« PreviousContinue »
A banner, from its flashing spear,
Flung out o'er many a fight;
And strong to turn the flight;
On for the holy shrine;
Chief! were not these things thine ?
A lofty place where leaders sate
Around the council board;
When the blood-red wine was pour'd; A name that drew a prouder tone
From herald, harp, and bard; Surely these things were all thine own
So hadst thou thy reward.
Woman! whose sculptured form at rest
By the arm'd knight is laid,
In matron robes array’d;
Of him, the bold and free,
What bard hath sung of thee?
He woo'd a bright and burning star
Thine was the void, the gloom, The straining eye that follow'd far
His fast-receding plume; Vol. V.-25
The heart-sick listening while his steed
Sent echoes on the breeze; The pang- but when did Fame take heed
of griefs obscure as these?
Thy silent and secluded hours
Through many a lonely day
With spirits far away;
Who fought on Syrian plains,
These fill no minstrel strains.
A still, sad life was thine !- long years
With tasks unguerdon’d fraught,
Vigils of anxious thought;
Alms to the pilgrim given —
In that lone path to heaven!
LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
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,
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
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 roard
This was their welcome home!
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band ;-
Away from their childhood's land?
There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
They sought a faith's pure shrine !
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trode: They have left unstain'd what there they found
Freedom to worship God.
THE SPIRIT'S MYSTERIES.
“And slight, withal, may be the things which bring
Aside for ever;- it may be a sound -
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
The sudden images of vanish'd things,
That o'er the spirit flash, we know not why ;
Warm sunset hues of summers long gone by;
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?