'Tis he who lures with no deceitful guile, 'Tis he who lends to comfort the distrest, When Nature from her sov'reign throne is burl'd, When crumbling earth obeys her Maker's call; When common ruin overwhelms the world, Upheld by God, this man shall never fall. T. A. ON THE MASSACRE OF THE PROTESTANTS IN PIEDMONT. AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, Forget not in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. The mo The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple tyrant! that from these may grow A hundred fold, who having learn'd thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian wo. SHE is not now amid my dreams, From what she was, to what she is? Blest be my God, it is not so! There has been One within the tomb, And left a light to cheer its gloom. Nor e'er the bow that spans the shower,- THE END. PARK. Page. A lovely flower, at morning hour, 161 A voice from the desert comes awful and shrill, 89 Almighty father of mankind, 168 And is there care in heav'n? and is there love 351 As the tall ears bow to the sunburnt reaper, 232 As much have I of worldly good, 154 Author of being! life-sustaining king, 293 Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones 353 Awake, sweet harp of Judah, wake, 68 Awake, my soul and with the sun, 156 Away! thou dying saint awa, 197 Awake, my soul! lift up thine eyes, 323 Awake my lyre, and may thy string, 1 Blest pair of sirens, pledges of heaven's joy, 136 Bright summer beams along the sky, 26 Bright be the place of thy soul, 72 Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, 89 137 Could we conceive death was indeed the close, Come, Disappointment, come, 94 356 TABLE OF FIRST LINES. "Day came, and went"-a lovelier never dawn'd, Dull atheist! could a giddy dance, Enthron'd upon a hill of light, 298 315 65 Ever lovely and benign, Even thus amid thy pride and luxury, 169 58 Father of all! in every age, For who did ever yet, în honour, wealth, Fain would my longing soul begin, Feather'd lyric! warbling high, Few are thy days, and full of woe, For what shall I praise thee, my God and my King? For thou wert born of woman! thou didst come, From Greenland's icy mountains, God of my life, to thee I call, Hail, wond'rous Being, who in power supreme Here finished he, and all that he had made 318 He is the happy man, whose life e'en now, 17 He left his native land, and far away 274 High peace to the soul of the dead, 150 Hither he came, and falling on his knees, 223 How smiling wakes the verdant year, 25 How fine has the day been, how bright was the sun, 36 How fair is the Rose! what a beautiful flow'r, 118 How poor! how rich! how abject! how august, How canst thou move my fix'd regret, How welcome to the saints, when press'd will not weep, my boy, for thee, 234 If there be one whose thoughts delight to wander, 290 If 'twere but to retire from woe, 328 If I had thought thou couldst have died, 171 If for a time the air be calm, 190 Immortal! ages past, yet nothing gone! 333 In custom'd glory bright, that morn the sun, In the dust I'm doom'd to sleep, In the morning of life, when its sweet sunny smile, 314 6 64 In a dream of the night I was wafted away, Like summer eve, when sunlight throws, Lovely, lasting, peace of mind, 166 172 37 Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, 69 198 Look on that grave, it is no common spot, "My birthday!"-what a different sound, 130 193 My God! all nature owns thy sway, 313 Mortals, awake, with angels join, 346 Nature, thy daughter, ever-changing birth, 185 Nature is lavish of her loveliness, 90 Night is the time to rest; Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, 111 95 Not seldom, clad in ra diant vest, 71 No more of earthly subjects sing, 116 |