I waft them not alone From the deep organ of the forest shades, Or buried streams, ushered amidst their glades But in the human breast A thousand still small voices I awake, I bring them from the past: From true hearts broken, gentle spirits torn, I bring them from the tomb: O'er the sad couch of late repentant love I come with all my train: Who calls me lonely? - Hosts around me tread, Looks from departed eyes, These are my lightnings!-- filled with anguish vain, Or tenderness too piercing to sustain, They smite with agonies. I, that with soft control Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song, I am the avenging one!— the arm'd, the strong, The searcher of the soul. I, that shower dewy light Through slumbering leaves,bring storms, the tempest-birth Of memory, thought, remorse: Be holy, Earth! I am the solemn Night! THE DESERTED HOUSE. GLOOM is upon thy lonely hearth, The shadow of departed hours Fair art thou, fair to stranger's gaze, Too much! for all about thee spread -- The looks, the smiles, all vanish'd now, Till my heart dies, it dies away In yearnings for what might not stay; For love, which ne'er deceiv'd my trust, For all which went with "dust to dust!" What now is left me but to raise, To lift, through tears, my straining eye And they are there, whose long-loved mien Whose places, where they smiling sate, We miss them when the board is spread; But they are where these longings vain Ye are at rest, and I in tears,* And mourn the broken household band. But by your life of lowly faith, And by your joyful hope in death, The sever'd wreath is bound once more. Holy ye were, and good and true! No change can cloud my thoughts of you: And reach my Father's house on high! * From an ancient Hebrew dirge, "Mourn for the mourner, and not for the dead; for he is at rest, and we in tears." THE VOICE OF GOD. AMIDST the thrilling leaves Thy voice Did not his heart within him burn, Its purity was gone. Therefore, midst holy stream and bower, His spirit shook with dread, Oh! in each wind, each fountain's flow, Grant me, my God! thy voice to know, FRAGMENT. Oh, what is Nature's strength ?—the vacant eye, By mind deserted, hath a dread reply; The wild delirious laugte of despair, The mirth of frenzy-seek an answer there, Weep not, sad moralist, o'er desert plains, Strew'd with the wrecks of grandeur, mould'ring fanes, And regal cities-now the serpent's own ;- MAN AND WOMAN. "Women act their parts When they do make their order'd houses know them. WARRIOR! whose image on thy tomb, A banner from its flashing spear A haughty heart and kingly glance – A lofty place, where leaders sate, In festive halls a chair of state, When the blood-red wine was pour'd; A name that drew a prouder tone -Surely these things were all thine own |