Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Of sweet sad praise to Him who loves the right.
And cannot He who spins the beauteous light,
And weaves the air into the wild flowers hues,
Give to thy soul the mountain torrent's might,
Or fill thy veins with sunbeams, and diffuse
Over thy thoughts the greenwood's melody?
Yea, this and more He can and will for thee,
If thou wilt read, engraven on the skies
And restless waves, that "sloth is misery;
And that our worth from our necessities
Flows, as the rivers from his clouds descend!"

TASTE.

WHEN, o'er her dying child, we hear
The hopeless mother sigh;
"There is a better world," we sob;

"Can such affection die?"

Perhaps it can-for wolves and worms

Have their affections too;

And passion sometimes loves the false

Even better than the true.

But Taste, in its infinity,

Its beauty, and its might,

Walks thro' the beams of common day

In robes of heavenly light:

A spirit—ay, a deathless Eve,

To man's pure bosom given:

They meet-earth's Eden is not lost!
They part-to meet in Heaven!

What power like that which turns to bliss

The mournful and the dull,

And from the dust beneath our feet

Calls up the beautiful,

Can bid the hopes of frailty soar,

Undying life, to thee?

Pride dies with man; but Taste predicts His immortality.

THE WOODBINES OF JUNE.

BROOM glow'd in the valley,

For William and Sally,

The rose with the rill was in tune;

Love fluttering their bosoms,

As breezes the blossoms,

They stray'd thro' the woodbines of June.

Oft, oft he caress'd her,

And to his heart press'd her,

The rose with the woodbine was twined;

Her cheek on his bosom,

Like dew on the blossom,

Enchanted the tale-telling wind.

Poor Sally was bonny,

But Mary had money,

Ay, money, and beauty beside;
And wilt thou, sweet Mary,
Thou fond and unwary,

Deprive the wise fool of his bride?

Yes, bee-haunted valley !

Poor heart-broken Sally

No more, with her William, will stray

"He marries another!

I'm dying!-O mother!

Take, take that sweet woodbine away!"

THE REJECTED.

His hand clasp'd in hers, she look'd up in the face That once gazed as fondly on me ;

Two boys and a girl, in their butterfly chase,

Ran before them with laughter and glee.

He saw me he knew me-his brown cheek turn'd pale, "Oh, still doth he love me?" I sigh'd;

But my heart how it sank! and I felt my knees fail, As I look'd on his beautiful bride.

In their comely attire, and their calm thankful air,
The tale of their virtues was told ;

While, childless and mateless, in want and despair,
Was the woman who spurn'd him for gold.

Oh, even at the altar, when coldly I gave
My hand to the thing I had bought,

Remorse told my heart, in a voice from my grave,
That I barter'd a shadow for nought!

Nought call ye it nought to applaud what ye hate?
To honour, yet feign to contemn?

To borrow of servants? and, apeing the great,
Envy all that's look'd down on by them?

Till at last; but, O Henry! my doom I could bear,
Might I know that thou weepest for me;

And feel, while the robe of my weaving I wear,
That I still am remember'd by thee?

That while thou tread'st humbly, with truth for thy

stay,

The path that to competence led,

Thou pitiest the proud one who threw thee away,

And think'st of her desolate bed.

RAINBOWED MAY.

Now, over violets the chaffinch hops,

And bursts of sunshine startle wood and copse,
With bluebells gay;

For heav'n is dim with showers, and mountain-tops
Look down on rainbow'd May:

Haste then, mechanic, take thy spade and hoes;
Haste to thy garden, while thy soul o'erflows
With hope and joy;

And with thee take, rejoicing as he goes,
Thy heart-awaken'd boy.

Lo his cheek reddens as he lifts his eyes!
He grasps his rusted rake with joyful cries
And sinews stark;

And to his shout his smoke-dried dog replies,
With dusty frisk and bark;

For to the garden, where the red-breast hops,
Through gleams of light that startle wood and copse
They take their way ;

While, bathed in dewy air, the mountain tops

Look down on rainbow'd May.

« AnteriorContinuar »