Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er Such hours 'gainst years of life,—say, would he name threescore?

The Psalmist numbered out the years of

man;

They are enough; and if thy tale be true, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span,

More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say, [drew, "Here, where the sword united nations Our countrymen were warring on that day!" And this is much, and all which will not pass away.

THE OCEAN.

OH that the Desert were my dwelling-place,
With one fair Spirit for my minister,
That I might all forget the human race,
And hating no one, love but only her!
Ye Elements !-in whose ennobling stir
I feel myself exalted-can ye not
Accord me such a being? Do I err
In deeming such inhabit many a spot?
Though with them to converse can rarely
be our lot.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar !
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all
conceal.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Oceanroll!

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore;-upon the watery
plain
[main

The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth re-
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling
groan,
[and unknown.
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined,
His steps are not upon thy paths-thy fields
Are not a spoil for him-thou dost arise

[blocks in formation]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

"Tis moonlight over Oman's Sea;

Her banks of pearl and palmy isles Bask in the night-beam beauteously,

And her blue waters sleep in smiles. "Tis moonlight in Harmozia's walls, And through her Emir's porphyry halls, Where, some hours since, was heard the swell

Of trumpet and the clash of zel,
Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell;-
The peaceful sun, whom better suits
The music of the bulbul's nest,
Or the light touch of lovers' lutes,

To sing him to his golden rest!
All hushed-there's not a breeze in motion;
The shore is silent as the ocean.
If zephyrs come, so light they come,

Nor leaf is stirred nor wave is driven ;The wind-tower on the Emir's dome

Can hardly win a breath from heaven.

THE CALM.

HOW CALM, how beautiful comes on
The stilly hour, when storms are gone;
When warring winds have died away,
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray,
Melt off, and leave the land and sea
Sleeping in bright tranquillity,
Fresh as if day again were born,
Again upon the lap of Morn!
When the light blossoms, rudely torn
And scattered at the whirlwind's will,
Hang floating in the pure air still,
Filling it all with precious balm,
In gratitude for this sweet calm;
And every drop the thunder-showers
Have left upon the grass and flowers
Sparkles, as 'twere the lightning gem
Whose liquid flame is born of them;

When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze,
There blow a thousand gentle airs,
And each a different perfume bears,—
As if the loveliest plants and trees
Had vassal breezes of their own
To watch and wait on them alone,
And waft no other breath. than theirs ;
When the blue waters rise and fall,
In sleepy sunshine mantling all,
And e'en that swell the tempest leaves
Is like the full and silent heaves
Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest,
Too newly to be quite at rest.

CASHMERE.

[blocks in formation]

And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is ringing. [shines Or to see it by moonlight,-when mellowly The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines; [fall of stars, When the waterfalls gleam like a quick And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars

Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet From the cool shining walks where the young people meet.[awakes Or at morn, when the magic of daylight A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks, [one Hills, cupolas, fountains, called forth every Out of darkness, as they were just born of the sun.

[day, When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with the From his haram of night flowers stealing away;

And the wind, full of wantonness, woos like a lover

over.

The young aspen-trees till they tremble all [first hopes, When the east is as warm as the light of And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurled, [that opes Shines in through the mountainous portal, Sublime from that valley of bliss to the world!

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

NIGHT, silent, cool, transparent, crowned the day,

The sky receded farther into space,

The stars came lower down to meet the eye, Till the whole hemisphere, alive with light, Trembled from east to west with one consent.

The constellations round the Arctic pole, That never set to us, here scarcely rose, But in their stead Orion through the north Pursued the Pleiades; Sirius with his keen Quick scintillations in the zenith reigned. The South unveiled its glories; there the Wolf

With eyes of lightning watched the Centaur's spear;

Through the clear hyaline the Ship of Heaven

Came sailing from eternity; the Dove
On silver pinions winged her peaceful way.
There at the footstool of Jehovah's throne
The Altar, kindled from His presence,
blazed.

There too, all else excelling, meekly shone
The Cross, the symbol of redeeming love.
The heavens declared the glory of the
LORD,

The firmament displayed His handiwork.

"MAKE WAY FOR LIBERTY."

"MAKE way for Liberty!" he cried; Made way for Liberty, and died!

In arms the Austrian phalanx stood,
A living wall, a human wood!
A wall, where every conscious stone
Seemed to its kindred thousands grown;
A rampart all assaults to bear,

Till Time to dust their frames should wear;
A wood, like that enchanted grove,
In which with fiends Rinaldo strove,
Where every silent tree possessed
A spirit prisoned in its breast,
Which the first stroke of coming strife
Would startle into hideous life:

So dense, so still the Austrians stood,
A living wall, a human wood!
Impregnable, their front appears
All horrent with projected spears,
Whose polished points before them shine,
From flank to flank, one brilliant line,
Bright as the breakers' splendours run
Along the billows to the sun.

Opposed to these, a hovering band
Contended for their native land;
Peasants, whose new-found strength had
broke

From manly necks the ignoble yoke,
And forged their fetters into swords,
On equal terms to fight their lords;
And what insurgent rage had gained,
In many a mortal fray maintained:
Marshalled once more at Freedom's call,
They came to conquer or to fall,
Where he who conquered, he who fell,
Was deemed a dead or living Tell.
Such virtue had that patriot breathed,
So to the soil his soul bequeathed,
That whereso'er his arrows flew,
Heroes in his own likeness grew,
And warriors sprang from every sod
Which his awakening footstep trod.

