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Darkening the air. I look again, and lo!
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
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.
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
In moulding our first mother. There's a dearth
Whilst WOMAN-gentle WOMAN, has a heart
Fraught with the sweet humanities of life;