« PreviousContinue »
No death-strewn fields his honours stain ;
He battles nor for fame nor gold ;
Lie idly glittering on his breast ;
Truth's light stands in his eyes confest:
the worth of woman too,
entitling wife and maid,
With its dense darkness—pierced at length,
And by the future's noon-day strength,
A LAMENT. T. K. HERVEY is one of the most graceful of our living poets. His works, which are not numerous, without any pretensions to power or sublimity, are almost always beautiful, and cannot fail to please readers of refined taste. The following stanzas are extracted from a poem of his entitled The Brazen Head. There is a great deal of pathos in them.
She sleeps that still and placid sleep
For which the weary pant in vain,
not weep again ;-
grave Shall I behold the wild flower wave !
They laid her where the sun and moon
Look on her tomb with loving eye ;
And I have heard the breeze of June
Sweep o'er it, like a sigh ;
Of her who was a dream to me ;
In crowds, and on the sea,
Have flung their beauty o'er my youth ;
And sounds that seem'd like truth; And loved the music which they gave Like that which perish'd in the grave ! And I have left the cold and dead,
To mingle with the living cold :-
My heart is growing old :
My spirit fades before its time,
Lost partner of their prime !
Rise, gentle vision of the hours
Which like birds that come not back!
On Memory's wasted track !
A PAGAN'S DRINKING SONG.
This singularly original lyric is taken from a volume of poems called ! Studies of Sensation and Event by EBENEZER JONES. It is full of the spirit of the olden time, when poetry was more an emotion than an art. LIKE the bright white arm of a young god, thrown
To the hem of a struggling maiden's gown, The torrent leaps on the kegs of stone
That held this wine in the dark gulf down; Deep fathoms five it lay in the cold,
The afternoon summer heats heavily weigh : This wine is awaiting in flagons of gold,
On the side of the hill that looks over the bay.
There a bower of vines for each one bends,
Under the terracing cedar trees;
He may couch and quaff in lonely ease.
In the sunshine the galleys before him will drowse ;
Will faintly flow in to his calm carouse.
Exacting and fawning, and vain and shy;
And silently low in the entrance lie.
The Cyprian's loves, and the maiden's dreams,
And his eyes dilate with glorious schemes ;
Will recall to the drinker his own youth's prime,
This cool bright wine :-To our bowers away!
On the side of the hill that looks over the bay !
A CALM AFTER A STORM.
A beautiful passage from MOORE's Lalla Rookh.
How calm, how beautiful comes on
When 'stead of one unchanging breeze,
As if the loveliest plants and trees
ENGLISH CHURCHES. The "too early lost” Miss LANDON left as a legacy to the world a portfolio of unpublished poems, one of which is the following, touching and beautiful :
How beautiful they stand,
Amid the pasture fields and dark green woods,
By little brooks that, with a lapsing sound,
Each in its little plot of holy ground,
How beautiful they stand,
Our lives are all turmoil ;
Have turned our hearts away from lowly things; We seek not now the wild flower on the sod;
We seek not snowy-folded angel's wings
Amid the summer skies“
Yet, blessed quiet fanes !
The dust of our beloved, and tears are shed
Something in these aspiring days we need,
To keep our spirits lowly, To set within our hearts sweet thoughts and holy !
And 'tis for this they stand,
And stated services of prayer and praise,
For the polluted city, shall upraise,
Meek faith and love sincere-