For beautiful in death The warrior's corpse appears, Give me the death of those Their loveliest mother Earth In her sweet lap who gave them birth THE VIGIL OF ST. MARK. RETURNING from their evening walk, Edmund, the monarch of the dale, All conscious of his powers; Ella, the lily of the vale, The rose of Auburn's bowers. In airy Love's delightful bands He held her heart in vain; "Ah! why," said he, "our bliss delay? "The bounding arrow cleaves the sky, Nor leaves a trace behind; And single lives, like arrows fly, -They vanish through the wind. "In Wedlock's sweet endearing lot Let us improve the scene, That some may be, when we are not, To tell-that we have been." She spake, and, like the nimble fawn, He sought, across the rural lawn, The mouldering realm of peace, The gliding moon through heaven serene And shed o'er all the sleeping scene With swelling heart and eager feet Thick, threatening clouds assembled soon, And quench'd the stars in shade. Amid the deep abyss of gloom The village watch-dogs bay'd around, All on a sudden died the blast, Dumb horror chill'd the air, -Twelve times the midnight herald toll'd: For every stroke fell dead and cold Then glaring through the ghastly gloom, In that strange moment Edmund stood, He saw the secrets of the grave; Yet still the scene his soul beguiled, On Edmund as they pass'd. All on the ground entranced he lay; 313 That moment through a rifted cloud The darting moon display'd, Robed in a melancholy shroud, The image of a maid. Her dusky veil aside she threw, And show'd a face most fair; "My Love! my Ella!" Edmund flew, And clasp'd the yielding air. "Ha! who art thou?" His cheek grew pale: A well-known voice replied, "Ella, the lily of the vale; Ella-thy destined bride." To win his neck, her airy arms To shun the visionary maid His speed outstript the wind; But, though unseen to move, the shade So Death's unerring arrows glide, Nor pause, nor shrink, nor turn aside, O'er many a mountain, moor, and vale, But when the dawn began to gleam, Three days, bewilder'd and forlorn, "T was evening;-all the air was balm, Then sunk his heart;-a strange surmise ""Tis she! 't is she!"-He burst away; A maniac now, in dumb despair, He wanders, weeps, and watches there, And every Eve of pale St. Mark, As village hinds relate, He walks with Ella in the dark, And reads the rolls of Fate. HANNAH. AT fond sixteen my roving heart Where circling woods embower'd the glade, I met the dear romantic maid: I stole her hand, it shrunk,—but no; I would not let my captive go. With all the fervency of youth, Not with a warmer, purer ray, But, swifter than the frighted dove, Fled the gay morning of my love; Ah! that so bright a morn, so soon, Should vanish in so dark a noon. The angel of Affliction rose, Yet, in the glory of my pride, I stood, and all his wrath defied; I shunn'd my nymph;-and knew not why I shunn'd her-for I could not bear Yet, sick at heart with hope delay'd, Oft the dear image of that maid Glanced, like the rainbow, o'er my mind, And promised happiness behind. The storm blew o'er, and in my breast The halcyon Peace rebuilt her nest: The storm blew o'er, and clear and mild The sea of Youth and Pleasure smiled. "T was on the merry morn of May, Then as I climb'd the mountains o'er, I lived my wooing days once more; And fancy sketch'd my married lot, My wife, my children, and my cot. I saw the village steeple rise.- I reach'd the hamlet-all was gay; I met a wedding,-stepp'd aside; -There is a grief that cannot feel; It leaves a wound that will not heal; -My heart grew cold,-it felt not then: When shall it cease to feel again? A FIELD FLOWER. On finding one in full bloom, on Christmas Day, 1803. THERE is a flower, a little flower, The prouder beauties of the field But this small flower, to Nature dear, It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, The purple heath and golden broom, On moory mountains catch the gale, O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume, The violet in the vale. But this bold floweret climbs the hill, Within the garden's cultured round It shares the sweet carnation's bed; And blooms on consecrated ground In honor of the dead. The lambkin crops its crimson gem, The wild-bee murmurs on its breast, The blue-fly bends its pensile stem, Light o'er the sky-lark's nest. "Tis Flora's page ;-in every place, On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Winter's