Nor visible angels mourn'd with drooping plumes :
Nor didst thou mount on high
With all thine own redeem'd outbursting from their
For thou didst bear away from earth
But one of human birth,
The dying felon by thy side, to be
In Paradise with thee.
Nor o'er thy cross the clouds of vengeance brake, A little while the conscious earth did shake
At that foul deed by her fierce children done;
A few dim hours of day,
The world in darkness lay,
Then bask'd in bright repose beneath the cloudless
While thou didst sleep beneath the tomb,
Consenting to thy doom,
Ere yet the white-rob'd Angel shone
Upon the sealed stone.
And when thou didst arise, thou didst not stand With devastation in thy red right hand,
Plaguing the guilty city's murtherous crew;
But thou didst haste to meet
Thy mother's coming feet,
And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few:
Then calmly, slowly didst thou rise
Into thy native skies,
Thy human form dissolved on high
In its own radiancy.
TO-MORROW.
(Proverbs, xxvii. 2.)
TO-MORROW!-mortal, boast not thou
Of time and tide that are not now!
But think, in one revolving day
How earthly things may pass away!
To-day-while hearts with rapture spring,
The youth to beauty's lip may cling;
To-morrow-and that lip of bliss
May sleep unconscious of his kiss.
To-day-the blooming spouse may press
Her husband in a fond caress ;
To-morrow-and the hands that prest
May wildly strike her widow'd breast.
To-day-the clasping babe may drain
The milk-stream from its mother's vein;
To-morrow-like a frozen rill,
That bosom-current may be still.
To-day, thy merry heart may feast
On herb and fruit, and bird and beast;
To-morrow-spite of all thy glee,
The hungry worms may feast on thee.
To-morrow!-mortal, boast not thou
Of time and tide that are not now!
But think, in one revolving day
That even thyself may'st pass away.
BEAUTIFUL creature! I have been
Moments uncounted watching thee,
Now flitting round the foliage green
Of yonder dark, embow'ring tree;
And now again, in frolic glee,
Hov'ring around those opening flowers
Happy as nature's child should be,
Born to enjoy her loveliest bowers.
And I have gaz'd upon thy flight,
Till feelings I can scarce define,
Awaken'd by so fair a sight,
With desultory thoughts combine
Not to induce me to repine,
Or envy thee thy happiness;
But from a lot so bright as thine,
To borrow musings born to bless.
Then thou, delightful creature, who
Wert yesterday a sightless worm
Becom'st a symbol fair and true,
Of hopes that own no mortal term;
In thy proud change we see the germ
Of Man's sublimer destiny,
While holiest oracles confirm
The type of immortality!
A change more glorious far than thine,
E'en I, thy fellow-worm, may know,
When this exhausted frame of mine
Down to its kindred dust shall go ;
When the anxiety and woe
Of being's embryo state shall seem
Like phantoms flitting to and fro
In some confus'd and fev'rish dream.
For thee, who flittest gaily now,
With all thy nature asks-supplied,
A few brief summer days, and thou
No more amid these haunts shall glide,
As hope's fair herald-in thy pride
The sylph-like genius of the scene,
But, sunk in dark oblivion's tide,
Shall be as thou hadst never been!
While Man's immortal part, when Time
Shall set the chainless spirit free,
May seek a brighter, happier clime
Than Fancy e'er could feign for thee;
Though bright her fairy bowers may be,
Yet brief as bright their beauties fade,
And sad Experience mourns to see
Each gourd Hope trusted in-decay'd.
Sport on, then, lovely Summer fly,
With whom began my votive strain :-
Yet purer joys their hopes supply,
Who, by Faith's alchemy, obtain
Comfort in sorrow, bliss in pain,
Freedom in bondage, light in gloom,
Though earthly losses, heavenly gain,
And Life immortal through the Tomb.
GRAVE-STONES,
A Fragment.
THE grass is green and the spring floweret blooms,
And the tree blossoms all as fresh and fair
As death had never visited the earth;
Yet every blade of grass, and every flower,
And every bud and blossom of the spring
Is the memorial that nature rears
Over a kindred grave.-Ay, and the song
Of woodland wooer, or his nuptial lay,
As blythe as if the year no winter knew,
Is the lament of universal death.
The merry singer is the living link
Of many a thousand years of death gone by,
And many a thousand in futurity,-
The remnant of a moment, spared by him
But for another meal to gorge upon.
This globe is but our fathers' cemetery-
The sun, and moon, and stars that shine on high,
The lamps that burn to light their sepulchre,
The bright escutcheons of their funeral vault.
Yet does man move as gaily as the barge,
Whose keel sings through the waters, and her sails
Kythe like the passing meteor of the deep;
Yet ere to-morrow shall those sunny waves
That wanton round her, as they were in love,
Turn dark and fierce, and swell, and swallow her,
So is he girt by death on every side,
As heedless of it.-Thus he perishes.
Such were my thoughts upon a summer eve,
As forth I walk'd to quaff the cooling breeze.
The setting sun was curtaining the west
With purple and with gold, so fiercely bright,
That eye of mortal might not look on it-
Pavilion fitted for an angel's home.
The sun's last ray fell slanting on a thorn
With blossoms white, and there a blackbird sat
Bidding the sun adieu, in tones so sweet
As fancy might awake around his throne.
My heart was full, yet found no utterance,
Save in a half-breath'd sigh and moistening tear.
I wander'd on, scarce knowing where I went,
Till I was seated on an infant's grave.
Alas! I knew the little tenant well;
She was one of a lovely family,
That oft had clung around me like a wreath
Of flowers, the fairest of the maiden spring-
It was a new-made grave, and the green sod
ty loosely on it; yet affection there
ad rear'd the stone, her monument of fame.
ead the name-I lov'd to hear her lisp-
was not alone, but every name was there
hat lately echoed through that happy dome.
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