""Tis gold in the city proud, 'Tis gold in the hamlet low, 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— But gold is honored there; 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, THE ECLIPSE.* BY FRANCES BROWN. Watchers are on the earth; and o'er the sky Strange darkness gathers, like a funeral pall, Not thus so near the skirts of rosy June! Night, but not silence, for old Pavia speaks, Surviving Roman power and Gothic gold! * During the eclipse of the sun which occurred in the end of July, 1844, the citi zens 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, To see the splendor of his presence vailed, 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; 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. AUTUMN. BY FRANOES 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 Thou comest with the might of floods, And the glory flung on fading woods, But never seem'd thy steps so bright For early harvest-home hath poured Its gladness on the hearth, And the joy that lights the princely board O Thou, whose silent bounty flows With gifts that ever claim from us If thus thy goodness crowns the year, When all thy harvest, whitening here, FAREWELL TO THE FLOWERS. BY FRANCES BROWN. Farewell! farewell! bright children of the sun, Ye came, the children of the spring's bright promise... You will return again; the early beams Of spring will wake ye from your wintry sleep, By the still fountains and the shining streams, That through the green and leafy woodlands sweep; Ye will return again, to cheer the bosoms Of the deep valleys, by old woods o'erhung, But when will they return, our flowers that fell In silent hearts and homes? The summer's dew, And summer's sun, with all their balm and brightness, May fall on deserts or on graves in vain; But to the locks grown dim with early whiteness, Its perish'd bloom once more! In vain, in vain-years come and years depart- Her faded flowers, though life renews no more Thus sang the bard, when autumn's latest gold Hung on the woods, and summer's latest bloom Was fading fast, as winter, stern and cold, Came from his northern home of clouds and gloom. |