But violets, and bilberry-bells,
Maple-sap, and daffodels,
Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue,
And brier-roses, dwelt among:
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he passed.
Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher,
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
Thou dost mock at Fate and Care,
Leave the chaff and take the wheat.
When the fierce northwestern blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already slumberest deep;
Woe and want thou canst outsleep;
Want and woe, which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous.
OOD-BY, proud world! I'm going home:
Thou'rt not my friend, and I'm not thine.
Long through thy weary crowds I roam,
A river-ark on the ocean's brine;
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam;
But now, proud world! I'm going home.
Good-by to Flattery's fawning face;
To Grandeur, with his wise grimace;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye;
To supple Office, low and high;
To crowded halls, to court and street;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet;
To those who go, and those who come;
Good-by, proud world! I'm going home.
I am going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosomed in yon green hills alone—
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod
A spot that is sacred to thought and GOD.
Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man;
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;
For what are they all in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with GOD may meet!
Rev. Ralph Hopt.
THE WORLD FOR SALE.
Call every traveller here to me; Who'll buy this brave estate of mine,
And set me from earth's bondage free?
"Tis going!-Yes, I mean to fling
The bawble from my soul away;
I'll sell it, whatsoeʼer it bring,—
The World at Auction here to-day!
It is a glorious thing to see-
Ah, it has cheated me so sore!
It is not what it seems to be:
For sale! it shall be mine no more.
Come, turn it o'er, and view it well;
I would not have you purchase dear; 'Tis going-going!-I must sell!
Who bids?-Who'll buy the Splendid Tear?
Here's WEALTH in glittering heaps of gold-
Who bids?-But let me tell you fair,
A baser lot was never sold ;
Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care?
And here, spread out in broad domain,
A goodly landscape all may trace;
Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill, and plain :
Who'll buy himself a burial-place?
Here's Love, the dreamy, potent spell
That Beauty flings around the heart;
I know its power, alas! too well;—
'Tis going-Love and I must part!
Must part! What can I more with Love?
All over the enchanter's reign;
Who'll buy the plumeless, dying dove?—
An hour of bliss, an age of pain!
And FRIENDSHIP-rarest gem of earth—
(Who e'er hath found the jewel his ?)
Frail, fickle, false, and little worth, Who bids for Friendship-as it is? 'Tis going-going!-Hear the call:
Once, twice, and thrice !-'Tis very low! 'Twas once my hope, my stay, my all— But now the broken staff must go!
FAME! hold the brilliant meteor high;
How dazzling every gilded name!
Ye millions, now's the time to buy!—
How much for Fame? how much for Fame?
Hear how it thunders!-Would you stand
On high Olympus, far renowned ?
Now purchase, and a world command,
And be with a world's curses crowned!
Sweet star of HOPE! with ray to shine
In every sad, foreboding breast,
Save this desponding one of mine,—
Who bids for man's last friend and best?
Ah! were not mine a bankrupt life,
This treasure should my soul sustain;
But Hope and I are now at strife,
Nor ever may unite again.
And SONG!-For sale my tuneless lute;
Sweet solace, mine no more to hold;
The chords that charmed my soul are mute;
I cannot wake the notes of old.
Or e'en were mine a wizard shell
Could chain a world in raptures high,
Yet now a sad "Farewell! farewell!"-
Must on its last faint echoes die.
Ambition, Fashion, Show, and Pride,—
I part from all forever now;
Grief, in an overwhelming tide,
Has taught my haughty heart to bow.
Poor heart! distracted, ah, so long-
And still its aching throb to bear;
How broken, that was once so strong !
How heavy, once so free from care!
No more for me life's fitful dream ;-
Bright vision, vanishing away!
My bark requires a deeper stream,
My sinking soul a surer stay.
By Death, stern sheriff! all bereft,
I weep, yet humbly kiss the rod;
The best of all I still have left-
My Faith, my Bible, and my God.
LIBERTY BELL.*
A SOUND like the sound of a tempest rolled,
And the heart of a people stirred,
For the bell of Freedom, at midnight tolled,
Through a fettered land was heard:
And the chime still rung
From its iron tongue,
Steadily swaying to and fro;
* Rung in Philadelphia, at the Declaration of Independence.
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