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for there is nothing of a glowing character to be found in morality. Its object is to moderate and calm, and not to give ardour and energy to our feelings and passions; but without a high tone of feeling or passion there is neither glow nor energy.
Who sleeps below? who sleeps below?
Ask of the breezes as they blow,
Say, do they heed, or hear thy call? They murmur in the trees around, And mock thy voice, an empty sound!
A hundred summer suns have showered
Their fostering warmth, and radiance bright; A hundred winter storms have lower'd
With piercing floods, and hues of night,
Say did he come from east, from west?
The howling billows, as they roll?
Was he of high or low degree?
Did grandeur smile upon his lot?
Dwelt he within some lonely cot,
And from his youth to labour wed,
Say, died he ripe, and full of years
And the dim' eye-ball sight withheld; Like a ripe apple falling down, Unshaken, mid the orchard brown;
When all the friends that bless'd his prime,
And scatter'd in oblivion's stream;
Like snow flakes melting in the sea:
Or, mid the summer of his years,
When round him throng'd his children young, When bright eyes gush'd with burning tears, And anguish dwelt on every tongue, Was he cut off, and left behind A widowed wife, scarce half resign'd?
Or, mid the sunshine of his spring
Came the swift bolt that dash'd him down, When she, his chosen, blossoming
In beauty, deem'd him all her own, And forward look'd to happier years Than ever blessed their vale of tears?
Perhaps he perished for the faith,—
Say, was he one to science blind,
Did in the fair creation mark
Hush, wild surmise !-'tis vain-'tis vain-
Then what is life, when thus we see
No trace remains of life's career?Mortal! whoe'er thou art, for thee
A moral lesson gloweth here; Put'st thou in aught of earth thy trust? "Tis doom'd that dust shall mix with dust.
What doth it matter then, if thus,
Without a stone, without a name, To impotently herald us,
We float not on the breath of fame; But, like the dew-drop from the flower, Pass, after glittering for an hour?
Since soul decays not; freed from earth
And spurning off its bonds of clay,
Do good; shun evil; live not thou,
To draw thy steps from truth aside;
THERE may be poetry without nature, and nature without poetry; that is, a thought may be expressed poetically though it is false, and a thought may be true though not expressed poetically. In the following lines, we believe every sentiment is at once natural and poetic at the same time. There is always great danger in attempting to throw a diviner charm over the beauty of woman, by images drawn from sensible, or inanimate nature; at least few poets have succeeded in the application of such images; but we think the comparison in the last lines, between the "lights gleaming around the brow" of the fair and the summer sky, is both happy and natural.
I knew not that the world contain'd
A form so lovely as thine own;
Nor deem'd that where such beauty reign'd
For I had mark'd where eyes were bright,
Too proud to veil a single ray,
I knew not where the form display'd
The summer sky is calm-serene-
As if some bright-some heavenly scene
And view the lights around it gleaming,
From heart, and soul, and spirit beaming.