Their garments, as by stealth, they rend;
Unconsciously they pluck their hair;
-This is the Moslem's hour of prayer!
'Twas Judah's once,-but fane and priest,
Altar and sacrifice, have ceased.
And by the Gentiles, in their pride,
Jerusalem is trodden down:
"How long?-for ever wilt thou hide
Thy face, O LORD;-for ever frown?
Israel was once thy glorious crown,
In sight of all the nations worn ;
Now from thy brow in anger torn.
"Zion, forsaken and forgot,
Hath felt thy stroke, and owns it just :
O GOD, our GOD! reject us not,
Her sons take pleasure in her dust:
How is the fine gold dimm'd with rust!
The city throned in gorgeous state,
How doth she now sit desolate !
"Where is thine oath to David sworn?
We by the winds like chaff are driven :
Yet unto us a child is born,
Yet unto us a Son is given;
His throne is as the days of Heaven:
When shall He come to our release,
The mighty God, the Prince of Peace?"
Thus blind with unbelief they cry,
But hope revisits not their glooms;
Seal'd are the words of prophecy,
Seal'd as the secrets of yon tombs,
Where all is dark,—though nature blooms, Birds sing, streams murmur, heaven above, And earth around, are life, light, love.
The sun goes down ;-the mourning crowds,
Re-quicken'd, as from slumber start;
They met in silence here like clouds,
Like clouds in silence they depart:
Still clings the thought to every heart,
Still from their lips escapes in sighs,
-"By whom shall Jacob yet arise?"
By whom shall Jacob yet arise?
-Even by the Power that wakes the dead:
He whom your fathers did despise,
He who for you on Calvary bled,
On Zion shall his ensign spread ;
-Captives! by all the world enslaved,
Know your Redeemer, and be saved!
EAGLE of flowers! I see thee stand,
And on the sun's noon-glory gaze ;
With eye like his, thy lids expand,
And fringe their disk with golden rays:
Though fix'd on earth, in darkness rooted there,
Light is thine element, thy dwelling air,
Thy prospect heaven.
So would mine eagle-soul descry,
Beyond the path where planets run,
The light of immortality,
The splendour of creation's sun;
Though sprung from earth, and hastening to the tomb,
In hope a flower of paradise to bloom,
"Ut pictura poesis."-HOR. De Arte Poetica, v. 361.
Two lovely sisters here unite
To blend improvement with delight,-
Painting and Poetry engage
To deck by turns the varied page.
Here every glowing picture be
The quintessence of poesy,
With skill so exquisitely wrought
As if the colours were pure thought,
-Thought, from the bosom's inmost cell,
By magic tints made visible,
That, while the eye admires, the mind,
As in a glass, itself may find.
And may the Poet's verse, alike,
With all the power of painting strike,
So freely, so divinely trace
In every line, "the line of grace,"
And beautify with such sweet art
The image-chamber of the heart,
That Fancy here may gaze her fill,
Forming fresh scenes and shapes at will,
Where silent woods alone appear,
Or, borrowing voice, but touch the ear.
Yet humble Prose with these shall stand, Friends, kindred, comrades, hand in hand, All in this fair enclosure meet,
The lady of the book to greet,
And, with the pen or pencil, make
The leaves love-tokens for her sake.
A young Lady, unknown to the Author, who, by letter, requested “a stanza,” or "a few lines in his handwriting."
SPIRITS in heaven can interchange
Thoughts without voice or sound;
Spirits on earth at will can range,
Wherever man is found;
Their thoughts (as silent and as fleet
As summer lightnings in the west,
When evening sinks to glorious rest,)
In written symbols meet.
The motion of a feather darts
The secrets of sequester'd hearts
To kindred hearts afar;
As, in the stillness of the night,
Quick rays of intermingling light
Sparkle from star to star.
A spirit to a spirit speaks,
Where these few letters stand;
Strangers alike, the younger seeks
A token from the hand,
That traced an unpretending song,
Whose numbers won her gentle soul,
While, like a mountain-rill, they stole
In trembling harmony along:-
What shall the poet's spirit send
To his unseen, unseeing friend?
-A wish as pure as e'er had birth
In thought or language of this earth.
Cynthia is young,-may she be old;
And fair no doubt,—may she grow wrinkled;
Her locks, in verse at least, are gold,
May they turn silver, thinly sprinkled ;
The rose her cheek, the fire her eye,
Youth, health, and strength successive fly,
And in the end,—may Cynthia die!
"Unkind! inhuman !"-Stay your tears; I only wish you length of years;
And wish them still, with all their woes,
And all their blessings, till the close;
For hope and fear, with anxious strife,
Are wrestlers in the ring of life,
And yesterday, to-day, to-morrow
Are but alternate joy and sorrow.
Now mark the sequel :-may your mind,
In wisdom's paths, true pleasure find,
Grow strong in virtue, rich in truth,
And year by year renew its youth;
Till, in the last triumphant hour,
The spirit shall the flesh o'erpower,
This from its sufferings gain release,
And that take wing, and part in peace.
WITHIN this curious case,
Time's sentinel I place,
Who, while calm, unconscious slumber
Shuts creation from mine eyes,
Through the silent gloom shall number
Every moment as it flies,
And record, at dawn of day,
Thrice ten thousand past away.
On each of these, my breath
May pause 'twixt life and death,
By a subtler line depending
Than the ray of twinkling light,
Which the smallest star is sending,
Every instant, through the night;
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