THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL. WHY do I weep?-to leave the vine A thousand thoughts of all things dea I leave thee. sister! we have play'd Through many a joyous hour, Hung dim o'er fount and bower. In song, in prayer, in sleep, Have been as we may be no more- I leave thee, father! Eve's bright moon With the gather'd grapes, and the lyre in tune, Thou in whose voice, to bless thy child, Lay tones of love so deep, Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiledI leave thee! let me weep! Mother! I leave thee! on thy breas Pouring out joy and wo, I have found that holy place of rest Lips, that have lull'd me with your strain, THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. THE stately homes of England, Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land. The deer across their greensward bound Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream. The merry homes of England! Around their hearths by night, There woman's voice flows forth in song, The blessed homes of England! Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath-hours! Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn; All other sounds, in that still time, Of breeze and leaf are born. The cottage homes of England! As the bird beneath their eaves. The free, fair homes of England! THE HOUR OF DEATH. LEAVES have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set,—but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! Day is for mortal care, Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer: But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. The banquet hath its hour, Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears,-but all are thine. Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee-but thou art not of those That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set-but all Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! We know when moons shall wane, When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea. When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain: But who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Is it when roses in our paths grow pale!They have one season-all are ours to die! Thou art where billows foam, Thou art around us in our peaceful home, And the world calls us forth-and thou art there. Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest, Thou art where fe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beats down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set--but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! Shrinks from the force or from the fraud For thou hast learn'd to watch and wake, What we must still deny; I cannot tell the charm was wrought "Yet thine the brightest smile shall be That ever beauty wore, If she shall meet thee in the bower, Oh! wear the ring, and guard the flower,- "Go, set thy boat before the blast, The haven shall be reach'd at last, And patriot hands shall sound applause, Go, dig the diamond from the wave, From doubt, and from disdain; Be thou from woman's love as free THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. THE breaking waves dash'd high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods, against a stormy sky, Their giant branches toss'd; And the heavy night hung dark When a band of exiles moor'd their bark Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came, Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear, They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea! And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free! The ocean-eagle soar'd From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roar'dThis was their welcome home! There were men with hoary hair Amidst that pilgrim-band- Lit by her deep love's truth; Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?- Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstain'd what there they foundFreedom to worship God! BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. THE warrior bow'd his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprison'd sire; "I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!-oh, break my father's chain!" Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransom'd man this day; Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will meet him on his way." Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. And lo! from far, as on they press'd, there came a glittering band, With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land; "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearn'd so long to see." His dark eye flash'd, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's blood came and went; He reach'd that gray-hair'd chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took. What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook! That hand was cold-a frozen thing-it dropp'd from his like lead, He look'd up to the face above-the face was of the dead! A plume waved o'er the noble brow-the brow was fix'd and white;— He met at last his father's eyes-but in them was no sight! Up from the ground he sprung, and gazed, but who could paint that gaze? They hush'd their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze; They might have chain'd him, as before that stony form he stood, For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. "Father!" at length he murmur'd low, and wept like childhood then, Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men! He thought of all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown, He flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow, "No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for now. My king is false, my hope betray'd, my fatheroh! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are pass'd away from earth! "I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire! beside thee yet, I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met, Thou wouldst have known my spirit then,-for thee my fields were won,— And thou hast perish'd in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!" Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein, Amidst the pale and wilder'd looks of all the courtier train; And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face,-the king before the dead! "Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?— Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this! The voice, the glance, the heart I sought-gave answer, where are they! If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay! "Into these glassy eyes put light,-be still! keep down thine ire, Bid these white lips a blessing speak-this earth is not my sire! Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed. Thou canst not-and a king?-His dust be mountains on thy head!" He loosed the steed; his slack hand fell,-upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look-then turn'd from that sad place: His hope was crush'd, his after-fate untold in martial strain, His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain. ATTRACTION OF THE EAST. WHAT Secret current of man's nature turns |