Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB
[graphic][ocr errors][merged small]

AT the close of day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove;
'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,

While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began:
No more with himself or with nature at war,
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.

"Ah! why, thus abandon'd to darkness and woe,
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall!
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,

And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall.
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,

Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; O, sooth him whose pleasures like thine pass away: Full quickly they pass, but they never return.

"Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
The moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays:
But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high

She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue

The path that conducts thee to splendor again, But man's faded glory, what change shall renew! Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!

"Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more;
I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew:
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

Kind nature the embryo blossom will save.

But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn!
O! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!

""Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd, That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind:

My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me and sorrow behind.

O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried,

Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee; Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:

From doubt and from darkness thou only can'st free.'

"And darkness and doubt are now flying away;
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn:
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See Truth, Love, and Mercy in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,
And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."

WORKING LANDSCAPE.

(FROM THE "MINSTREL.")

EVEN now his eyes with smiles of rapture glow,
As on he wanders through the scenes of morn,
Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow,
Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn,
A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne.

But who the melodies of morn can tell?

The wild brook bubbling down the mountain side;

The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell;
The pipe of early shepherd dim descried
In the lone valley; echoing far and wide
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide;

The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark;

Crowned with her pail, the tripping milkmaid sings; The whistling plowman stalks afield; and hark!

Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings; Through the rustling corn the hare astonished springs; Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whizzing wings, Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower, And shrill lark carols clear from her aërial tower.

« AnteriorContinuar »