As if the very lips and eyes
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before us then!

So came thy every glance and tone, When first on me they breathed and shone;

New as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved for years.

THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT.

AT the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly

To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye;

And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air,

To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,

And tell me our love is remembered even in the sky!

Then I sing the wild song 't was once

such pleasure to hear,

When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the ear;

And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls,

I think, O my love! 't is thy voice, from the Kingdom of Souls, Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.

'T was that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near,

Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear,

And who felt how the best charms of nature improve,

When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet Vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best;

Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.

O THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURN-
ER'S TEAR.

O THOU who dry'st the mourner's tear!
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to thee.
The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give
Must weep those tears alone.
But thou wilt heal that broken heart
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And e'en the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears

Is dimmed and vanished too,

O, who would bear life's stormy doom,
Did not thy wing of love
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace-branch from above?
Then sorrow, touched by thee, grows
bright

With more than rapture's ray;
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day!

THOU ART, O GOD!

THOU art, O God! the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from thee.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

SHE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes, Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-
place.

And on that cheek and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

125

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

THE Assyrian came down like the wolf

on the fold,

And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;

And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,

That host with their banners at sunset

were seen;

Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,

That

host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,

And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;

And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,

And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,

But through them there rolled not the breath of his pride:

And the foam of his gasping lay white

1, and all between mountains, dusk,

ng, yet distinctly r, whose capt heights

and drawing near, fagrance from

-h with childhood;

of the suspended per one good-night

veller, who makes and sings his fill; bird from out the

Ona throne of rocks, in a robe of clo
With a diadem of show.

Around his waist are forests braced,
The avalanche in his hand;
But ere it fall, that thundering bali
Must pause for my command.

The glacier's cold and restless mass
Moves onward day by day;
But I am he who bids it pass,

Or with its ice delay.

I am the spirit of the place,

Could make the mountain bow And quiver to his caverned base, --And what with me wouldst Thou?

THE IMMORTAL MIND.

WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay. Ah, whither strays the immortal inind: It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darkened dust behind. Then, unembodie 1, doth it trace

By steps each planet's heavenly way Or fill at once the realms of space, A thing of eyes, that all survey!

Eternal, boundless, undecayed,

A thought unseen, but seeing all, All, all in earth or skies displayed,

Shall it survey, shall it recall: Each fainter trace that memory holds So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds, And all that was at once appears.

MONT BLANCS

They crowned home loc, égọ