And the dread rushing of your wings that hour,
Was like the noise of waters in their power.

But in the Olive-mount, by night appearing,

'Midst the dim leaves, your holiest work was done! Whose was the voice that came divinely cheering, Fraught with the breath of God, to aid his Son? -Haply of those that, on the moon-lit plains, Wafted good tidings unto Syrian swains.

Yet one more task was yours! your heavenly dwelling
Ye left, and by th' unseal'd sepulchral stone,
In glorious raiment, sat; the weepers telling,
That He they sought had triumph'd, and was gone!
Now have ye left us for the brighter shore,
Your presence lights the lonely groves no more.

But may ye not, unseen, around us hover,

With gentle promptings and sweet influence yet, Though the fresh glory of those days be over, When,'midst the palm-trees, man your footsteps met? Are ye not near when faith and hope rise high, When love, by strength, o'ermasters agony?

Are ye not near when sorrow, unrepining,
Yields up life's treasures unto Him who gave?
When martyrs, all things for His sake resigning,
Lead on the march of death, serenely brave?
Dreams!—but a deeper thought our souls may fill—
One, One is near-a spirit holier still!

IVY SONG.

WRITTEN ON RECEIVING SOME IVY-LEAVES GATHERED

FROM THE RUINED CASTLE OF RHEINFELS, ON THE RHINE.

O! How Could Fancy crown with thee
In ancient days the God of Wine,
And bid thee at the banquet be
Companion of the vine?

Thy home, wild plant, is where each sound
Of revelry hath long been o'er,
Where song's full notes once peal'd around,
But now are heard no more.

The Roman on his battle-plains,
Where kings before his eagles bent,
Entwined thee with exulting strains
Around the victor's tent:

Yet there, though fresh in glossy green,
Triumphantly thy boughs might wave,
Better thou lovest the silent scene

Around the victor's grave.

Where sleep the sons of

ages flown,

The bards and heroes of the past;

Where, through the halls of glory gone,

Murmurs the wintry blast;

Where years are hastening to efface

Each record of the grand and fair ;

Thou, in thy solitary grace,

Wreath of the tomb! art there.

O! many a temple, once sublime,
Beneath a blue Italian sky,

Hath nought of beauty left by time,
Save thy wild tapestry!

And, rear'd 'midst crags and clouds, 'tis thine
To wave where banners waved of yore,
O'er towers that crest the noble Rhine,
Along his rocky shore.

High from the fields of air look down
Those eyries of a vanish'd race-
Homes of the mighty, whose renown
Hath pass'd, and left no trace.

But there thou art !-thy foliage bright

Unchanged the mountain storm can brave; Thou, that wilt climb the loftiest height, Or deck the humblest grave!

'Tis still the same! where'er we tread The wrecks of human power we see― The marvels of all ages fled,

Left to decay and thee!

And still let man his fabrics rear,

August in beauty, grace, and strength;

Days pass-thou ivy never sere !

And all is thine at length!

"Ye myrtles brown, and ivy never sere."

LYCIDAS.

TO ONE OF THE AUTHOR'S CHILDREN ON
HIS BIRTHDAY.

WHERE sucks the bee now ?-Summer is flying,
Leaves round the elm-tree faded are lying;
Violets are gone from their grassy dell,

With the cowslip cups, where the fairies dwell;
The rose from the garden hath pass'd away—
Yet happy, fair boy, is thy natal day!

For love bids it welcome, the love which hath smiled Ever around thee, my gentle child!

Watching thy footsteps, and guarding thy bed,

And pouring out joy on thy sunny head.

Roses may vanish, but this will stay

Happy and bright is thy natal day!

ON A SIMILAR OCCASION.

THOU wakest from rosy sleep, to play
With bounding heart, my boy!
Before thee lies a long bright day
Of summer and of joy.

Thou hast no heavy thought or dream
To cloud thy fearless eye;
Long be it thus-life's early stream
Should still reflect the sky.

Yet, ere the cares of life lie dim

On thy young spirit's wings,

Now in thy morn forget not Him

From whom each pure thought springs!

So, in the onward vale of tears,
Where'er thy path may be,

When strength hath bow'd to evil years,
He will remember thee!

CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST.

FEAR was within the tossing bark
When stormy winds grew loud,
And waves came rolling high and dark,
And the tall mast was bow'd.

And men stood breathless in their dread,
And baffled in their skill;

But One was there, who rose and said

To the wild sea-be still !

And the wind ceased-it ceased!-that word Pass'd through the gloomy sky;

The troubled billows knew their Lord,

And fell beneath His eye.

And slumber settled on the deep,

And silence on the blast;

They sank, as flowers that fold to sleep
When sultry day is past.