Sivut kuvina

Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?-
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Thus, with delight we linger to survey
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way;
Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been;
And every form, that Fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.

What potent spirit guides the raptured eye
To pierce the shades of dim futurity?
Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power,
The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour?
Ah, no! she darkly sees the fate of man-
Her dim horizon bounded to a span;
Or, if she hold an image to the view,
'Tis Nature pictured too severely true.
With thee, sweet Hope! resides the heavenly light,
That pours remotest rapture on the sight:
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way,
That calls each slumbering passion into play.
Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band,
'On tiptoe watching, start at thy command,
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer,
To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career.

Primeval Hope, the Aönian Muses say, When Man and Nature mourned their first decay; When every

form of death, and every woe, Shot from malignant stars to earth below, When Murder bared her arm, and rampant War Yoked the red dragons of her iron car, When Peace and Mercy, banished from the plain, Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again ; All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind, But Hope, the charmer, lingered still behind.

Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare From Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of air, The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world-a sacred gift to man.

Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe; Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour, The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring ! What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play, And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious thought away.

Far in the windings of a vale,

Fast by a sheltering wood,
The safe retreat of Health and Peace,

A humble cottage stood.
There beauteous Emma flourished fair,

Beneath a mother's eye,
Whose only wish on earth was now

To see her blessed, and die.
The softest blush that Nature spreads

Gave colour to her cheek:
Such orient colour smiles through Heaven,

When vernal mornings break.
Nor let the pride of great ones scorn

This charmer of the plains;
That sun who bids their diamond blaze,

To paint our lily deigns.
Long had she filled each youth with love,

Each maiden with despair ;
And though by all a wonder owned,

Yet knew not she was fair ;

Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,

A soul devoid of art;
And from whose eve, serenely mild,

Shone forth the feeling heart.

A mutual fame was quickly caught;

Was quickly too revealed ;
For neither bosom lodged a wish,

That virtue keeps concealed.

What happy hours of heart-felt bliss

Did love on both bestow !
But bliss too mighty long to last,

Where fortune proves a foe.

His sister, who, like Envy formed,

Like her in mischief joyed, To work them harm, with wicked skill

Each darker art employed. •

The father too, a sordid man,

Who love nor pity knew, Was all unfeeling as the clod

From whence his riches grew.

Long had he seen their secret flame,

And seen it long unmoved : Then with a father's frown at last

He sternly disapproved.

In Edwin's gentle heart, a war

Of differing passions strove : His heart, that durst not disobey,

Yet could not cease to love.

Denied her sight, he oft behind

The spreading hawthorn crept,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot

Where Emma walked and wept.

Oft too on Stanmore's wintry waste,

Beneath the moonlight shade,
In sighs to pour his softened soul,

The midnight mourner strayed.

His cheek, where health with beauty glowed,

A deadly pale o'ercast;
So fades the fresh rose in its prime,

Before the northern blast.

The parents now, with late remorse,

Hung o'er his dying bed;
And wearied Heaven with fruitless vows,

And fruitless sorrow shed.

“ 'Tis past !” he cried—“ but if your souls

“Sweet mercy yet can move, “Let these dim eyes once more behold

" What they must ever love."

She came; his cold hand softly touched,

And bathed with many a tear ; Fast falling o'er the primrose pale,

So morning dews appear.

But oh! his sister's jealous care

(A cruel sister she) Forbade what Emma came to say;

“ My Edwin ! live for me.”

Now homeward as she hopeless went

The church-yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl screamed

Her lover's funeral song.

Amid the falling gloom of night,

Her startling fancy found
In every bush his hovering shade,

His groan in every sound.

Alone, appalled, thus had she passed

The visionary vale-
When, lo ! the death-bell smote her ear,

Sad-sounding in the gale.
Just then she reached, with trembling step,

Her aged mother's door-
“ He's gone,” she cried ; “ and I shall see

" That angel face no more!
“ I feel, I feel this breaking heart

“ Beat high against my side”
From her white arm down sunk her head ;

She shivering sighed, and died.



The moon is watching in the sky; the stars
Are swiftly wheeling on their golden cars ;
Ocean, outstretched with infinite expanse,
Serenely slumbers in a glorious trance;
The tide o'er which no troubling spirits breathe,
Reflects a cloudless firmament beneath;
Where, poised as in the centre of a sphere,
A ship above and ship below appear;
A double image, pictured on the deep,
The vessel o'er its shadow seems to sleep;
Yet, like the host of Heaven, that never rest,
With evanescent motion to the west,
The pageant glides through loneliness and night,
And leaves behind a rippling wake of light.

Hark! through the calm and silence of the scene,
Slow, solemn, sweet, with many a pause between,
Celestial music swells along the air !
-Ne!-'tis the evening hymn of praise and prayer

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