ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

"Tis their being, hope and life;
Hark! the hurrying wain-
No! the distant thunder peal,
Rolling from the hills—

See the eddying tempest wheel!

How it swells and stills!

High above its brazen van

Juts-behind it roars

Wind, hail, thunder-what is man,

When the deluge pours!

AUTUMN.

My horn is overflowing,

My fruits all red,

And not a wind is blowing,

But sweets have fed.

The vineyard slope is gushing

With purple wine,

And amber streams are rushing

From every vine.

Near hill to far blue mountain,

Low vale and plain,

Wide lake and rock-built fountain,

My song of joy repeat again.

Young girls beside their lovers
Now pluck the vine-

Its yellow foliage covers

Love's softest twine.

With loaded baskets reeling

They home return;

And when the dance is wheeling,

Black eyes-they burn.

Io, Io triumphe!

The pæans swell;

And now their nectar flowing,

That gush of joy, O! who can tell.

WINTER.

Below me rings the lake,
The stars above me burn,
Away the skaters break,
And glide and wheel and turn;
Keen blows the cutting north,
Against the wind they drive,
And as they hurry forth,
The air is all alive,

Shout and carol, jest and boast,
So they sound along;

Send thy keenest arrows, Frost!

We will give thee song.

The east is growing bright,

The crystal forest flashes,

And in the dawning light,
Like gold the cascade dashes.
The rainbow spans the sky,
But all her proudest show,
Her deepest tinctures die
Before the pomp below.

Rock and river, tree and fountain,

Glitter thick with gems;

Rolling hill and craggy mountain Glow like diadems.

THE FEMALES OF GREECE TO

THOSE OF AMERICA.

BY MRS. SIGOURNEY.

In the early hours of morning unite in your prayers to the Most High for suffering Greece.

LETTER FROM SYRA, AUG. 13, 1828.

BLEST dwellers on a holy shore,
Who o'er wide ocean's billows hoar
Across the globe your hand have spread,
And dealt our famish'd thousands bread,
Our cavern'd haunts repeat your fame,
Our infants learn to lisp your name;
O! by that charity which knows
Nor weariness, nor seeks repose,
Until upon a Saviour's breast
It finds in heaven a perfect rest,
Still, still on Greece bestow your cares,
And to your bounties add your prayers.

Sisters! whose happy lot is cast

In shelter safe from storm and blast,

Who drink at freedom's sacred stream,
And prompt of love the fondest dream,
O! think of those who shuddering hear
The oppressor's lawless footstep near!
Behold their native fountain's flood
Swoln with their dearest, noblest blood,
Who, driven from home and household fire,
Bereft of husband, son and sire,
Pine in their rocky cells forlorn,

O! think, and pour the prayer of morn.

Sex! who by sufferings of your own,
To meek devotion still are prone,

Ordain'd in bitterness to bear

Burdens which none, save heaven, may share,

With pangs that man can ne'er repay,

To wipe the babe's first tear away;
O! by his cross and fearful cry,
Who bow'd on Calvary's cliff to die,
By those long hours of speechless gloom
Which mark'd you watching at his tomb,
Who for our sakes to wo was born,
Breathe deep for us the prayer of morn.

« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »