-And but the booming shots replied, Upon his brow he felt their breath, And look'd from that lone post of death, In still, yet brave despair. And shouted but once more aloud, "My father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, There came a burst of thunder sound- With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. THE breaking waves dash'd high On a stern and rock-beund coast, And the woods, against a stormy sky, Their giant branches tost; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moor'd their bark Not as the conqueror comes, Not with the roll of the stirring drums, Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear,- They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea! And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang The ocean-eagle soar'd From his nest by the white wave's foam, There were men with hoary hair, There was woman's fearless eye, There was manhood's brow serenely high, What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod ! They have left unstain'd what there they found- LORD BYRON. VERY little of Byron's poetry can be read without a most destructive influence upon the moral sensibilities. Humiliating was the waste and degradation of his genius, and melancholy is the power, which his poetry has exerted upon multitudes of minds. Some of his volumes are more pernicious in their moral tendency than any other books that were ever written. His complete works, ought never to be purchased, and we may feel proud not to be acquainted with them except by extracts, and beauties;—of these there will always be sufficient to satisfy the curiosity, exhibit the character of his genius, and give the imagination all the delight which it can innocently receive from the perusal of any portion of his writings. 30* THE LAKE OF GENEVA. CLEAR, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction; once I loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. It is the hush of night, and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more; He is an evening reveller, who makes Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep, All is concenter'd in a life intense; Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, Of that which is of all Creator and defence. Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt The soul and source of music, which makes known Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, Binding all things with beauty;-'t would disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. Not vainly did the early Persian make The sky is changed!—and such a change! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! And this is in the night:-Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,A portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again 't is black,—and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, 356 STUDIES IN POETRY. And glowing into day: we may resume Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly. OCEAN. ROLL on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll! His steps are not upon thy paths thy fields And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields And dashest him again to earth;—there let him lay. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee- Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form |