II. If that high world, which lies beyond The eye the same, except in tears— It must be so: 'tis not for self Yet cling to Being's severing link. To hold each heart the heart that shares, III. Oh, snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, Their leaves, the earliest of the year; And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread; Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away! we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou-who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. IV. My soul is dark-Oh! quickly string Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear, "Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain : But bid the strain be wild and deep, Nor let thy notes of joy be first: I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep, Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nurst, And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst, And break at once-or yield to song. V. I saw thee weep the big bright tear I saw thee smile the sapphire's blaze It could not match the living rays As clouds from yonder sun receive Which scarce the shade of coming eve Those smiles unto the moodiest mind Their own pure joy impart ; When coldness wraps this suffering clay, But leaves its darkened dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace By steps each planet's heavenly way? A thought unseen, but seeing all- Before Creation peopled earth, Its eye shall roll through chaos back; And where the furthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track. And where the future mars or makes, Its glance dilate o'er all to be, Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly; Forgetting what it was to die. VII. Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star! VIII. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf, And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, HOPE. White as a white sail on a dusky sea, Though every wave she climbs divides us more, A VICE-HUSBAND. "Tis said that their last parting was pathetic, Which I have known occur in two or three,) And Laura waited long, and wept a little, And thought of wearing weeds, as well she might; |