The mountains melted to their base,
The Heavens fled away;
The sea could find itself no place,
Where it might longer stay:
Mankind in wild confusion fled,
The living mingling with the dead,—
Thrones and dominions fell:
The huge ship sank into the wave,
Engulf'd in ocean's yawning grave,—
Buried beneath its swell!
The light still dim and dimmer grew,
Till swallow'd up in night;
And then the Angel, to my view,
Shone like a meteor bright;
The tempest ceased its raging breath,—
All nature yielded up to death,
The earth, the sky, the sea:
A dark cloud rose upon my sight,
And shrouded all in tenfold night,-
'Twas blank Eternity!
THE rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain,
When a young mother, with her firstborn, thence
Went up to Zion; for the boy was vow'd
Unto the temple service. By the hand
She led him, and her silent soul, the while,
Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye
Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think
That aught so pure, so beautiful, was hers,
To bring before her God.
O'er Judah's hills; and wheresoe'er the leaves
Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon,
Like lulling rain-drops on the olive-boughs,
With their cold dimness, cross'd the sultry blue
Of Syria's heaven, she paused, that he might rest;
Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the sleep
That weigh'd their dark fringe down, to sit and watch
The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose,
As at a red flower's heart; and where a fount
Lay, like a twilight star, midst palmy shades
Making its banks green gems along the wild,
There too she linger'd, from the diamond wave
Drawing clear water for her rosy lips,
And softly parting clusters of jet curls,
To bathe his brow.
At last the Fane was reach'd,
The earth's one sanctuary: and rapture hush'd
Her bosom, as before her, through the day
It rose, a mountain of white marble, steep'd
In light like floating gold.-But when that hour
Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy
Lifted, through the rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye
Beseechingly to hers, and, half in fear,
Turn'd from the white-robed priest, and round her arm
Clung e'en as ivy clings; the deep spring-tide
Of nature then swell'd high; and o'er her child
Bending, her soul brake forth, in mingled sounds
Of weeping and sad song-" Alas!" she cried,
"Alas, my boy! thy gentle gasp is on me, The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes, And now fond thoughts arise,
And silver cords again to earth have won me,
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart-
How shall I hence depart?-
How the lone paths retrace, where thou wert playing So late along the mountains at my side?
By every place of flowers my course delaying,
Wove, e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair,
Beholding thee so fair!
And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted!
Will it not seem as if the sunny day
Turn'd from its door away,
While, through its chambers wandering weary hearted,
I languish for thy voice, which past me still,
Went like a singing rill?
Under the palm-trees thou no more shalt meet me, When from the fount at evening I return,
Nor will thy sleep's low dove-like murmurs greet me,
As midst the silence of the stars I wake,
And watch for thy dear sake.
And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee,
Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed?
Wilt thou not vainly spread
Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee,
To fold my neck; and lift up, in thy fear,
A cry which none shall hear?
What have I said, my child?-will He not hear thee
Who the young ravens heareth from their nest?
Will He not guard thy rest,
And, in the hush of holy midnight near thee,
Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy?
Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy!
I give thee to thy God!—the God that gave thee,
A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!
And precious as thou art,
And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee,
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!
And thou shalt be His child!
Therefore, farewell!-I go; my soul may fail me,
As the stag panteth for the water-brooks,
Yearning for thy sweet looks!
But thou, my firstborn! droop not, nor bewail me;
Thou in the shadow of the Rock shalt dwell,
The Rock of Strength-farewell!"
ON PARTING WITH MY BOOKS.
YE dear companions of my silent hours,
Whose pages oft before my eyes would strew
So many sweet and variegated flowers-
Dear Books, awhile, perhaps for aye, adieu!
The dark cloud of misfortune o'er me lours:
No more by winter's fire-in summer's bowers,
My toil-worn mind shall be refresh'd by you:
We part! sad thought! and while the damp devours
Your leaves, and the worm slowly eats them through,
Dull Poverty and its attendant ills,
Wasting of health, vain toil, corroding care,
And the world's cold neglect, which surest kills,
Must be my bitter doom; yet I shall bear
Unmurmuring, for my good perchance these evils are.
Sume superbiam
Quæsitam meritis.
YES! bury me deep in the infinite sea,
Let my heart have a limitless grave;
For my spirit in life was as fierce and free
As the course of the tempest-wave.
As far from the stretch of all earthly control
Were the fathomless depths of my mind;
And the ebbs and flows of my single soul
Were as tides to the rest of mankind.
Then my briny pall shall engirdle the world,
As in life did the voice of my fame;
And each mutinous billow that's sky-ward curl'd
Shall seem to re-echo my name.
That name shall be storied in annals of crime
In the uttermost corners of earth;
Now breathed as a curse-now a spell-word sublime,
In the glorified land of my birth.
Ay! plunge my dark heart in the infinite sea;
It would burst from a narrower tomb;
Shall less than an ocean his sepulchre be
Whose mandate to millions was doom?
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