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I found the thing I sought-aud that was thee ;
VIII. Yet do I feel at times my mind decline, But with a sense of its decay:-I see Unwonted lights along my prison shine, And a strange demon, who is vexing me With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below The feeling of the healthful and the free; But much to one, who long hath sufferd so, Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, And all that may be borne, or can debase. I thought minc enemies had been but man, But spirits may be leagued with them--all carth Abandons--Ileaven forgets me ;- in the dearth Of such defence the powers of evil can, It may be, tempt me further, and prevail Against the outworn creature they assail. Why in this furnace is my spirit proved Like steel in tempering fire! because I loved ! Because I loved wliat not to love, and see, Was more or less than mortal, and than me.
The subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, the Hon. D. Kionaird, for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been published, with the music, arranged by Mr BRĄŁAM and Mr Natian.
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her cyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A heart whose love is innocent!
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY, Sue walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies ;
But we must wander witheringly,
In other lands to die;
Our own may never lie:
THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT. The harp the monarch minstrel swept,
The king of men, the loved of Heaven, Which Music hallow'd while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given.
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven! It soften d men of iron mould,
It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not, fired not to the tone,
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne ! It told the triumphs of our king,
It wafted glory to our God;
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode! Since then, though heard on earth no more,
Devotion and her daughter Love
To sounds that seem as from above,
OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. On! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell Mouro-where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell! And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet? And Judah's melody once more rejoice The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice? Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, How shall ye tlee away and be at rest! The wild-dove hath ber nest, the fox his cave, Mankind their country— Israel but the grave!
ON JORDAN'S BANKS.
IF THAT HIGH WORLD.
Our own, surviving love endears;
the same, except in tearsHow welcome those untrodden spheres !
How sweet this very hour to die ! To soar from earth, and find all fears
Lost in thy light-Eternity! It must be so: 't is not for self
That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap ihe gulf,
Yet cling to being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think
To hold cach heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink,
And soul in soul grow deathless theirs !
On Jordan's banks the Arabs' camels stray,
THE WILD GAZELLE.
Exulting yet may bound,
That gush on holy ground;
May glance in tameless transport by A step as fleet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah witness'd there; And o'er her scenes of lost delight
Inhabitants more fair.
Than Israel's scatter'd race;
In solitary grace:
JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. Since our country, our God-Oh, my sire! Demand that thy daughter expire; Since thy triumph was bought by thy vowStrike the bosom that's bared for thee now! And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And the mountains behold me no more : If the land thai I love lay me low, There cannot be pain in the blow! And of this, oh, my father! be sureThat the blood of thy child is as pure As the blessing I beg ere it flow, And the last thought that soothes me below. Though the virgins of Salem lament, Be the judge and the hero unbent! I have won the great battle for thce, And my father and country are free! When this blood of thy giving hath gushd, When the voice that thou lovest is husbid, Let my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died !
The triumphs of her chosen son,
The slaughters of his sword! The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom he restored!
OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.
On! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year ;
Shall sorrow lean lier drooping head,
And lingering pause, and lightly tread,
Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away! we know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress :
Or make one mourner weep the less ?
Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of deatlı! The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdaju'd to sink beneath : Within our veins its currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath :
Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word!
From virgin voices pour'd!
Thou shalt not be deplored.
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.
MY SOUL IS DARK. My soul is dark. -Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers tling
Its meluing murmurs o'er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
'T will flow, and cease to burn my brain : But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first: I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nurst,
And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 't is doom'd to know the worst,
And break at once-or yield to soug.
Farewell to others, but never we part,
I SAW THEE WEEP.
I saw thee weep-the big bright lear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
A violet dropping dew:
Beside thee ceased to shine,
That fillid that glance of thine.
A deep and mellow dye, Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky, Those smiles onto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.
Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet's form appear. « Samuel, raise thy buried head!
King, beliold the phantom scer !» Earth yawn'd; be stood the centre of a cloud: Lighit changed its hue, retiring from his shroud : Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye ; Ilis hand was wither'd and his veins were dry; His foot, in bony whiteness, Glitter'd there, Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare : From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame, Like cavernd winds, the hollow accents came. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
and blasted by the thunder-stroke.
