The monarch sun rode high;
So thy proud beauty in my thought Liveth, and may not die.
And I have bowed beneath the power That ruled the parting day, When harmonies of living hues
Were poured o'er hill and bay, And stars shone out, and moons rose up And yet their light will stay.
Their images will linger yet
To light my happy dreams, As lovely forms that bend above,
The bosoms of calm streams, And years that flow, like waves, away, Still give their pleasant gleams.
This autumn-close-this autumn-close
How fondly I may shrine
Its social joys and heartfelt mirth,
To be a jewel-mine,
Within the caves of future years,
With fadeless wealth to shine.
So 'mid the wasting cares and toils, Sad follies, and dark strife, That sweep, like wint❜ry storms, along The crowded ways of life,
1 may pass on, and have no want;
With thoughtful pleasures rife.
And then, fair land, I may return Back to thy kindred heart,
And clasp its love, and breathe its truth, All cool for passion's smart ;
And through all time, beneath all gloom, This hope shall not depart.
SOURCE of all life, and joy, and light! Creator of each starry sphere, That o'er me, on the arch of night, Gleams like a diamond, bright and clear.
Oh, as I gaze, transported now,
Upon this blue, resplendent dome,
Deign but to hear my prayer, that Thou Wilt call my erring spirit home:
Home from the world's fast fading bowers, Frail visions and deluding dreams, To that fair clime of Eden's flowers, Sweet airs and softly gliding streams. Oh, make me feel that while I stay, A stranger and sojourner here, My soul must seek its homeward way, Far, far bevond each starry sphere!
I kneel before thy gorgeous throne, Upon thy footstool, King of kings! And, gazing on the glories strewn Beneath the Holy Spirit's wings, Abject and weak my awe-struck heart Would from thy dreadful presence flee, If, Saviour, thou didst not impart Rays of undying hope to me.
As yonder faint and glimmering star Receives its lustre from the sun, Though from its fiery splendors far; So from thy love, Almighty One, My spirit drinks immortal light, Oh, never may that light decay, But, like yon diamond of the night In heaven's own beauty melt away.
BY EDWARD C. PINCKNEY.
WE break the glass, whose sacred wine To some beloved health we drain, Lest future pledges, less divine,
Should e'er the hallowed toy profane; And thus I broke a heart that poured Its tide of feeling out for thee, In draughts, by after-times deplored, Yet dear to memory.
But still the old impassioned ways And habits of my mind remain, And still unhappy light displays
Thine image chambered in my brain. And still it looks as when the hours Went by like flights of singing birds, On that soft chain of spoken flowers, And airy gems, thy words.
The memory of joys that are past.'-Ossian.
WHERE are now the flowers that once detained me Like a loiterer on my early way?
Where the fragrant wreaths that softly chained me, When young life was like an infant's play?
Were they but the fancied dreams, that hover Round the couch where tender hearts repose? Only pictured veils that brightly cover With their skyey tints a world of woes?
They are gone-but Memory loves to cherish All their sweetness in her deepest core. Ah! the recollection cannot perish,
Though the eye may never meet them more.
There are hopes, that like enchantment brighten Gaily in the van of coming years ;
They are never met- and yet they lighten, When we walk in sorrow and in tears.
When the present only tells of anguish, Then we know their worth, and only then: O! the wasted heart will cease to languish, When it thinks of joys that might have been.
Age, and suffering, and want, may sever Every link, that bound to life, in twain: Hope-even Hope may vanish, but forever Memory with her visions will remain.
I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me:-bathed in light They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, And in their fading glory shone Like hosts in battle overthrown,
As many a pinnacle with shifting glance,
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,
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