Imágenes de página

Darkening the air. I look again, and lo!
Myriads of forms, in phalanx firm conjoined,
Rush on to ruin in one turbulent host
Against the great Messiah ! In the van,
The master-demon lifts his lordly crest,
In fierce and insolent triumph, and abroad
Waves his tremendous falchion! In his eye,

Ambition-Cruelty-are glassed,
As in a mirror. O'er his lofty front
His ebon locks, Medusa-like, are wreathed
In many a snaky fold; and on his brow,
Undiademed, are throned revenge sublime,
Bloated defiance, lust of pomp and power,
And resolution-not to be subdued.

The hostile bands move on, and now have gained Midway the arch of heaven - They pause awhile; Then to the charge,--and straight from pole to pole, The brunt of battle rings !

The sun hath dropped Into the blushing bosom of still eve, And with it the bright pageant too hath vanished ! The clash of helm and shield, the bray of war, Fancy had wafted on my dreaming ear, Have sunk to silence. Not a breath disturbs The deep serene' around me; and above, Rises a lofty cupola of sky, In blue, eye-soothing beauty and repose ! No battling seraphim are there ; but clouds Slow sailing on, in placid loveliness, Like pleasure-barks upon a summer sea. No shields and helms shine forth in dazzling lustre ; But where the God of day hath left his smile, Are countless hues, chameleon-like, that change As the glance strives to trace them, and become Momently paler than before. Anon, Twilight begins to weave her fairy web Of light and gloom, and, from the deepening East, Night spreads her ebon arms to clasp the world!



I'm fond of little girls; I should not say

Of little only, for I have for all
Ladies a tender penchant, whether they

or old, thin, fat, or short, or tall; But here the meaning I would fain convey Is, that I love them when they're young and

small, Just at that age when Life's delicious bud Begins to burst the bonds of babyhood!

The April of existence! When the eye

Is bright and unacquainted with a tear, Save such as Hope can in an instant dry;

The brow and bosom ever calm and clear,Or if disturbed, but like the changing sky

Of that first, delicate season of the year, Dim for a moment in the next to shine With added


and lustre more divine.

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

There is a blue-eyed cherub whom my Muse

In earlier hours hath sung of, in whose cheeks, Collected in one blaze, the rainbow hues

Of childish beauty beam, like the rich streaks Of the deep East at sunrise: I did use

To fondle this arch prattler, watch her freaks And infant playfulness, until I grew Enamoured of the blossom ere it blew.

And oft, in after-times, when years had rolled

On their eternal way, and cares came on,

When Fortune frowned, and summer friends grew

cold, Have my thoughts turned upon this youthful oneThis early bud,—this babe of five

years old, With sweet and tender yearnings !-Fate hath strown Full

many a thorn upon my path below, Since last I kissed her bright and sparkling brow!

I cannot say I'm partial to a boy,

At any age; I've noticed, from his birth, There's always an admixture of alloy

In Man;—his clay would seem of coarser earth
Than our allwise Creator did employ

In moulding our first mother. There's a dearth
Of kindliness in him ;--the sordid elf
Too often thinks-plans-acts-but for himself!

Whilst WOMAN-gentle WOMAN, has a heart

Fraught with the sweet humanities of life;
Swayed by no selfish aim she bears her part
In all our joys and woes ;-in pain and strife

« AnteriorContinuar »