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I come with every star :
Mirrors of worlds afar.
I come with peace; I shed Sleep through thy wood-walks o'er the honey-bee, The lark's triumphant voice, the fawn's young glee,
The hyacinth's meek head.
On my own heart I lay
The shadowing lids to play.
I come with mightier things!
Borne on my sweeping wings.
I waft them not alone
Till the bright day is done.
But in the human breast
The mantle of its rest.
I bring them from the past: From true hearts broken, gentle spirits torn, From crush'd affections, which, though long o'erborne,
Make the tone heard at last.
I bring them from the tomb;
Like trumpets through the gloom.
I come with all my train :
Phantoms of heart and brain !
Looks from departed eyes,
They smite with agonies.
I, that with soft control
The searcher of the soul !
I, that shower dewy light Through slumbering leaves, bring storms !—the tempest birth Of memory, thought, remorse :- be holy, Earth!
I am the solemn Night!
THE HEBREW MOTHER.
The rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain,
Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think
So passed they on,
At last the fane was reached, The earth's one sanctuary; and rapture hushed Her bosom, as before her, through the day It rose, a mountain of white marble, steeped In light like floating gold. But when that hour Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy Lifted through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye Beseechingly to hers-and, half in fear, Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm Clung, even as ivy clings, the deep spring-tide Of nature then swelled high; and o'er her child Bending, her soul brake forth, in mingled sounds Of weeping and sad song,—" Alas!" she cried,
“ Alas! my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me,
And now fond thoughts arise,
How shall I hence depart?
“How the lone paths retrace, where thou wert playing
And I, in joyous pride,
Beholding thee so fair!
“ And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted ! Will it not seem as if the sunny day
Turned from its door away, While, through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted, I languish for thy voice, which past me still,
Went like a singing rill?
“Under the palm-trees thou no more shall meet me,
With the full water-urn !
And watch for thy dear sake!
“ And thou, wilt slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee,
Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, To fold my neck; and lift up in thy fear,
A cry which none shall hear ?
“ What have I said, my child ?—will He not hear thee Who the young ravens heareth from their nest?
Will He not guard thy rest,
Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy!
“I give thee to thy God the God that gave thee,
And, precious as thou art,
And thou shalt be His child !
“ Therefore, farewell !—I
me, As the stag panteth for the water-brooks,
Yearning for thy sweet looks !
The Rock of Strength,--farewell !"
THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT.
'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound !
Through the pass beneath him wound.