Oh! many a temple, once sublime And rear'd midst crags and clouds 'tis thine High from the fields of air, look down, The breathing forms of Parian stone, 'Tis still the same-where'er we tread, The wrecks of human power we see; The marvels of all ages fled, Left to Decay and thee! And still let man his fabrics rear, August in beauty, grace, and strength,— Days pass, thou Ivy never sere, And all is thine at length. SONG. BY THE REV. J. WOLFE. IF I had thought thou couldst have died, That thou couldst mortal be: And still upon that face I look, And still the thought I will not brook, But when I speak, thou dost not say If thou would'st stay even as thou art, I still might press thy silent heart, I do not think, where'er thou art, Yet there was round thee such a dawn As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore! MY BIRTHDAY. BY N. P. WILLIS, ESQ. My birthday! As the day comes round, Less and less white its mark appears.-Moore. I'm twenty-two;—I'm twenty-two,—they gaily give me joy, As if I should be glad to hear that I was less a boy; They do not know how carelessly their words have given pain Toone, whose heart would leap to be a happy boy again! A change has o'er my spirit pass'd, my mirthful hours are few, The light is all departed now my early feelings knew; I used to love the morning gray, the twilight's quiet deep, But now, like shadows on the sea, upon my thoughts they creep. And love was as a holy star when this brief year was young, And my whole worship of the sky on one sweet ray was flung; But worldly things have come between, and shut it from my sight, And though that star shines purely yet, I mourn its hidden light! And fame!-I bent to it my knee, and bow'd to it my brow, And it is like a coal upon my living spirit now; But when I pray'd for fire from Heaven to touch the soul, I bow'd, I little thought the lightning flash would come in such a cloud. Ye give me joy! Is it because another year has fled? That I am farther from my youth, and nearer to the dead? Is it that manhood's cares are come,—my happy boyhood o'er, Because the visions I have loved, will visit me no more! Oh wherefore give me joy, when I can smile no welcome back? I've found no flower, and seen no light, on manhood's weary track: My love is deep-ambition deep-and heart and mind will on, But love is fainting by the way, and fame consumes ere won! Philadelphia, May 2, 1829. SONG FOR THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY. APOLLO has peep'd through the shutter, Away with ye, dreams of disaster, Away with ye, visions of law, Of pleadings I never shall draw: I'll sit in my nightcap, like Hayley, I'll sit with my arms cross'd, like Spain, Oh shall I look over the waters, Or shall I look over the way, For the brightest and best of earth's daughters, To rhyme to on Valentine's day? Shall I crown with my worship, for fame's sake, Shall I flirt, in romantic idea, With Chester's adorable clay, Or whisper in transport-" Si mea Cum Vestris-" on Valentine's day? Shall I kneel to a Sylvia or Celia, A fancy-drawn Laura Amelia, An ad libit. Anna Marie? Shall I court an initial with stars to it, Get Bishop to put a few bars to it, And print it on Valentine's day? |