Why is my slcep disquieted ? Who is he that calls the dead? Is it thou, oh king? Behold, Bloodless are these limbs, and cold : Such are mine; and such shall be Thine, to-morrow, when with me : Ere the coming day is done, Such shalt thou be, such thy son. Fare thee well, but for a day; Then we mix our mouldering clay. Thou, thy race, lie pale and low, Pierced by shafts of many a bow :
THY DAYS ARE DONE. Tay days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's straius record
And the falchion by thy side
An age shall fleet like earthly year ;
years as moments shall endure. Away, a way, without a wing.
O'er all, ibrough all, its thoughts shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing,
Forgetting what it was to die.
«ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER.» Fame, wisdom. love, and power were mine,
And health and youth possess'd me;
And lovely forms caressid me;
Was mine of regal splendour.
Remembrance can discover,
Would lure me to live over.
Of pleasure unembitterd ;
That galld not while it glitter'd.
And spells, is won from harming;
Oh! who hath power of charming?
Nor music's voice can lure il;
The soul that must endure it.
VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. The king was on his throne,
The satraps throng'd the hall;
O'er that high festival.
In Judah deemd divine
The godless heathen's wine!
The fingers of a band
And wrote as if on sand :
A solitary hand
And traced them like a wand.
And bade no more rejoice;
Aud tremulous his voice. « Let the men of lore appear,
The wisest of the earth,
Which mar our royal mirth.» Chaldea's seers are good,
But here they have no skill ; And the unknown letters stood,
Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age
Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not save,
They saw-but knew no more. A captive in the land,
A stranger and a youth,
He saw that writing's truth.
The prophecy in view; He read it on that night,
The morrow proved it true. « Belshazzar's grave is made,
His kingdom pass d away; He, in the balance weighid,
Is light and worthless clay. The shroud, his robe of state,
Bis canopy, the stone; The Mede is at his gate!
The Persian on his throne! >>
WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING
Ah, whither strays the immortal mind?
But leaves its darkeu'd dust behind,
By steps each planet's heavenly way?
A thing of eyes, that all survey!
A thought unseen, but seeing all,
Shall it survey, shall it recal:
So darkly of departed years,
And all, that was, at once appears.
Its eye shall roll through chaos back:
The spirit trace its rising track.
Its glance dilate o'er all to be,
Fix'd in its own eternity.
It lives all passionless and pure :
SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS! Sun of the sleepless ! melancholy star! Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel, On many an cve, the high spot whence I gazed
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed ;
While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays; Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine. A night-beam sorrow watcheth to behold,
And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
But I mark d not the twilighit beam melting away:
And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head!
But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane
The shrine wliere Jehovah disdain'd not to reiga;
Our worship, oh Father! is oniy for thee.
BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
We sat down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, As the God who permits tbce to prosper doth know;
Made Salem's high places his prey; In his hand is my heart and my hope-and iu thine
And ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scatter'd all weeping away.
Which rolld on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oli never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be wither'd for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
On the willow that harp is suspended, --
Ob Salem! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended,
But left me that token of thee :
With the voice of the spoiler by me!
Obey my frenzy's jealous raviog?
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
Tax Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And this dark heari is vainly craving
And his colorts were gleaming in purple and sold; For her who soars alone above,
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea! And leaves my soul unworthy saving.
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. She's gone, who shared my diadem!
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, She sunk, with her my joys entombing :
That host with their banners at sunset were seen : I swept that flower from Judali's stem
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath bloon, Whose leaves for me alone were blooming. That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,
For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, This bosom's desolation dooming:
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass d; And I have earn d those tortures well,
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, Which unconsumed are still consuming! And their liearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolld not the breath of his pride: ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF And the foam of his gasping lay wbite on the turf, JERUSALEM BY TITUS.
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome
And there lay the rider distorted and pale, I beheld thee, oh Sion! when render'd to Rome : With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; 'T was thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblowa. I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home,
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And forgot for a moment my bondage to come; And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane, And the might of the Gentile, unsinote by the sword, And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain. Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!