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SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.
SHE walks in beauty, like the night
One shade the more, one ray the less,
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
A mind at peace with all below,
THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
THE harp the monarch minstrel swept,
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,
It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not, fired not to the tone,
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne!
It told the triumphs of our King,
It made our gladden'd valleys ring,
The cedars bow, the mountains nod
Its sound aspired to heaven and there abode ! 2 Since then, though heard on earth no more, Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar
To sounds that seem as from above,
In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.
IF THAT HIGH WORLD.
Ir that high world, which lies beyond
The eye the same, except in tears-
It must be so: 'tis not for self
Yet cling to Being's severing link.
To hold each heart the heart that shares,
And soul in soul grow deathless theirs!
THE WILD GAZELLE.
THE wild gazelle on Judah's hills
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by :
A step as flect, an eye more bright,
The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah's statelier maids are gone!
More blest each palm that shades those plains
Than Israel's scatter'd race;
For, taking root, it there remains
In solitary grace:
It cannot quit its place of birth,
But we must wander witheringly,
And where our fathers' ashes be,
Our temple hath not left a stone,
OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.
OH! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice?
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
ON JORDAN'S BANKS.
ON Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
Yet there- even there-Oh God! thy thunders sleep:
There where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone!
Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear;
SINCE our Country, our God-Oh, my Sire!
Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow-
And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And of this, oh, my Father! be sure-
And the last thought that soothes me below.3
Though the virgins of Salem lament,