APRIL. Shine they like thy sun of summer We alone to thee are strangers, To our homes and household altars O'er the threshold of the Swede. 157 APRIL. "The spring comes slowly up this way." CHRISTABEL. "Tis the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow, And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, On south-sloping brook-sides should smile in the light, O'er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots creeps, Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers! We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south! For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy month; For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, snow, All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau,- Renew the great miracle; let us behold The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled, And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old! Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain, Revive with the warmth and the brightness again, STANZAS FOR THE TIMES-1850. THE evil days have come,-the poor Are made a prey; Bar up the hospitable door, Put out the fire-lights, point no more For Pity now is crime; the chain Is melted at her hearth in twain, STANZAS FOR THE TIMES. 159 Our Union, like a glacier stirred Or bell of kine, or wing of bird, Poor, whispering tremblers !—yet we boast O for the open firmament, The desert hillside, cavern-rent, Than web of Persian loom most rare, Better the rough rock, bleak and bare, I hear a voice: "Thus saith the Law, I hear another voice: "The poor Turn not the outcast from thy door, Dear Lord! between that law and thee Yet not untrue to man's decree, Though spurning its rewards, is he Not mine Sedition's trumpet-blast I read the lesson of the Past, O, clear-eyed Faith, and Patience, thou So calm and strong! Lend strength to weakness, teach us how The sleepless eyes of God look through This night of wrong! A SABBATH SCENE. SCARCE had the solemn Sabbath-bell When down the summer shaded street She saw the white spire through the trees, O, pitying Christ! a refuge give That poor one in thy dwelling! Like a scared fawn before the hounds, A SABBATH SCENE. She raised a keen and bitter cry, A score of stout hands rose between Age clenched his staff, and maiden eyes "Who dares profane this house and day?” Cried out the angry pastor. "Why, bless your soul, the wench's a slave, And I'm her lord and master! "I've law and gospel on my side, "Of course I know your right divine Plump dropped the holy tome, and o'er Bound hand and foot, a slave once more, I saw the parson tie the knots, "Although,” said he, "on Sabbath day, Are deadly sins, we must fulfil VOL. II. 11 161 |