So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of chill adversity; in some lone walk
Of life she rears her head,
Obscure and unobserved;
While every bleaching breeze that on her blows
Chastens her spotless purity of breast,
And hardens her to bear
Serene the ills of life.
John Wilson.
(CHRISTOPHER NORTH.)
A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun,
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow:
Long had it watched the glory moving on
O'er the still radiance of the lake below.
Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow!
Even in its very motion there was rest;
While every breath of eve that chanced to blow
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.
Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given;
And by the breath of mercy made to roll
Right onwards to the golden gates of heaven,
Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies,
And tells to man his glorious destinies.
Caroline Anne Bowles Soutbey.
Launch thy bark, mariner!
Christian, God speed thee!
Let loose the rudder-bands,-
Good angels lead thee!
Set thy sails warily,
Tempests will come;
Steer thy course steadily:
Christian, steer home!
Look to the weather-bow;
Breakers are round thee;
Let fall the plummet now,
Shallows may ground thee.
Reef in the foresail, there!
Hold the helm fast!
So-let the vessel wear-
There swept the blast.
What of the night, watchman?
What of the night?
Cloudy-all quiet
No land yet-all 's right."
Be wakeful, be vigilant,-
Danger may be
At an hour when all seemeth
Securest to thee.
How! gains the leak so fast?
Clean out the hold,-
Hoist up thy merchandise,
Heave out thy gold;
There-let the ingots go
Now the ship rights;
Hurrah! the harbor 's near—
Lo! the red lights!
Slacken not sail yet,
At inlet or island;
Straight for the beacon steer,
Straight for the highland;
Crowd all thy canvas on,
Cut through the foam :
Christian! cast anchor now,-
Heaven is thy home!
Bryan Waller Procter.
(BARRY CORNWALL.)
Within the midnight of her hair,
Half hidden in its deepest deeps,
A single peerless, priceless pearl,
All filmy-eyed, for ever sleeps.
Without the diamond's sparkling eyes,
The ruby's blushes,-there it lies!
Modest as the tender dawn,
When her purple veil 's withdrawn,—
The flower of gems,-a lily, cold and pale! Yet, what doth all avail?
All its beauty, all its grace!
All the honors of its place?
He who pluck'd it from its bed,
In the far blue Indian Ocean,
Lieth, without life or motion,
In his earthly dwelling,-dead!
And his children, one by one,
When they look upon the sun,
Curse the toil by which he drew
The treasure from its bed of blue.
Gentle bride, no longer wear
In thy night-black odorous hair
Such a spoil! It is not fit
That a tender soul should sit
Under such accursèd gem.
What needst thou, a diadem ?—
Thou, within whose Eastern eyes
Thought (a starry genius) lies?—
Thou, whom beauty has array'd !—
Thou, whom love and truth hath made
Beautiful? in whom we trace
Woman's softness, angel's grace,-
All we hope for, all that streams
Upon us in our haunted dreams!
O sweet Lady! cast aside,
With a gentle, noble pride,
All to sin or pain allied.
Let the wild-eyed conqueror wear
The bloody laurel in his hair;
Let the slave-begotten gold
Weigh on bosoms hard and cold;
But be thou for ever known
By thy natural light alone!
George Gordon Moel Byron.
From "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," Canto III.
Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake,
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing
Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring.
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing
To waft me from distraction; once I loved
Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved,
That I with stern delights should e'er have been
so moved.
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