gloomy night withdrawn, And shine in Flora's desert bowers; O welcome to our isle, Warm as a mother's kiss When the heart bounds with bliss, When I meet thee by the way, All the sweetness of thine eye; And the silver-wing'd sea-fowl on high, Or dive in the gulf, or triumphantly ride. From the tumult and smoke of the city set free, From the crest of the mountain I gaze upon thee; For mine eye is illumined, my Genius takes flight, -Or bright with sun-beams, fresh with showers, My soul, like the sun, with a glance O thou Fairy-Queen of flowers! All that wreathe the locks of Spring, And Fancy's magic makes the vision true. Embraces the boundless expanse, And moves on thy waters, wherever they roll, My spirit descends where the day-spring is born, And the breezes that rock the light cradle of morn O regions of beauty, of love, and desire! Placed far on the fathomless main, Where Nature with Innocence dwelt in her youth, But now the fair rivers of Paradise wind Beneath his broad footstep the Ganges is dry, Thus the pestilent Upas, the Demon of trees, And with livid contagion polluting the breeze, The birds on the wing, and the flowers in their beds, That darkens the noonday with death, And pale ghosts of travellers wander around, Ah! why hath JEHOVAH, in forming the world, His ramparts of rocks round the continent hurl'd, If man may transgress his eternal command, And violate nations and realms that should be There are, gloomy Ocean, a brotherless clan, From the homes of their kindred, their forefathers' graves, Love, friendship, and conjugal bliss, They are dragg'd on the hoary abyss; hen joy to the tempest that whelms them beneath, nd makes their destruction its sport; ut woe to the winds that propitiously breathe, nd waft them in safety to port, From their tombs, from their ashes it sprung; Their spirit dwells in it :-and, hark! for it spoke; Where the vultures and vampires of Mammon resort; «Ye Britons, who dwell where we conquer'd of old, Where Europe exultingly drains The life-blood from Africa's veins; Where man rules o'er man with a merciless rod, The hour is approaching,—a terrible hour! -No-Father of mercy! befriend the opprest; To walk in thy freedom, and dwell in thy light!" As homeward my weary-wing'd Fancy extends Ah, me! what new prospects, new horrors arise? All foaming, and panting with blood; For Britannia is wielding the trident to-day, And hurling her thunder with absolute sway From her wave-ruling chariots of fire: Who inherit our battle-field graves; Though poor were your fathers,-gigantic and bold, We were not, we could not be, slaves; But firm as our rocks, and as free as our waves, The spears of the Romans we broke, We never stoop'd under their yoke: In the shipwreck of nations we stood up alone, The world was great Cæsar's-but Britain our own. For ages and ages, with barbarous foes, The Saxon, Norwegian, and Gaul, We wrestled, were foil'd, were cast down, but we rose With new vigor, new life, from each fall: By all we were conquer'd-WE CONQUER'D THEM ALL. -The cruel, the cannibal mind, We soften'd, subdued, and refined; Bears, wolves, and sea-monsters, they rush'd from their den; We taught them, we tamed them, we turned them to men. Love led the wild hordes in his flower-woven bands, The tenderest, strongest of chains: Love married our hearts, he united our hands, One race we became :-on the mountains and plains, The unquenchable Altar of Liberty blazed, "Ark, Altar, and Temple, we left with our breath! To our children, a sacred bequest ; O guard them, O keep them, in life and in death! And your spirits with ours be in Paradise blest: And Avarice, the soul of a slave, -She triumphs; the winds and the waters conspire, No longer seduce your affections to roam To spread her invincible name; -The universe rings with her fame; -But the cries of the fatherless mix with her praise, O Britain! dear Britain! the land of my birth; Thou Pearl of the Ocean! thou Gem of the Earth! O my Mother! my Mother! beware; For wealth is a phantom, and empire a snare : For reprobate glory and gold: Thy distant dominions like wild graftings shoot, They weigh down thy trunk,-they will tear up thy From Liberty, Justice, Religion, AT HOME.' THE COMMON LOT. ONCE in the flight of ages past, There lived a Man:-and WHO WAS HE? Unknown the region of his birth, That joy and grief, and hope and fear, The bounding pulse, the languid limb, 317 |