How beautiful upon the wave
The vessel sails, that comes to save!
Fitting it was that first she shone
Before the wandering eyes of one,
So beautiful as thou.
See how before the wind she goes,
Scattering the waves like melting snows!
Her course with glory fills
The sea for many a league!-Descending,
She stoopeth now into the vale,
Now, as more freshly blows the gale,
She mounts in triumph o'er the watery hills.
Oh! whither is she tending?
She holds in sight yon sheltered bay!
As for her crew, how blessed are they!
See! how she veers around!
Back whirl the waves with louder sound;
Aud now her prow points to the land:
For the Ship, at her glad lord's command
Doth well her helm obey.
They cast their eyes around the isles:
But what a change is there!
For ever fled that lonely smile
That lay on earth and air,
That made its haunts so still and holy,
Almost for bliss too melancholy
For life too wildly fair.
Gone-gone is all its loneliness,
And with it much of loveliness.
Into each deep glen's dark recess,
The day-shine pours like rain,
So strong and sudden is the light
Reflected from that wonder bright,
Now tilting o'er the main.
Soon as the thundering cannon spoke,
The voice of the evening gun
The spell of the enchantment broke,
Like dew beneath the sun.
Soon shall they hear the unwonted cheers
Of these delighted mariners,
And the loud sounds of the oar,
As bending back away they pull,
With measured pause, most beautiful,
Approaching to the shore.
For her yards are bare of man and sail,
Nor moves the giant to the gale;
But, on the ocean's breast,
With storm-proof cables, stretching far,
There lies the stately Ship of War;
And glad is she of rest.
TEMPLE OF JUPITER OLYMPIUS AT ATHENS.
THOU art not silent !-oracles are thine
Which the wind utters, and the spirit hears,-
Lingering, 'mid ruined fane and broken shrine,
O'er many a tale and trace of other years!
Bright as an ark, o'er all the flood of tears
That wraps thy cradle land-thine earthly love-
Where hours of hope 'mid centuries of fears,
Have gleamed, lightnings through the gloom
above,-
Stands, roofless to the sky, thy house, Olympian Jove!
TEMPLE OF JUPITER OLYMPIUS.
Thy columned aisles with whispers of the past
Are vocal!—and, along thine ivied walls,
While Elian echoes murmur in the blast,
And wild flowers hang, like victor-coronals,
In vain the turbaned tyrant rears his halls,
And plants the symbol of his faith and slaughters,——
Now, even now, the beam of promise falls
Bright upon Hellas, as her own bright daughters,
And a Greek Ararat is rising o'er the waters!
Thou art not silent !—when the southern fair, Ionia's moon*, looks down upon thy breast, Smiling, as pity smiles above despair, Soft as young beauty soothing age to rest, Sings the night-spirit in thy weedy crest; And she, the minstrel of the moonlight hours, Breathes, like some lone one sighing to be blest, Her lay-half hope, half sorrow-from the flowers, And hoots the prophet-owl, amid his tangled bowers!
And round thine altar's mouldering stones are born
Mysterious harpings, wild as ever crept
From him who waked Aurora every morn,
And sad as those he sung her till she slept !
A thousand, and a thousand years have swept
O'er thee, who wert a mortal from thy spring-
A wreck in youth+!-nor vainly hast thou kept
Thy lyre! Olympia's soul is on the wing,
And a new Ipithus has waked beneath its string!
* Ionia was the name anciently given tó Attica, and sometimes to the whole of Achaia.
† The Temple of Jupiter Olympius, at Athens, was commenced by Pisistratus, on a scale of great magnificence, but never completed.
I SEND you mosses :-once they grew
On lofty Mell-Fell's highest brow;
They witness how I wished for you
While gazing on the world below-
A world so fair, and yet so rude,
Your own sweet Blanche's wandering feet
Ne'er gained a deeper solitude,
Or found a more sublime retreat.
The spirit of the mountain smiled,
And as I trod the steep ascent,
Fresh air and glowing beams beguiled
The toilsome way; and oft I bent,
Half trembling, and with proud delight,
To find myself advanced so high,
That I had reached the envied height,
Where the green mountain kissed the sky.
The long clear lake before me spread-
A crystal mirror, where, enshrined,
The cot, the copse, the edge-bound mead,
Deep in the watery world reclined;
With such a soft reflected grace,
As youth's more brilliant tints disclose;
When we the mother's beauties trace
In her first girl-her blooming rose.
I looked o'er glens and dingles dank, Where many a streamlet glides unseen; I gazed on many a glowing bank,
Of golden furze and brackens green ;—
Then mountains piled on mountains rise,
Of every form and every hue ;
Here, huge Helvellyn meets the skies,
There frowning Skiddaw towers to view :
And now, the mighty circle round,
A giant rampart strikes the sense, Within whose limits scenes are found Close to the sight, yet far, far hence; And scarcely can the dazzled eye, Inebriate with its eager glance, Distinguish what it can descry
Through such a vast and fair expanse.
Yes! there is Hallstead's noble seat,
Reposing like the dappled fawn ;
The blue lake winds around its feet,
The dark oaks spot its emerald lawn:
Beneath gray Stybraw's craggy brow
(The mountain-queen of Patrick's dale),
Beams Asken's dwelling, sweetly low,
The sheltered "lily of the vale."
But here in Rampsbeck's lovely dome ;-
The light smoke, curling through the trees,
Seems as if beckoning those who roam,
To rest them here in joyous ease;
For ne'er was hospitable board
More freely given, more freely spread,
And ne'er was polished mind more stored
Than his who welcomes at its head.
My own dear home beneath my feet
Recalls the fond excursive flight;
Yet, distant Penrith! I must hail
Thy turrets red, thy dwellings white;
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