The wide old wood from his majestic rest, The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast: The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep: And they who stand about the sick man's bed, Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, And softly part his curtains to allow Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. Go-but the circle of eternal change, Which is the life of nature, shall restore, Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more; "WHEN THE FIRMAMENT QUIVERS WITH DAYLIGHT'S YOUNG BEAM." WHEN the firmament quivers with daylight's young beam, And the glow of the sky blazes back from the stream, Oh! 'tis sad, in that moment of glory and song, Till the circle of ether, deep, ruddy, and vast, Scarce glimmers with one of the train that were there; And their leader the day-star, the brightest and last, Twinkles faintly and fades in that desert of air. Thus, Oblivion, from midst of whose shadow we came, Let them fade-but we'll pray that the age, in whose flight, "INNOCENT CHILD AND SNOW-WHITE FLOWER." INNOCENT child and snow-white flower! White as those leaves, just blown apart, Guilty passion and cankering care Never have left their traces there. Artless one! though thou gazest now O'er the white blossom with earnest brow, Soon will it tire thy childish eye; Fair as it is, thou wilt throw it by. Throw it aside in thy weary hour, Throw to the ground the fair white flower; Yet, as thy tender years depart, Keep that white and innocent heart. TO THE RIVER ARVE. SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN AT A HAMLET NEAR THE FOOT OF MONT BLANO, NOT from the sands or cloven rocks, Born where the thunder and the blast, With heaven's own beam and image shine. |