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THE subsequent Poems were written at the request of my friend, the Hon. Dr. Kinnaird, for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been published, with the music, arranged by Mr. BRAHAM and Mr. NATHAN.
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,
A heart whose love is innocent!
THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
THE harp the monarch minstrel swept,
The king of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallow'd while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given.
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!
It soften'd men of iron mould,
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 wafted glory to our God;
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to Heaven, and there abode ! 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.
If that high world, which lies beyond
If there the cherish'd heart be fond,
It must be so: 't is not for self
That we so tremble on the brink ;
And striving to o'erleap the gulf,
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
A step as fleet, 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,
It will not live in other earth.
But we must wander witheringly,
And where our fathers' ashes be,
Our temple hath not left a stone,
OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.
weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream:
Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;
Mourn where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell!
And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
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.
When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd,