صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

MADONNA.

· Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also."

Oh what are all our Nature's ties
To those wound round a Mother's heart?
There glows a love which never dies !
There clings a hold which naught can part !

[ocr errors]

Long since the Widow steeped the moss
Which covered Joseph's peaceful tomb:
But now the Mother braves the Cross
Where hangs the offspring of her womb !

Strong in maternal love,—the Eclipse,-
The Earth's dread shiver,-ne'er she heeds ;
Nor wail nor shriek can pass those lips,-
Her soul is pierced and inly bleeds.

Mother! once fanned by angel-wings!
O'er whom Celestial Influence thrilled !
Couldst thou forget ? thy ponderings,
Dark and mysterious, are fulfilled !

Born of a woman,

-see Him turn
To thee His thorn-bound, sinking, brow:
Still toward His mother doth he yearn,
Owning in death the Filial vow.

Upon the crisis of that hour
Heaven's glory, Earth's salvation, hung !
But there is seen Maternal power !
There speaks the Child's expiring tongue !

One, worthy her, is only left,
One bosom fit to rest upon !
Go, Woman, desolate, bereft,
And lean upon thy foster son !

Homeward they went: now dread that night,
Anotheü came, but came not sleep,-
Oft they invoked the dawning light,-
How long those nights endured to weep!

News from the Grave where Jesus lay!
The Penitent 's already there !
Serenest Mother, wherefore stay?
Roll, like its Stone, away thy care!

Grief, Joy, can win nor tear nor smile,-
The sword has gone through all her soul !
Her eye-beam leaves this earth the while
Reposing on the heavenly goal.

She comes not where disciples meet
To wait the visits of their Lord,-
She sees Him not, though others greet,
Nor hears her own Incarnate Word.

No more of fleshly tie remains,-
Once known as such, He's known no more. *
And ne'er the Widowed Maid complains
That she is shunned by Him she bore.

The Heavens receive Him now! She kneels
To Him whom erst her arms had prest !
And from her humble hovel steals
To pray with them who Christ confessed.

• 2 Cor. v. 16. + Acts i. 14. Whatever poets and painters have feigned, Mary, the mother of Jesus, is never introduced in inspired story, from the moment in which she is led from Calvary, until her meeting with the disciples in " the upper room.” This is the last notice of her, and she is heard of no more.

Mother and Son, relations fond,
Soon broke, though sedulously nursed !
Exile asunder tore the bond,-
She spake no more,—her heart had burst!

Her awful path she now had trod,
And Judah's blessed daughter died, -
She bowed in heaven before her God!
And John bent gently by her side !

Oh Calvary! What bigot-force
Can make thee Nature's ties upbraid ?
Thou art of tenderness the source !
Each kindliest virtue seeks thy shade!

SONNET ON A LAKE NEAR TOBERMOREY.

Why pleases well this scene ? Not that yon heights

Rise with the pomp of Alpine majesty;

Not that this tranquil lake and azure sky Swim in the sheen.of summer's strongest lights. Not that yon waterfalls their concert pour,

And iris arch, while they new valleys make;

Nor, that these ripples from each flowery brake, Like gladsome things, disport around mine oar !

No,-but that man has not defiled this scene ! The tempest of his passions has not marred

Thy lilied border nor thy face serene,-
The discord of his follies has not jarred

Thy soft and pulsing music! Could my boat
In such unearthly calm for ever float !

ODE WRITTEN ON ENTERING SCOTLAND FOR

THE FIRST TIME,
THOUGH

DESCENDED FROM

ITS RACE.

“ Two voices are there : one is of the sea,
One of the mountains ; each a mighty voice :
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen Music, Liberty !"Wordsworth.

LAND of the Mountain, hail !

Thy soaring peaks arise
From out each loveliest dale

To pierce the arching skies :
Send out thy mountain-cry

Which shook the earth of old :
It rings of liberty,

And makes the patriot bold.

Land of the Forest, hail !

Deep through thy solemn shades
The hollow storm-winds wail,

Or rustle light thy glades :
Oh clap thy giant-hands,

And let thy sylvan mirth
Awake the glowing bands

Of freedom round the earth.

Land of the Torrent, hail !

Whose tumbling waters roar
O'er every channell’d vale,
To

every farthest shore: Ye floods, your thunder roll

Far to the bellowing main, And rouse the free-born soul

With nature's choral strain.

Land of the Islet, hail !

Let all that gem-like throng, Each tufted rock, prevail

To swell the freeman's song: And while this infant host

Their shriller notes employ, Re-echoed by thy coast,

Prolong the sounding joy.

Land of the Tempest, hail !

Before whose angry sweep The roots of ages quail,

And foams to heaven the deep. Oh lend your voice and van

To peal, to waft, the shout Of disenthralled man

The universe throughout.

Land of the Meteor, hail !

Thy clouds as incense wreathe Careering on the gale,

Or shrouding all beneath : Let awful curls, as erst,

Climb towering to the skies, As swells the mighty burst

Of all these harmonies.

« السابقةمتابعة »