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As if the soul that minute caught Some treasure it through life had sought;

As if the very lips and eyes Predestined to have all our sighs, And never be forgot again, Sparkled and spoke before us then.

So came thy every glance and tone, When first on me they breathed and shone

New, as if brought from other spheres,

Yet welcome as if loved for years!


The bird, let loose in eastern skies,

When hastening fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies

Where idle warblers roam; But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,

Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, God, from every care,

And stain of passion free. Aloft, through Virtue's purer air,

To hold my course to Thee! No sin to cloud — no lure to stay

My soul, as home she springs; — Thy sunshine on her joyful way;

Thy freedom in her wings!


Oft in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me:

The smiles, the tears,

Of boyhood's years,
The words of love then spoken;

The eyes that shone,

Now dimmed and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken.

Thus in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

When I remember all

The friends so linked together
I've seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed.
Thus in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound

Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.


O Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear!

How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here,

We could not fly to Thee. The friends, who in our sunshine live,

When winter comes, are flown: And he, who has but tears to give,

Must weep those tears alone. But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,

Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part,

Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,

And e'en the hope that threw A moment's sparkle o'er our fears,

Is dimmed and vanished too! Oh! who would bear life's stormy doom.

Did not Thy wing of love Come, brightly wafting through the gloom

Our peace-branch from above?

Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright

With more than rapture's ray; As darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by dayl


I Saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on; I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining, The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.

And such is the fate of our life's early promise, So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; Each wave that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.

Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night: — Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light.

Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, When passion first waked a new life through his frame? And his soul,— like the wood that grows precious in burning; Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame!


Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, Come, at the shrine of God fervently kneel;

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish — Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, light of the straying.

Hope, when all others die, fadeless

and pure, Here speaks the Comforter, in God's

name saying, "Earth has no sorrow that Heaven

cannot cure."

Go, ask the infidel what boon he brings us, What charm for aching hearts he can reveal, Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings to us — "Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal."


Those evening bells! those evening bells!

How many a tale their music tells, Of youth, and home, and that sweet time

When last I heard their soothing chime!

Those joyous hours are passed away; And many a heart that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells.

And so 'twill be when I am gone,— That tuneful peal will still ring on; While other bards shall walk these dells,

And sing your praise, sweet evening


Thou art, O God! the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see;

Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from Thee.

Where'er we turn Thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are Thine.

When day, with farewell beam, delays

Among the opening clouds of even, And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into heaven; Those hues, that make the sun's decline

So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.

When night, with wings of starry gloom,

O'ershadows all the earth and skies,

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume Is sparkling with unnumbered


That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.

When youthful spring around us breathes, Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh;

And every flower the summer

wreathes Is born beneath that kindling eye. Where'er we turn Thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are



As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving,

Her trembling pennant still looked back

To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loth we part from all we love,

From all the links that bind us; So turn our hearts, where'er we rove,

To those we've left behind us!

When round the bowl, of vanished years

We talk, with joyous seeming.— With smiles, that might as well be tears,

So faint, so sad their beaming; While memory brings us back again

Each early tie that twined us. Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then

To those we've left behind us!

And when, in other climes, we meet

Some isle or vale enchanting, Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,

And naught but love is wanting; We think how great had been our bliss,

If heaven had but assigned us To live and die in scenes like this, With some we've left behind us!

As travellers oft look back, at eve,

When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave

Still faint behind them glowing.— So, when the close of pleasure's day

To gloom hath near consigned us, We turn to catch one fading ray

Of joy that's left behind us.

George P. Morris.


Woodman, spare that tree!

Touch not a single bough: In youth it sheltered me

And I'll protect it now, 'Twas my forefather's hand

That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand,

Thy axe shall harm it not.

That old familiar tree,

Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea,

And wouldst thou hew it down! Woodman, forbear thy stroke!

Cut not its earth-bound ties; Oh, spare that aged oak,

Now towering to the skies.

When but an idle boy,

I sought its grateful shade; In all their gushing joy,

Here, too, my sisters played. My mother kissed me here;

My father press'd my hand: Forgive this foolish tear, —

But let that old oak stand!

