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When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd,
OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.
On! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread; Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!
Away! we know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou-who tell'st me to forget,
MY SOUL IS DARK.
My soul is dark-Oh! quickly string
Its melting murmurs o'er mine car.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again: If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
"Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
And ach'd in sleepless silence long; And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst, And break at once--or yield to song.*
I SAW THEE WEEP.
I SAW thee weep-the big bright tear
And then methought it did appear
I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze
It could not match the living rays
As clouds from yonder sun receive
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.
THY DAYS ARE DONE.
THY days are done, thy fame begun;
Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Thy fall, the theme of choral song
THOU whose spell can raise the dead,
King, behold the phantom seer!"
His hand was wither'd, and his veins were dry;
His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there,
"Why is my sleep disquieted?
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.
WARRIORS and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path: Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!"
Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
Farewell to others, but never we part,
"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER."
FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine,
I strive to number o'er what days
Which all that life or earth displays
There rose no day, there roll'd no hour
And not a trapping deck'd my power
The serpent of the field, by art
And spells, is won from harming;