, surely no! for give but me
My own fireside, and I shall be
At home where'er I stray.

Then is it that yon steeple there
With music sweet shall fill the air,

When thou no more canst hear?
Oh, no! oh, no! for then, forgiven,
I shall be with my God in Heaven,
Released from every fear.

Then whence it is I cannot tell,
But there is some mysterious spell

That holds me when I'm glad;

And so the tear-drop fills my eye,
When yet in truth I know not why,
Or wherefore I am sad.

KIRKE WHITE.

R

LORD of the winds! I feel thee nigh; I know thy breath in the burning sky! And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, For the coming of the Hurricane !

THE HURRICANE.

And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,

Through the boundless arch of Heaven he sails;
Silent, and slow, and terribly strong,

The mighty shadow is borne along,

Like the dark Eternity to come;

While the world below, dismayed and dumb,
Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere
Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.

They darken fast; and the golden blaze

Of the Sun is quenched in the lurid haze,
And he sends through the shade a funeral ray-
A glare that is neither night nor day:
A beam that touches, with hues of death,
The clouds above and the earth beneath.
To its covert glides the silent bird,
While the Hurricane's distant voice is heard,
Uplifted among the mountains round,

And the forests hear and answer the sound.

He is come! he is come! do ye not behold
His ample robes on the wind unrolled?

Giant of air! we bid thee hail !

How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale!
How his huge and writhing arms are bent,
To clasp the zone of the firmament,

And fold, at length, in their dark embrace,
From mountain to mountain the visible space!

115

Darker-still darker! the whirlwinds bear The dust of the plains to the middle air : And hark to the crashing, long and loud, Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud ! You may trace its path by the flashes that start From the rapid wheels where'er they dart, As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, And flood the skies with a lurid glow,

What roar is that ?-'tis the rain that breaks

In torrents away from the airy lakes,
Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,
And shedding a nameless horror round.

Ah! well-known woods, and mountains, and skies,
With the very clouds !-ye are lost to my eyes.

I seek ye vainly, and see in your place

The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space:
A whirling ocean, that fills the wall

Of the crystal Heaven, and buries all.
And I, cut off from the world, remain
Alone with the terrible Hurricane.

BRYANT.

WHY sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall,

Thou aged carle, so stern and grey?
Dost thou its former pride recall,

Or ponder how it pass'd away?

Know'st thou not me?" the deep voice cried;
"So long enjoyed, so oft misused-

Alternate, in thy fickle pride,

Desired, neglected, and accused!

Before my breath, like blazing flax,

Man and his marvels pass away!

And changing empires wane and wax,
Are founded, flourish, and decay.

"Redeem mine hours-the space is brief-
While in my glass the sand-grains shiver;
And measureless thy joy or grief,

When Time and thou shalt part for ever!"

SCOTT.