For ever past, for ever gone,
No trace to fix a thought upon;
But mirth and grief, and hopes and fears,
Are swallow'd in the flight of years.
The flight of years-how many an eye
Weeps at the thought of years gone by!
Looks back upon the sad array,
The restless night, the anxious day;
Sees the loved form so pale, so chill,
And mourns its broken idol still!
While all below, that soothes or cheers,
Seems buried in the flight of years.
The flight of years-it bears along
The mighty purpose of the strong;
Youth's thousand fond imaginings,
And manhood's ardent spiritings,
The sigh of love, the sigh of care,
The sad forebodings of despair,
And pride's approach, and slander's sneers,
Sink in the rapid flight of years.
The flight of years-'twill soon be o'er,
When the last pilgrim treads the shore;
When darkness broods across the sun,
And mercy's gracious work is done;
When heaven renew'd and earth restored,
Shout at the presence of their Lord;
Disease and death, and sin and tears,
Shall perish with the flight of years.
TO THE EVENING STAR.
UNVEIL thy sainted brow, sweet evening star!
My heart is teeming with a sigh to gaze
On thy pure face, now lingering afar,
With the soft sunset's spirit-quelling blaze
Come forth with smile benign. Thy ray doth bring The heart a honied balm to soothe the world's fierce sting.
The mavis woos thee with her tuneful note
From the dark hawthorn, while the lark replies,
E'en with his vesper hymn, that seems to float
An offering from the earth unto the skies:
As each could not under their coverts flee,
Till, with a song of love, sweet star they welcomed
thee!
All things fall hush'd and tranquil at thy hour,
Sweet star of eve! and the aspiring heart
Feels the deep influence, with the way-side flower,
And closeth to life's wrongs its tenderest part;
Yea, is removed from its sad earthly fears,
With all its storms and passions haply quench'd in
The moments thou dost brighten are more full
Of sweetness than the prouder time of day;
Thy fitful glimmerings are so beautiful,
So soft the beams of thy retiring ray,
That they appeal unto the heart like sighs,
Or dying looks of love from some fair thing we prize.
Have I not gazed upon thee till my eye
Grew, by my musings, like thee, soft and bright?
Hath not my heart, though burning mightily,
Seem'd chasten'd by the gush of vestal light
That pierced it like religion, and reveal'd
What passion threw to shade,-and pride, per-
chance, conceal'd?
Have I not wander'd with thee till my breast
Hath lost its fevers in the silent air,
And each wild thought hath, lamb-like, sunk to rest,
Pillow'd upon the downy wing of prayer?
And hath not holy nature seem'd to be,
Even at that hour, a priest, to wed me unto thee?
Have I not linger'd with thee till my soul
Grew too exalted for this prisoning clay;
And, spurning nature's fetters of control,
Dove-like, hath long'd to wing itself away, Beyond the reach of woe, the throb of pain,Beyond the all that grieve, the all that might complain?
And have I not felt comfort, solace, peace,
Too deep for idle poesy to tell,
From that high power, whose love will never cease,
Though hearts may dare, and souls may yet rebel?
And have not thoughts been born beneath thy ray,
Too pure for age to kill, or time to steal away?
W. MARTIN.
WHEN I survey the bright
Celestial sphere,
So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear,
My soul her wing doth spread,
And heavenward flies,
The Almighty's mysteries to read
In the large volume of the skies.
For the bright firmament
Shoots forth no flame
So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creator's name.
No unregarded star
Contracts its light
Into so small a character,
Removed far from our human sight:
But, if we stedfast look,
We shall discern
In it, as in some holy book,
How man may heavenly knowledge learn.
It tells the conqueror,
That far-stretch'd power,
Which his proud dangers traffic for,
Is but the triumph of an hour.
That from the farthest North
Some nation may
Yet undiscover'd issue forth,
And o'er his new-got conquest sway.
Some nation yet shut in
With hills of ice,
May be let out to scourge his sin,
Till they shall equal him in vice.
And then they likewise shall
Their ruin have;
For as yourselves your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.
Thus those celestial fires,
Though seeming mute,
The fallacy of our desires
And all the pride of life confute.
For they have watch'd since first
The world had birth;
And found sin in itself accursed,
And nothing permanent on earth.
So forth issued the Seasons of the year:
First, lusty Spring, all dight" in leaves of flowers
That freshly budded, and new blooms did bear,
In which a thousand birds had built their bowers,
That sweetly sung to call forth paramours;
And in his hand a javelin he did bear,
And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures")
A gilt engraven morion" he did wear;
That as some did him love, so others did him fear.
Then came the jolly Summer, being dight
In a thin silken cassock, coloured green,
That was unlined all, to be more light:
And on his head a garland well beseen"
He wore, from which, as he had chauffed been,
The sweat did drop; and in his hand be bore
A bow and shafts, as he in forest green
Had hunted late the libbard' or the boar,
And now would bathe his limbs with labour heated
dight, bedecked, dressed.
stoures, assaults, battles.
morion, ancient military steel cap.
d well beseen, beautiful to be seen.
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