And now the work of life and death
Hung on the passing of a breath;

The fire of conflict burned within,
The battle trembled to begin:
Yet while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for attack was nowhere found;
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed,
The unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 'twere suicide to meet,
And perish at their tyrants' feet;—
How could they rest within their graves,
And leave their homes the homes of slaves?
Would they not feel their children tread
With clanking chains above their head?

It must not be: this day, this hour
Annihilates the oppressor's power;
All Switzerland is in the field,
She will not fly, she cannot yield,―
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast,
But every freeman was a host,
And felt as though himself were he
On whose sole arm hung victory.

It did depend on one indeed;
Behold him-Arnold Winkelried!
There sounds not to the trump of fame
The echo of a nobler name.
Unmarked he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,
Till you might see with sudden grace
The very thought come o'er his face,
And by the motion of his form
Anticipate the bursting storm,
And by the uplifting of his brow
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.

But, 'twas no sooner thought than done; The field was in a moment won. "Make way for Liberty!" he cried, Then ran, with arms extended wide, As if his dearest friend to clasp; Ten spears he swept within his grasp:

44

Make way for Liberty!" he cried. Their keen points met from side to side; He bowed amongst them like a tree, And thus made way for Liberty.

Swift to the breach his comrades fly; "Make way for Liberty!" they cry, And through the Austrian phalanx dart, As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart;

While instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all:
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free;
Thus Death made way for Liberty!

:0:

[blocks in formation]

Thy house is left unto thee desolate; Though thy proud stones in cumbrous

ruin fall, [wall; And seas of sand o'ertop thy mouldering Yet shall the Muse to fancy's ardent view Each shadowy trace of faded pomp renew; And as the seer on Pisgah's topmost brow With glistening eye beheld the plain below, With prescient ardour drank the scented gale, [hail,

And bade the opening glades of Canaan
Her eagle eye shall scan the prospect wild,
From Carmel's cliffs to Almotana's tide;
The flinty waste, the cedar-tufted hill,
The liquid health of smooth Ardeni's rill,
The grot, where, by the watch-fire's evening
blaze,

The robber riots or the hermit prays;
Or where the tempest rives the hoary stone,
The wintry top of giant Lebanon.

[ocr errors]

FELICIA HEMANS.

1793-1835.

IVAN THE CZAR.

HE sat in silence on the ground,
The old and haughty Czar,
Lonely, though princes girt him round,
And leaders of the war;
He had cast his jewelled sabre,
That many a field had won,

To the earth beside his youthful dead-
His fair and first-born son.

With a robe of ermine for its bed
Was laid that form of clay,
Where the light a stormy sunset shed
Through the rich tent made way,
And a sad and solemn beauty

On the pallid face came down, Which the lord of nations mutelywatched, In the dust, with his renown.

Low tones at last, of woe and fear,
From his full bosom broke;
A mournful thing it was to hear
How then the proud man spoke.
The voice that through the combat
Had shouted far and high,
Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones,
Burdened with agony.

"There is no crimson on thy cheek,
And on thy lip no breath;

I call thee, and thou dost not speak:
They tell me this is death!
And fearful things are whispering
That I the deed have done!
For the honour of thy father's name,
Look up, look up, my son!

[mien;

"Well might I know death's hue and
But on thine aspect, boy,
What, till this moment, have I seen
Save pride and tameless joy?
Swiftest thou wert to battle,

And bravest there of all:
How could I think a warrior's frame
Thus like a flower should fall?

"I will not bear that still cold look-
Rise up, thou fierce and free!
Wake as the storm wakes! I will brook
All, save this calm, from thee.
Lift brightly up, and proudly,
Once more thy kindling eyes:
Hath my word lost its power on earth?
I say to thee, arise!

"Didst thou not know I loved thee well?
Thou didst not! and art gone,
In bitterness of soul, to dwell
Where man must dwell alone.
Come back, young fiery spirit!
If but one hour, to learn
The secrets of the folded heart,
That seemed to thee so stern.

"Thou wert the first, the first fair child That in mine arms I pressed; Thouwert the bright one that hast smiled Like summer on my breast.

I reared thee as an eagle,

To the chase thy steps I led,

I bore thee on my battle-horse,-
I look upon thee-dead!

"Lay down my warlike banners here, Never again to wave,

And bury my red sword and spear,
Chiefs, in my first-born's grave;
And leave me!-I have conquered,

I have slain-my work is done! Whom have I slain? Ye answer not; Thou too art mute, my son!"

And thus his wild lament was poured
Through the dark resounding night,
And the battle knew no more his sword,
Nor the foaming steed his might.
He heard strange voices moaning
In every wind that sighed;
From the searching stars of heaven he
shrank-

Humbly the conqueror died.

:0:

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

1770-1850.

A NIGHT PIECE.

THE sky is overcast With a continuous cloud of texture close, Heavy and wan, all whitened by the moon, Which through that veil is indistinctly seen, A dull contracted circle, yielding light So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls, Chequering the ground, from rock, plant, tree, or tower,

At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam Startles the pensive traveller while he treads His lonesome path, with unobserving eye Bent earthwards: he looks up-the clouds are split

« AnteriorContinuar »