ON READING CHILDE HAROLD.
THE rainbow's bright and varying hue,
Mix'd with the soft celestial blue,
The brightest, fairest stars of night,
Which shed their radiance pure and bright,
If mingled in a wreath, would be
Too poor an offering for thee.
The morning sun should deck thy brow,
Now dazzling bright, and softening now;
But night's dark veil too oft doth cloud
The brow which genius should enshroud,
For vice has set her impress there,
Mingled with virtues pure and fair.
Он, thou almighty Lord of heaven and earth!
From whom the world and man derive their birth,
My youthful heart with sacred love inspire,
And fill my soul with wild poetic fire.
And oh, thou pure, transcendent muse of heaven,
Descend upon an airy cloud of even,
With thy bright fingers touch the trembling chord,
And let it echo to my Saviour, Lord.
CHRISTMAS HYMN.
HAIL to salvation's brilliant morn,
Hail to the dawn of joy and peace,
When God's supreme, almighty power,
Bade all our pains and sorrows cease.
Ye angels, sing your sweetest songs,
And strike anew each golden lyre;
Let him to whom the praise belongs
The sacred strain inspire.
The day the star of promise shone
Bright in yon eastern sky,
It bore redemption in its light,
A herald from on high.
It led a wise and chosen band,
Who writhed beneath the rod
Of Herod's proud and kingly hand,
To seek their infant God.
From his high throne in realms of bliss,
Where love was in every breast,
From his glorious home he came to this,
And in his descent we are blest.
For man's unconquerable pride,
That we salvation might obtain,
This blessed Saviour bled and died,-
And has the sacrifice been vain?
Oh Jesus, fill'd with sacred fire,
May I devote this life to thee;
May love my youthful heart inspire,
And glow to all eternity!
'Twas evening, and the sun's last ray
Was beaming o'er the azure sky;
Earth bade farewell to cheerful day,
Which sinks beneath the mountains high.
Those cloud-tipp'd mountains soared afar
In that bright heaven of blue,
And seem'd to reach yon eastern star,
Which glittering you might view.
Between its banks yon rippling stream
Unruffled glides along,
In curling eddies onward flew
Rocks, branches, trees among.
Beyond it raged the troubled sea,
Which drew aloft its wave,
And ever furious, ever dark,
The Sky it seem'd to brave.
How strangely, sweetly blended there
The beautiful and grand,
The awful with the prospect fair,
The terrible and bland!
Behold that tall majestic rock,
O'erhanging yonder stream;
See, at its frowning foot is
The pale moon's silvery beam.
In nature it holds a conspicuous part,
It lives in the ocean, and softens the heart;
The supporter of angels, in heaven it dwells,
And the number of demons reluctantly swells,
'Tis a part of our faith, and it lives with the dead,
'Tis devoid of religion, yet always in dread;
In the wavering candle all brightly it glows,
And with the meandering streamlet it flows.
Without it the name of the warrior were lost,
And the seaman would sink, on the wide ocean tost.
And now, my dear friend, if you guess what it means,
You may have the enigma for nought but your pains.
ALMIGHTY GOD! Father of heaven and earth,
Who form'd, from 'midst the vast expanse of chaos,
This spacious world-omnipotent and holy!
Before thee angels bow!--the countless host
Of those that praise thee, and that hover round
Thy sacred throne, shrink from the blaze of light,
And shadow with their wings their beaming brows,
Lest, on their senses thy transcendent glories
Burst with a stunning power, and absorb them
In one full flood of brilliance.
Oh thou! whose ever-seeing eye can pierce
The misty shades of night, and penetrate
The deep recesses of the human heart;
Parent of earth! how glorious are thy works!
Look on yon orb, whose ever-open eye
Sheds at his glance a pure, resplendent light,
Dispensing good. Night throws her sable veil
O'er hill and rock, o'er rivulet and ocean:
Then chaste Diana sheds her silver ray
O'er all: her throne, the fleecy cloud that floats
Over the vast expanse of heaven above us;
Her bright attendants are the brilliant stars,
That seem like guardian angels, who attend,
In virgin purity, to keep from ill
Our ever-rolling orb: beauty reigns over all,
And tinges nature with her softest touch.
If scenery so bright as this be here,
Oh, how can fancy paint the joys of heaven,
That pure and holy place, region of bliss!
There glides an amber stream, diffusing sweets,
And every tiny wave, which o'er the sands
Of purest gold rolls backward, washes up
Some pearl or diamond, gem of dazzling beauty,
While ambrosial zephyrs fan the air.
