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Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall see
THE PILOT. ANGEL of life! thy glittering wings explore Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore. Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields His bark, careering o'er unfathom'd fields; Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, Where Andes, giant of the western star, With meteor standard to the winds unfurl’d, Looks from his throne of clouds o’er half the world.
Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles
Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm,
But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep,
Points to the master's eyes, where'er they roam, His wistful face, and whines a welcome home.
ON WOMAN. In joyous youth, what soul hath never known Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own? Who hath not paus’d, while beauty's pensive eye Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh? Who hath not own’d, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name?
There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow; There be, whose loveless wisdom never fail'd, In self-adoring pride securely mail'd;— But, triumph not, ye peace-enamord few! Fire, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you! For you no fancy consecrates the scene Where rapture utter'd vows, and wept between; 'Tis yours, unmov'd, to sever and to meet; No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet!
Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed, The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead? No; the wild bliss of Nature needs alloy, And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy! And say, without our hopes, without our fears, Without the home that plighted love endears, Without the smile from partial beauty won, 0! what were man? a world without a sun!
Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, There dwelt no joy in Ellen's rosy bow'r! In vain the viewless seraph ling’ring there, At starry midnight charm’d the silent air; In vain the wild-bird carol'd on the steep, To hail the sun, slow-wheeling from the deep; In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd; The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;Still slowly pass’d the melancholy day, And still the stranger wist not where to stray,The world was sad !-the garden was a wild ! And man, the hermit, sigh’d-till Woman sm
Oh! lives there, Heav'n! beneath thy dread expanse, One hopeless, dark Idolater of Chance, Content to feed, with pleasures unrefin'd, The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind; Who, mould'ring earthward, reft of every trust, In joyless union wedded to the dust, Could all his parting energy dismiss, And call this barren world sufficient bliss ?There live, alas! of Heav'n-directed mien, Of cultur'd soul, and sapient eye serene, Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day, Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay! Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower! A friendless slave, a child without a sire, Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, Lights to the grave his chance-created form, As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm; And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o’er, To Night and silence sink for ever more!
Are these the pompous tidings yè proclaim, Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame? Is this your triumph-this your proud applause, Children of Truth, and champions of her cause? For this hath Science search’d, on weary wing, By shore and sea-each mute and living thing? Launch'd with Iberia's pilot from the steep, To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep? Or round the cope her living chariot driv'n, And wheeld in triumph through the signs of Heav'n? Oh! star-ey'd Science, hast thou wander'd there, To wast us home the message of despair? Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit! Ah me! the laureld wreath that murder rears, Blood-nurs’d, and water'd by the widow's tears, Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head. What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain? I smile on death, if Heav'n-ward Hope remain! But, if the warring winds of Nature's strife Be all the faithless charter of my life, If Chance awak'd, inexorble pow'r! This frail and fev'rish being of an hour, Doom'd o’er the world's precarious scene to sweep, Swift as the tempest travels on the deep,
To know Delight but by her parting smile,-
Cease every joy to glimmer on my mind, But leave-oh! leave the light of Hope behind What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel-visits, few, and far between! Her musing mood shall every pang appease, And charm-when pleasures lose the power to please!
Eternal hope! when yonder spheres sublime
THE ROSE OF THE WILDERNESS. At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,
I have mus'd in a sorrowful mood, On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower,
Where the home of my forefathers stood. All ruined and wild is their roofless abode,
And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree; And travell’d by few is the grass-cover'd road, Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode
To his hills that encircle the sea.
Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk,
By the dial stone aged and green,
To mark where a garden had been.
All wild in the silence of Nature, it drew,
Where the flower of my forefathers grew.
Sweet bud of the wilderness ! emblem of all
That remains in this desolate heart! The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall;
But patience shall never depart! Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright,
In the days of delusion by fancy combin'd, With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, Abandon my soul like a dream of the night,
And leave but a desert behind.
Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns
When the faint and the feeble deplore;
A thousand wild waves on the shore!
May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate; Yea! even the name I have worshipped in vain Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again,
To bear is to conquer our fate