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To know Delight but by her parting smile,
And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while;
Then melt, ye elements, that form’d in vain
This troubled pulse, and visionary brain!
Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom!
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb!
Truth, ever lovely, since the world began,
The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man,
How can thy words from balmy slumber start
Reposing Virtue, pillow'd on the heart!
Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder roll'd,
And that were true which Nature never told,
Let wisdom smile not on her conquer'd field;
No rapture dawns, no treasure is reveal'd!
Oh! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate,
The doom that bars us from a better fate;
But, sad as angels for the good man's sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in !

Cease every joy to glimmer on my mind, But leave-oh! leave the light of Hope behind What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel-visits, few, and far between! Her musing mood shall every pang appease, And charm-when pleasures lose the power to please!

Eternal hope! when yonder spheres sublime
Peal'd their first notes to sound the march of time,
Thy joyous youth began-but not to fade.
When all the sister planets have decay'd;
When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow,
And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below;
Thou, undismay’d, shalt o'er the ruins smile,
And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile!

THE ROSE OF THE WILDERNESS. At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,

I have mus'd in a sorrowful mood, On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower,

Where the home of my forefathers stood. . All ruined and wild is their roofless abode,

And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree; And travelled by few is the grass-cover'd road, Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode

To his hills that encircle the sea.

Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk,

By the dial stone aged and green,
One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk,

To mark where a garden had been.
Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race,

All wild in the silence of Nature, it drew,
From each wandering sun-beam, a lonely embrace,
For the night-weed and thorn over shadowed the place

Where the flower of my forefathers grew.

Sweet bud of the wilderness ! emblem of all

That remains in this desolate heart! The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall;

But patience shall never depart! Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright,

In the days of delusion by fancy combin'd, With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, Abandon my soul like a dream of the night,

And leave but a desert behind.

Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns

When the faint and the feeble deplore;
Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems

A thousand wild waves on the shore!
Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,

May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate; Yea! even the name I have worshipped in vain Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again,

To bear is to conquer our fate,

THE LAST MAN.
All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,

The Sun himself must die,
Before this mortal shall assume

Its immortality!
I saw a vision in my sleep,
That gave my spirit strength to sweep

Adown the gulf of time!
I saw the last of human mould,
That shall Creation's death behold,

As Adam saw her prime!

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,

The Earth with age was wan
The skeletous of nations were

Around that lonely man!

Some had expired in fight--the brands · Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some!
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread,
And ships were drifting with the dead

To shores where all was dumb!

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,

With dauntless words and high, That shook the sere leaves from the wood

As if a storm pass'd by, Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun, Thy face is cold, thy race is run,

'Tis Mercy bids thee go. For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow.

What though beneath thee man put forth

His pomp, his pride, his skill;
And arts that made fire, flood, and earth,

The vassals of his will;-
Yet mourn not I thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrowned king of day:

For all those trophied arts
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Heal'd not a passion or a pang

Entail'd on human hearts.

Go, let oblivion's curtain fall.

Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall

Life's tragedy again.
Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh upon the rack

Of pain anew to writhe;
Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorrd,
Or mown in battle by the sword,

Like grass beneath the scythe. * Ev'n I am weary in yon skies

To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumless agonies,

Behold not me expire.
My lips that speak thy dirge of death
Their rounded gasp and gugling breath

To see thou shalt not boast.
The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,
The majesty of Darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost!

This spirit shall return to Him

That gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim

When thou thyself art dark !
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,

By Him recall’d to breath,
Who cartive led captivity,
Who robb’d the grave of Victory,

And took the sting from Death!

Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up

On Nature's awful waste,
To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste-
Go, tell that night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,

On Earth's sepulchral clod,
The dark’ning universe defy
To quench his Immortality,
Or shake his trust in God!

THE RAINBOW. The evening was glorious, and light through the trees Play'd in sunshine, the rain-drops, the birds, and the breeze, The landscape, outstretching, in loveliness lay On the lap of the year, in the beauty of May. For the bright queen of spring, as she pass'd down the vale, Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale; And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours, And fresh in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers. The skies, like a banner in sunset unrollid, O'er the west threw their splendor of azure and gold; But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increas'd, "Till its margin of black touch'd the zenith and east. We gaz'd on these scenes, while around us they glow'd, When a vision of beauty appeared on the cloud; 'Twas not like the sun, as at mid-day we view, Nor 'the moon, that rolls lightly through star-light and blue, Like a spirit it came in the van of a storm, And the eye and the heart hailed its beautiful form; For it look'd not severe, like an angel of wrath, But its garments of brightness illumed its dark path. In the hues of its grandeur sublimely it stood, O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood; And river, field, village, and woodland grew bright, As conscious they felt and afforded delight.

'Twas the bow of Omnipotence, bent in His hand,
Whose grasp at creation the universe spann'd;
'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime,
His vow from the flood to the exit of time;
Not dreadful as when in a whirlwind he pleads,
When storms are his chariot, and lightning his steeds;
The black cloud of vengeance his banner unfurl'd,
And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world;
In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire,
And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire,
And the sword and the plague-spot with death strew the

plain,
And vultures and wolves are the graves of the slain.
Not such was that rainbow, that beautiful one!
Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone-the sun;
A pavillion it seem'd, with a deity graced,
And justice and mercy met there and embraced.
Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom,
Like love o’er a death-couch, or hope o'er the tomb;
Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired,
As love had just vanished, or hope had expired.
I gazed not alone on that source of my song,
To all who beheld it these verses belong:
Its presence to all was the path of the Lord!
Each full heart expanded, grew warm and adored.
Like a visit—the converse of friends--or a day,
That bow from my sight pass'd forever away;
Like that visit, that converse, that day, to my heart,
That bow from remembrance can never depart.
'Tis a picture in memory, distinctly defined,
With the strong and imperishing colors of mind :
A part of my being beyond my control,
Beheld on that cloud, and transcribed on my soul.

THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM.
MORN breaketh in the East. The purple clouds
Are putting on their gold and violet,
To look the meeter for the sun's bright coming,
Sleep is upon the waters and the wind;
And nature, from the weary forest-leaf"
To her majestic master, sleeps. As yet.
There is no mist upon the deep blue sky,
And the clear dew is on the blushing blossoms
Of crimson roses in a holy rest.
How hallowed is the hour of morning! meet,
Aye-beautifully meet, for the pure prayer.
The patriarch standeth at his tented door,

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