Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love,
Who art a Light to guide, a Rod
To check the erring, and reprove ;
Thou, who art victory and law,
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free ;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! ..
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face;
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong :
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are
Give unto me, made lowly-wise
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give ;
And in the light of truth, thy bondman let me live!
ON THE APPROACHING DEATH OF FOX.
A Power is passing from the earth
To breathless Nature's dark abyss;
But when the great and good depart,
What is it more than this,-
That man, who is from God sent forth,
Doth yet again to God return ?—
Such ebb and flow must ever be,
Then wherefore should we mourn?
Earth has not anything to show more fair :
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty :
This city now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will;
The very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played;
Their thoughts I cannot measure,
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air,
And I must think
That there was pleasure there..
TO THE SMALL CELANDINE.
Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets,
They will have a place in story;
There's a flower that shall be mine,
'Tis the little Celandine. . . .
Telling tales about the sun,
When we've little warmth or none,
Prophet of delight and mirth,
Scorned and slighted upon earth!
Herald of a mighty band,
Of a joyous train ensuing,-
Singing at my heart's command,
In the lanes my thoughts pursuing,
I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!
So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive,
Would that the little flowers were born to live, Conscious of half the pleasure that they give!
I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.
From INSCRIPTIONS FOR A HERMIT'S CELL.
What are fears, but voices airy
Whispering harm where harm is not,
And deluding the unwary
Till the fatal bolt is shot.
From THE SPARROW'S NEST.
My sister Emmeline.
Such heart was in her, being then
A little prattler among men.
The blessing of my latter years
Was with me when a boy;
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears,
And humble cares, and delicate fears;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love, and thought, and joy.
TO THE SUPREME BEING.
Translated from Michael Angelo.
The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed,
If Thou the spirit give by which I pray ;
My unassisted heart is barren clay,
Which of its native self can nothing feed;
Of good and pious works Thou art the seed
That quickens, only where Thou say'st it may ;
Unless Thou show to us thine own true way
No man can find it; Father! Thou must lead.
Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind
By which such virtue may in me be bred
That in thy holy footsteps I may tread;
The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,
That I may have the power to sing of Thee,
And sound thy praises everlastingly.
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done;
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun.
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.
She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet
In playing there had found :
He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth and round.
Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by;
And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh,
""Tis some poor fellow's skull,” said he, "Who fell in the great victory.
"I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about, And often, when I go to plough,
The ploughshare turns them out; For many thousand men,” said he, "Were slain in that great victory."
"Now tell us what 'twas all about,”
Young Peterkin he cries,
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes :
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they killed each other for."
|