-De ta tige détachée,
Pauvre feuille desséchée,
Où vas-tu ?-Je n'en sais rien.
L'orage a frappé le chêne
Qui seul était mon soutien.
De son inconstante haleine,
Le zéphyr ou l'aquilon
Depuis ce jour me promène
De la forêt à la plaine,
De la montagne au vallon.
Je vais où le vent me mène,
Sans me plaindre ou m'effrayer,
Je vais où va toute chose,
Où va la feuille de rose

Et la feuille de laurier.

VOL. VIII.

00

DIES IRÆ. (1826.)

ON that great, that awful day,
This vain world shall pass away.
Thus the sibyl sang of old,
Thus hath Holy David told.
There shall be a deadly fear
When the Avenger shall appear,
And unveiled before his eye
All the works of man shall lie.
Hark! to the great trumpet's tones
Pealing o'er the place of bones :
Hark! it waketh from their bed
All the nations of the dead,—
In a countless throng to meet,
At the eternal judgment seat.
Nature sickens with dismay,
Death may not retain his prey;
And before the Maker stand
All the creatures of his hand.
The great book shall be unfurled,
Whereby God shall judge the world:
What was distant shall be near,
What was hidden shall be clear.
To what shelter shall I fly?
To what guardian shall I cry?
Oh, in that destroying hour,
Source of goodness, Source of power,
Show thou, of thine own free grace,
Help unto a helpless race.

Though I plead not at thy throne
Aught that I for thee have done,
Do not thou unmindful be,
Of what thou hast borne for me:
Of the wandering, of the scorn,
Of the scourge, and of the thorn.

Jesus, hast thou borne the pain,
And hath all been borne in vain ?
Shall thy vengeance smite the head
For whose ransom thou hast bled ?
Thou, whose dying blessing gave
Glory to a guilty slave:

Thou, who from the crew unclean
Did'st release the Magdalene:
Shall not mercy vast and free,
Evermore be found in thee?
Father, turn on me thine eyes,
See my blushes, hear my cries;
Faint though be the cries I make,
Save me, for thy mercy's sake,
From the worm, and from the fire,
From the torments of thine ire.
Fold me with the sheep that stand
Pure and safe at thy right hand.
Hear thy guilty child implore thee,
Rolling in the dust before thee.
Oh the horrors of that day!
When this frame of sinful clay,
Starting from its burial place,
Must behold thee face to face.
Hear and pity, hear and aid,
Spare the creatures thou hast made.
Mercy, mercy, save, forgive,

Oh, who shall look on thee and live?

THE MARRIAGE OF TIRZAH AND AHIRAD. (1827.)

GENESIS VI. 3.

IT is the dead of night:

Yet more than noonday light

Beams far and wide from many a gorgeous hall.

Unnumbered harps are tinkling,

Unnumbered lamps are twinkling,

In the great city of the fourfold wall.

By the brazen castle's moat,

The sentry hums a livelier note.
The ship-boy chaunts a shriller lay
From the galleys in the bay.

Shout, and laugh, and hurrying feet
Sound from mart and square and street,
From the breezy laurel shades,
From the granite colonnades,
From the golden statue's base,
From the stately market-place,
Where, upreared by captive hands,

The great Tower of Triumph stands,

All its pillars in a blaze

With the many-coloured rays,

Which lanthorns of ten thousand dyes

Shed on ten thousand panoplies.

But closest is the throng,

And loudest is the song,

In that sweet garden by the river's side,

The abyss of myrtle bowers,

The wilderness of flowers,

Where Cain hath built the palace of his pride.
Such palace ne'er shall be again.

Among the dwindling race of men.