« ZurückWeiter »
There is a time, when yet the mind is new, That thoughts half-fledged go forth on feeble wing, And poised in ether, much bewildered, view Through fancy's glass, the gliding forms that spring
From unseen hands, to float awhile in air, Then like the melting mists at early dawn,
Give place to brighter forms of beauty rare, That ages past from mystery have drawn.
Oh, faithful time! what progeny is thine!
But who made thee, thou Artisan divine?
That lit up space where mad confusion whirled!
Which time hath since reduced to radiant suns, And from the foam, hath formed a galaxy,
That through high heaven's expanse unbroken runs.
REFLECTIONS IN YOUTH.
One summer's morn, as I strolled along,
Of love, and deep humility.
Through every fabric that Nature weaves
From the simple fern, with its drooping leaves,
And made of this bright fair earth a hell.
From age remote, o'er a boundless waste,
To clothe in beauty the silent night;
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE-A SONG.
How rights the ship, when the world goes merrily,
How rights the ship, as her sails catch greedily
Night holds his watch 'neath a cloudless canopy,With hanging lamps o'er the bright sea's crest, Till young morning spreads, like a golden panoply, A flood of day o'er its glassy breast.
Sparkling like dew-drops distilled on sweet violets, Life's sea of light unruffled lies;
Away darts the ship o'er the silvery breast of it, Her white sails spread to the breeze, she flies.
Morning hath op'd those golden eyes of hers,
But scarce one glance o'er the world hath shone, . When far to the west a gathering cloud appears, Gleaning the darkness that night had strown.
How tosses the ship when the world goes crabbedly, When storms of deep affliction rise!
Loud shrieks the blast as the waves roll rapidly,
LINES WRITTEN ON THE FIRST OF APRIL, 1852.
If nature sanctions all the rules
That govern wind and weather,
For when Aurora raised the vail
The birds rejoiced to see the eye
The prince of that mysterious power
And sure enough, it came blust'ring on
So round the cradle often beams
Bright rays of hope and gladness;
A prosperous sun may set at noon,
In Jersey there lived, as I have been told,
A worthy old Dutchman, who offered much gold
How to drive from his cellar a troublesome witch,
By leading him forth o'er thorn-hedge and ditch,
"So droubled am I," said our hero one day,
"My cals tey run vild, my cows tey run try, No putter my voman can make;
My pees leave de hives, my gattles dey dies,
One evening when all had retired to bed,
He sighed as the darkness grew thicker, and said, "Ich wold garn ins bet ga won ich darf."
But the old mansion shook with a November gale,
And howl'd through each crevice the horrible tale
Dense wreaths of tobacco smoke curled round his head While the old kitchen clock, that for years
Had measured each moment of time as it sped
Tick'd louder to banish his fears.
But the darkness grew thicker, the candle burnt blue, A sulphurous smell filled the room,
While the tumult without waxed fiercer, as grew
The clock face more pale in the gloom.
While Van Hochtail thus mused (for that was his name) The clock in the corner tolled one;
The candle went out, when a fit seized his frame
The door was thrown open, a figure rushed in,
All consciousness fled, while away on the wind
The whole of that night, in the form of a horse,
With a witch on his back, as a matter of course,