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'Tis said, that warnings ye dispense, Emboldened by a keener sense ;
That men have lived for whom, With dread precision, ye made clear The hour that in a distant year
Should knell them to the tomb.
Unwelcome insight! Yet there are
Truth shows a glorious face,
Sage spirits ! by your grace.
God, who instructs the brutes to scent
Whose wisdom fixed the scale
When lights of reason fail.
A PEN—to register; a key
That winds through secret wards ;
As aptly, also, might be given
That smoothes foregone distress, the lines
Yet, like a tool of Fancy, works
O! that our lives, which flee so fast,
Retirement then might hourly look
With heart as calm as lakes that sleep,
THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE.
ENOUGH of rose-bud lips and eyes
Like harebells bathed in dew, Of cheek that with carnation vies,
And veins of violet hue;
Earth wants not beauty that may scorn
A likening to frail flowers;
For seasons and for hours.
Through Moscow's gates, with gold unbarred,
Stepped one at dead of night,
From meditated blight;
As doth the hunted fawn,
Appeared unwelcome dawn.
Seven days she lurked in brake and field,
Seven nights her course renewed,
Or berries of the wood;
When lowly doors were shut,
Her Foster-mother's hut.
“ To put your love to dangerous proof
I come,” said she, “ from far;
In terror of the Czar."
No second look she cast,
Embracing and embraced.
She led the Lady to a seat
Beside the glimmering fire, Bathed duteously her wayworn feet,
Prevented each desire :
The cricket chirped, the house-dog dozed,
And on that simple bed,
Now rests her weary head.
When she, whose couch had been the sod,
Whose curtain, pine or thorn,
Who comforts the forlorn;
Sleep sealed her eyes and stole Feeling from limbs with travel spent,
And trouble from the soul.
Refreshed, the Wanderer rose at morn,
And soon again was dight
Through long and perilous flight;
“ My thanks with silent tears Have unto Heaven and You been paid :
Now listen to my fears !
“ Have you forgot”—and here she smiled
“ The babbling flatteries You lavished on me when a child
Disporting round your knees ? I was your lambkin, and
your Your star, your gem, your flower; Light words, that were more lightly heard In
many a cloudless hour!
Is come to bitter fruit;
And must be hidden from his wrath :
You, Foster-father dear,
not tarry here!
“I cannot bring to utter woe
Your proved fidelity." “Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so!
For you we both would die.” * Nay, nay, I come with semblance feigned
And cheek embrowned by art; Yet, being inwardly unstained,
With courage will depart."
" But whither would
A thought for your dear sake; Rest, shielded by our Lady's grace,
And soon sball you be led Forth to a safe abiding-place,
Where never foot doth tread."
The dwelling of this faithful pair
In a straggling village stood,
A dangerous neighborhood ;
With thickets rough and blind;
Impervious to the wind.