THE VISIT OF THE GODS.

IMITATED FROM SCHILLER.

NEVER, believe me,

Appear the Immortals,

Never alone :

Scarce had I welcomed the sorrow-beguiler,
Iacchus! but in came boy Cupid the smiler;
Lo! Phoebus the glorious descends from his throne!
They advance, they float in, the Olympians all!
With divinities fills my
Terrestrial hall!

How shall I yield you
Due entertainment,

Celestial quire?

Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of upbuoyance,

Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance,

That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre! Hah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my soul!

O give me the nectar!

O fill me the bowl!

Give him the nectar!

Pour out for the poet,

Hebe! pour free!

Quicken his eyes with celestial dew,

That Styx the detested no more he may view,
And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be!
Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! Io Paan, I cry!
The wine of the Immortals

Forbids me to die!

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

1798.

I.

THE shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable-shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay:

And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung,
A mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.

II.

They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng,
Around them shone, suspending night

While sweeter than a mother's song,

Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth,
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.

III.

She listened to the tale divine,

And closer still the Babe she prest;
And while she cried, the Babe is mine!

The milk rushed faster to her breast:

Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn; Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is

born.

IV.

Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, Poor, simple, and of low estate ! That strife should vanish, battle cease, O why should this thy soul elate? Sweet music's loudest note, the poet's story, Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?

V.

And is not War a youthful king,

A stately hero clad in mail? Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;

Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail

Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright

eye

Compels the maiden's love confessing sigh.

VI.

"Tell this in some more courtly scene, To maids and youths in robes of state! I am a woman poor and mean,

And therefore is my soul elate.

War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled,
That from the aged father tears his child!

VII.

"A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, He kills the sire and starves the son; The husband kills, and from her board Steals all his widow's toil had won; Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.

VIII.

"Then wisely is my soul elate,

That strife should vanish, battle cease:

I'm poor and of a low estate,

The Mother of the Prince of Peace.

Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn:

Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is

born."

1799.

WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues,
And I have many friends who hold me dear;
L-! methinks, I would not often hear
Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress,
For which my miserable brethren weep!
But should uncomforted misfortunes steep
My daily bread in tears and bitterness;
And if at death's dread moment I should lie
With no beloved face at my bed-side,
To fix the last glance of my closing eye,

Methinks, such strains, breathed by my angelguide,

Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,

Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!

1800.