페이지 이미지
PDF
ePub

One, worthy her, is only left,
One bosom fit to rest upon !
Go, Woman, desolate, bereft,
And lean upon thy foster son !

Homeward they went : how dread that night,
Another came, but came not sleep,
Oft they invoked the dawning light,-
How long those nights endured to weep!

News from the Grave where Jesus lay!
The Penitent 's already there !
Serenest Mother, wherefore stay ?
Roll, like its Stone, away thy care!

Grief, Joy, can win nor tear nor smile,-
The sword has gone through all her soul !
Her eye-beam leaves this earth the while
Reposing on the heavenly goal.

She comes not where disciples meet
To wait the visits of their Lord,
She sees Him not, though others greet,
Nor hears her own Incarnate Word.

No more of fleshly tie remains,-
Once known as such, He's known no more.*
And ne'er the Widowed Maid complains
That she is shunned by Him she bore.

The Heavens receive Him now ! She kneels
To Him whom erst her arms had prest !
And from her humble hovel steals
To pray with them who Christ confessed. +

2 Cor. v. 16. + Acts i. 14. Whatever poets and painters have feigned, Mary, the mother of Jesus, is never introduced in inspired story, from the moment in which she is led from Calvary, until her meeting with the disciples in “ the upper room." This is the last notice of her, and she is heard of no more.

1

Mother and Son,-relations fond,
Soon broke, though sedulously nursed !
Exile asunder tore the bond, -
She spake no more,—her heart had burst!

Her awful path she now had trod,
And Judah’s blessed daughter died,-
She bowed in heaven before her God!
And John bent gently by her side !

Oh Calvary! What bigot-force
Can make thee Nature's ties upbraid ?
Thou art of tenderness the source !
Each kindliest virtue seeks thy shade !

SONNET ON A LAKE NEAR TOBERMORE Y.

Why pleases well this scene? Not that yon heights

Rise with the pomp of Alpine majesty ;

Not that this tranquil lake and azure sky Swim in the sheen of summer's strongest lights. Not that yon waterfalls their concert pour,

And iris arch, while they new valleys make;

Nor, that these ripples from each flowery brake, Like gladsome things, disport around mine oar !

No,—but that man has not defiled this scene ! The tempest of his passions has not marred

Thy lilied border nor thy face serene,-
The discord of his follies has not jarred

Thy soft and pulsing music! Could my boat
In such unearthly calm for ever float !

ODE WRITTEN ON ENTERING SCOTLAND FOR

THE FIRST TIME,

[blocks in formation]

“ Two voices are there : one is of the sea,
One of the mountains ; each a mighty voice :
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen Music, Liberty !”_Wordsworth.

[blocks in formation]
[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Land of my Fathers, hail !

I roam thy lineal child, Where'er the hill-mists sail,

Or leap the cataracts wild :
My fathers fought beside

Thy noblest chivalry,
Their blood thy rivers dyed,

Expiring to be free!

But dearest to my heart,

That firm, heroic, band
Of truth who took the part,

For conscience made the stand. Your mouldering dust I seek,

Where the bleak thistle waves : Ye, being dead, yet speak,

Enthronized in your graves.

And oh my Father-land,

Dear as thy soil to me, As freedom's hallowed strand,

In blood, in spirit, free,Compel the hand that weaves

The garland of thy fame, Among its proudest"leaves,

To twine the Martyr's name.

« 이전계속 »