See, yonder angel, resting on the cloud,
His beaming eye upturn'd with holy awe.
Oh list! he chaunts his great Creator's praise;
His golden harp is never hush'd by wo;
There music holds her sweet, harmonious reign.
How pure the being who calls forth that lay:
Such clear, melodious symphony
Might well awake the dead from their last sleep.
TO MY SISTER LUCRETIA.
THOUGH thy freshness and beauty are laid in the tomb, Like the flow'ret, which droops in its verdure and bloom; Though the halls of thy childhood now mourn thee in vain, And thy strains will ne'er waken their echoes again; Still o'er the fond memory they silently glide; Still, still, thou art ours and America's pride. Sing on, thou pure seraph, with harmony crown'd, O'er the broad arch of heaven thy notes shall resound, And pour the full tide of thy music along, While a bright choir of angels re-echoes the song. The pure elevation which beam'd from thine eye, As it turn'd to its home, in yon fair azure sky, Told of something unearthly, it shone with the light Of pure inspiration and holy delight. "Round the rose that is wither'd a fragrance remains, O'er beauty in ruins the mind proudly reigns." Thy lyre has resounded o'er ocean's broad wave, And the tear of deep anguish been shed o'er thy grave, But thy spirit has mounted to regions on high, To the throne of its God, where it never can die. 1833.
WRITTEN WHEN BETWEEN ELEVEN AND TWELVE.
FAIR mortal, I linger to tell thee thy fate,
Like an angel above thy bright fortunes I wait:
Thy heart is a mixture of tender and sweet,
And thy bosom is virtue's own sacred retreat.
Simplicity soft and affection combine
To render thee lovely and almost divine.
Devoid of ambition, rest, dear one, secure,
For with thoughts so refined, and with feelings so pure,
What mortal would injure, what care would pursue
A being protected by heaven like you?
Bright beauty thou hast not, but something so fair
It may serve to protect thee from sorrow and care.
I pierce the light veil which would darken thy fate,
And angels of happiness round thee await;
I see a bright cherub supporting thy head,
While around thee the smiles of affection are shed;
I see thy aged arms around him prest,
Thy grey locks waving o'er his youthful breast-
I see thee on his tender bosom lay,
In silent pleasure breathe thy life away.
My tale is told-dear one, I linger now
To kiss with fervent love thy own fair brow.
On the brow of the monarch in triumph I stand,
I govern each measure, I rule each command;
Without me, his kingdom to atoms would fall,
But I share not his crown, and I rule not his hall.
I dance in the meadow, and play on the stream,
And I glimmer obscurely in Luna's pale beam.
I dwell in thy bosom, I'm part of thy form,
But I ride on the tempest, and guide the fierce storm;
With the sea-nymph I rest on the moss-cover'd cliff,
And I weep with the mourner that life is so brief.
O'er the grave of the mighty in sorrow I bow,
And I rest in thy mind as thou 'rt watching me now.
Go look on the pillow of sorrow and care,
On the brow that is wither'd by darkest despair,
Stern affliction will meet you, but I am not there.
In the heart of the rich man, the court of the prince,
In the mariner's vessel, the warrior's lance,
In the tumult of war, on the brow of the fair,
Though millions surround them still I am not there.
In the home of the noble, the virtuous, the great,
In thy own lovely bosom, rejoicing I wait.
I wish I might dwell in that beautiful eye;
I wish I might float on yon pure azure sky;
I would lead you in triumph wherever I stray'd,
Where the sunbeam had lit, or the pale moon had play'd.
ESSAY ON THE SACRED WRITINGS.
THE Bible!-what is it? every heart which has read and justly appreciated that inestimable volume cannot fail to exclaim, "This is the work of a God!" Who is there that will not admire, (although he read with a doubting mind,) its force, dignity, beauty, and simplicity? Principles so pure, precepts so sublime, and thoughts so refined, who could have formed them but one inspired by a God, or God himself? '"Tis our guide, our star to lead, the herald to usher us into a glorious eternity. When the mind is overwhelmed with care, what power can soothe like this sacred volume? Its pages beaming with truth and mercy, will shed a holy light over the troubled landscape, and impart a softer swell to the billows of adversity. It is the lighthouse by whose beams we should direct our path over the gloomy waves of life. Then why neglect it? Some may think it derogatory to their earthly dignity
What will the world say?" Read it, and learn from its sublime precepts to stem the tide of worldly opinion. When all else fails you, this will remain the supporter of your rights; here is real dignity and grandeur, but it is the dignity of the soul, the grandeur of virtue, the dignity arising from a close alliance with the Deity. If He who
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