A banner, from its flashing spear, And strong to turn the flight; A haughty heart and a kingly glance- A lofty place where leaders sate In festive halls a chair of state Woman! whose sculptured form at rest By the arm'd knight is laid, With meek hands folded o'er a breast In matron robes array'd; What was thy tale?-O gentle mate Of him, the bold and free, Bound unto his victorious fate, What bard hath sung of thee? He woo'd a bright and burning star- VOL. V. 25 The heart-sick listening while his steed The pang-but when did Fame take heed Thy silent and secluded hours While bending o'er thy broider'd flowers, Thy weeping midnight prayers for him A still, sad life was thine!-long years Vigils of anxious thought; Prayer at the cross in fervour pour'd, Oh! happy, happier than thy lord, In that lone path to heaven! THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND. "Look now abroad-another race has fill'd Those populous borders-wide the wood recedes, THE breaking waves dash'd high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches toss'd; And the heavy night hung dark, The hills and waters o'er, BRYANT. When a band of exiles moor'd their bark Not as the conqueror comes, Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert gloom Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free! The ocean eagle soar'd From his nest by the white wave's foam; And the rocking pines of the forest roar'd— This was their welcome home! There were men with hoary hair Why had they come to wither there, There was woman's fearless eye, What sought they thus afar? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?- Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trode : They have left unstain'd what there they foundFreedom to worship God. THE SPIRIT'S MYSTERIES. "And slight, withal, may be the things which bring A tone of music-summer's breath, or spring A flower-a leaf- the ocean- which may wound- THE power that dwelleth in sweet sounds to waken Vague yearnings, like the sailor's for the shore, And dim remembrances, whose hue seems taken From some bright former state, our own no more; Is not this all a mystery?-Who shall say Whence are those thoughts, and whither tends their way? The sudden images of vanish'd things, That o'er the spirit flash, we know not why; A word scarce noted in its hour perchance, Yet back returning with a plaintive tone: A smile-a sunny or a mournful glance, Full of sweet meanings now from this world flown; Are not these mysteries when to life they start, And press vain tears in gushes from the heart? |