LINES. A CLOUD lay near the setting sun, And his glorious beams, as he slowly sunk, And it sent him back again his rays, And grew brighter, and more bright, Till it seemed, as its glowing colors changed, But the sun sunk down at the close of day, A fair young bride at the altar stood, And a blush was on her cheek, And her voice was so low, that the vows she vowed Seemed scarce from her lips to break. Yet joy sat on her placid lip, And in her downcast eye, For a long, long life of happiness Before her seemed to lie. But her lord soon bowed to Death's stern doom, And she wept herself to her silent tomb. MEDITATION. TELL me, ye viewless Spirits of the Air, INFIDELITY. THOU who scornest truths divine, No; for care corrodes thy heart. No; thy nature bids thee shrink From the void abyss's brink. Thou may'st laugh, in broad sunshine; Scoff, when sparkles the red wine; TO A CITY PIGEON. STOOP to my window, thou beautiful dove! To catch the glance of thy gentle eye. Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves, And forsake the wood with its freshened leaves? Why dost thou haunt the sultry street, When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet? How canst thou bear This noise of people-this breezeless air? Thou alone of the feathered race, Dost look unscared on the human face; Thou alone, with a wing to flee, Dost love with man in his haunts to be; Has become a name for trust and love. A holy gift is thine, sweet bird! Thou'rt named with childhood's earliest word; Thou'rt linked with all that is fresh and wild In the prisoned thoughts of the city childAnd thy even wings Are its brightest image of moving things. It is no light chance. Thou art set apart Wisely by Him who tamed thy heartTo stir the love for the bright and fair, That else were scaled in the crowded airI sometimes dream Angelic rays from thy pinions stream. Come, then, ever when daylight leaves Lessons of heaven, sweet bird, in thee! TO THE WITCH HAZEL.. MYSTERIOUS plant! whose golden tresses wave With a sad beauty in the dying year, Blooming amid November's frost severe, Like the pale corpse-light o'er the recent grave! And thou canst point where buried treasures lie. |