I see thee rising from the depths of ocean, Sporting in triumph on the billowy foam; Whilst each tumultuous wave, each wild commotion, Wafts thee still nearer to thy own bright home. And now thou'rt fled! yet still the pleasing vision But, oh! the splendour of each new transition, Great spirit! whom I worship and adore, I long to join thee on a happier shore, To sing thy praise. ANONYMOUS. THE REMEMBRANCE. FROM HUSBAND HUNTING, OR THE COME to my heart, thou pledge of love! My later destiny may have A wanderer's life, a stranger's grave; Yet where I rove, or where I fall, To me thou shalt be all in all. Come to my heart! When thou art nigh, The parting hour is on mine eye; I see the chesnut ringlets roll'd Round the bright forehead's Grecian mould, The ruby lip, the pencil'd brow, The cheek s delicious April glow, The smile, a sweet and sunny beam Upon life's melancholy stream; The glance of soul, pure, splendid, high— Till all the vision wanders by, Like angels to their brighter sphere; And leaves me lone and darkling here! THE SEPTEMBER FROST. DAVID MACBETH MOIR. FROM "THE LEGEND OF GENEVIEVE, WITH OTHER TALES AND POEMS; BY DELTA." 1825. WITHIN a wood I lay reclined, Upon a dull September day, And listen'd to the hollow wind, That shook the frail leaves from the spray. I thought me of its summer pride, And how the sod was gemm'd with flowers, And how the river's azure tide Was overarch'd with leafy bowers. And how the small birds caroll'd gay, When last, upon a summer day, I stray'd beneath that woodland shade. And now!-it was a startling thought, Go trace the church-yard's hallow'd mound, And, as among the tombs ye tread, Read, on the pedestals around, Memorials of the vanish'd dead. They lived like us-they breathed like us― Like us, they loved, and smiled, and wept; But soon their hour arriving, thus From earth like autumn leaves were swept. Who, living, care for them?-not one! Their habitations, and their names! Then be this wintry grove to me This moral lesson let me draw, That earthly means are vain to fly Great Nature's universal law, And that we all must come to die! However varied, these alone Abide the lofty and the less,Remembrance, and a sculptured stone, A green grave and forgetfulness. A LOVER'S BALLAD. 66 MARIA JANE JEWSBURY. FROM THE AMULET," 1831. SHE'S in my heart, she's in my thoughts, I never breathe her lovely name I care not if a thousand hear The dew were from the lily gone, Could hear me call her mine! |