My heart-strings round thee cling,

Close as thy bark, old friend I Here shall the wild-bird sing;

And still thy branches bend. Old tree! the storm still brave!

And, woodman, leave that spot; While I've a hand to save,

Thy axe shall harm it not.


[From the Earthly Paradise.]

Noon, — and the northwest sweeps

the empty road, The rain-washed fields from hedge

to hedge are bare; Beneath the leafless elms some hind's


Looks small and void, and no smoke

meets the air From its poor hearth: one lonely rook

doth dare The gale, and beats about the unseen


Then turns, and whirling down the wind is borne.

Shall it not hap that on some dawn of May

Thou shalt awake, and, thinking of

days dead, See nothing clear but this same dreary


Of all the days that have passed o'er

thine head? Shalt thou not wonder, looking from

thy bed,

Through green leaves on the windless

east a-fire, That this day, too, thine heart doth

still desire.

Shalt thou not wonder that it liveth yet,

The useless hope, the useless craving pain,

That made thy face, that lonely noontide, wet


With more than beating of the chilly rain?

Shalt thou not hope for joy new-born again.

Since no grief ever born can ever die Through changeless change of seasons passing by?

[From the Earthly Paradise]

Slayer of winter, art thou here again?

O welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh!

The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,

Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.

Welcome, O March! whose kindly

days and dry Make April ready for the throstle's


Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong!

Yea, welcome, March! and though I

die ere June, Yet for the hope of life, I give thee

praise, [tune Striving to swell the burden of the That even now I hear thy brown

birds raise, Unmindful of the past or coming

days; [gun I

Who sing, O joy! a new year is beWhat happiness to look upon the


Oh, what begetteth all this storm of bliss,

But Death himself, who, crying solemnly,

Even from the heart of sweet forgetfulness,

Bids us, "Rejoice! lest pleasureless ye die.

Within a little time must ye go by. Stretch forth your open hands, and,

while ye live, Take all the gifts that Death and

Life may give?"

[From the Earthly Paradise.]

A Phil.

O Fair midspring, besung so oft and oft,

How can I praise thy loveliness enow?

Thy sun that burns not and thy

breezes soft That o'er the blossoms of the orchard


The thousand things that 'neath the young leaves grow,

The hopes and chances of the growing year,

Winter forgotten long and summer near. [rose,

When summer brings the lily and the

She brings no fear; her very death she brings

Hid in her anxious heart, the forge of woes;

And dull with fear, no more the

mavis sings. But thou, thou diest not, but thy

fresh life clings About the fainting autumn's sweet


When in the earth the hopeful seed they lay.

Ah! life of all the year, why yet do I, Amid thy snowy blossoms' fragrant drift.

Still long for that which never draweth nigh,

Striving my pleasure from my pain to sift,

Some weight from off my fluttering

mirth to lift? — Now when far bells are ringing,

"Come again, Come back, past years! why will ye

pass in vain?"

[From the Earthly Paradise.]

Dead lonely night, and all streets

quiet now, Thin o'er the moon the" hindmost

cloud swims past Of that great rack that brought us up

the snow; On earth, strange shadows o'er the

snow are cast; Pale stars, bright moon, swift cloud,

make heaven so vast, That earth, left silent by the wind of


Seems shrunken 'neath the gray unmeasured height.

Ah! through the hush the looked-for

midnight clangs! And then, e'en while its last stroke's

solemn drone In the cold air by unlit windows


Out break the bells above the year foredone,

Change, kindness lost, love left unloved alone;

Till their despairing sweetness makes thee deem

Thou once wert loved, if but amidst a dream.


Oh, thou who clingest still to life and Though naught of good, no God thou

mayst discern, Though naught that is, thine utmost

woe can move. Though no soul knows wherewith

thine heart doth yearn, Yet, since thy weary lips no curse

can learn, [away, Cast no least thing thou lovedst once Since yet, perchance, thine eyes shall

see the day.

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