« ZurückWeiter »
Remains there a mine unexplored but believed in,
Oh! they fall from us early, those stars of the soul! Have we trusted the light, have we toil'd for the treasure,
Though dimness and doubt o'er the searcher's path hungAnd oh, could we pour to Time's truth the full measure Of trust that is found in the faith of the young!
Thou dreamer of age, there were themes of proud story,
Thy soul yields no more to the spell of their splendor,
The tones it sent forth when the lyre was new strungThere are echoes still there for the brave and the tender, But none such as gush from the hearts of the young.
Or say, have they pass'd from the paths of thy journey, The miss'd among thousands, the mourn'd-for apart— From the toil, from the tumult of life dost thou turn thee, At times to revisit the tombs of the heart?
Green, green, in the leaf-fall of years will they greet thee, If fill'd by the flowers in thy home-shade that sprungAnd blessed are the lessons of love that will meet thee
From mem'ries laid up in the graves of the young.
Bright spring of the spirit, so soon passing from it,
Thou know'st no return, and we ask thee not backFor who that hath reach'd e'en the snows of the summit, Would wish to retrace all the thorns of his track? And thorns, it may be, 'mid the verdure have found us
Deep, deep have they pierced, though the pang be unsung; But oh, for the dew of that day-spring around us
Once more, as it falls on the paths of the young!
THE GOD OF THE WORLD.
BY FRANCES BROWN.
The gray of the desert's dawn
Had tinged that mighty mound That stands as the tomb of Babylon,
On her ancient river's bound
For the land hath kept no trace beside
Upon that lonely height,
To mark the morning climb The skies of his native solitude, The genius of the desert stood,
And saw the conqueror Time Approach on pinions swift and dim,
But ever welcome was he to him.
For his journey left no track
On the long untrodden sand-
To fear his withering hand;
And the genius greeted him who made
They spoke of their ancient sway,
And the scorn of ages passed
The father of the years
Looked up to the rising sun,
And said-"In the bounds his path surrounds,
There reigns no god but one:
All faith beside hath grown faint and cold,
""Tis gold in the city proud,
To it they kneel with the bridal vail,
And the mourner's garb of woe
And childhood's joy, and youth's bright hair,
"I stood on Nimrod's tower,
When it rose to meet the stars,
And the boundless pride and the empire wide
Brought tribute to the gods of old
But they ne'er were served like that mighty gold!
"They praise the christian's God,
And they build him temples fair;
The prayer is made, and the creed is said—
For they bear from the holy place no sign
"Still are the temples raised
To the God of light and song,
Who oft in their weariness look back.
"In groves and crowded marts,
I have sought love's shrines in vain, Yet it may be that in silent hearts Their ruins still remain
But scorch'd by fire, and stain'd with tears,
"And has the world grown old
In vain?" said the shadowy sage, "And come at length to the age of gold, But not to the golden age?
Is this the fruit of her latter days,
BY FRANCES BROWN.
Watchers are on the earth; and o'er the sky
Strange darkness gathers, like a funeral pall,
Far in the depth of heaven, rekindle all
Not thus his wont to leave fair Italy!
Night, but not silence, for old Pavia speaks,
Surviving Roman power and Gothic gold!
Which the far mountains answer deeply clear?
* During the eclipse of the sun which occurred in the end of July, 1844, the citizens of Pavia assembled in multitudes, in the principal square, for the purpose of witnessing the phenomenon; and in the midst of the deepest darkness, when the moon and stars were plainly visible, the whole concourse burst into one simultaneous shout.
Or, hath the gathered city's mighty voice
The queen of night amid her trophies hailed, As conqueror of the sun? Could she rejoice
To see the splendor of his presence vailed, Who walked the heavens in unshared majesty,
Since Time was born, the brightest and the first Of thousand gods:- still glorious on his way, As when through ancient night his chariot burst, And swept the circuit of those cloudless skies, That yet heard only starry harmonies?
Not so rejoiced the Grecian legions, led
By great Iskander to the Persian shore; No so Ceoropia's host. But days of dread
Are past-the twilight of the world is o'er, With all its shadows. Pavia, from thy walls We hear the spirit of our brighter days Proclaim to Alpine huts and Roman halls,
The morn that met the sage or prophet's gaze, Through the far dimness of that long eclipse, Whose mighty darkness sealed great Galileo's lips.
BY FRANCES BROWN.
Oh, welcome to the corn-clad slope,
Thou promised autumn; for the hope
Through all the hours of splendor past,
And we see thee on thy throne at last,
Thou comest with the gorgeous flowers
With morning mists and sunny hours,