THE MOONLIGHT CHURCHYARD.

DELTA.

THERE is no cloud to mar the depth of blue,
Through which the silent silver moon careers,
Save in the west some streaks of hazy hue,
Through which pale Vesper, twinkling, re-appears:
The sacred harmony which rules the spheres
Descends through lower regions, and the mind,
Stripp'd of the vain solicitudes and fears

Which seem the heritage of human-kind,
Commingles with the scene, and leaves its cares behind.

To gaze upon the studded arch above,

And on thy placid beauty, mystic moon!
Shedding abroad the mysteries of love,

And rendering night more exquisite than noon,
Expands the sinking spirit; while, as soon

As from terrestrial frailties we retire,

And to thy hallow'd mood our hearts attune, To those benignant feelings we aspire

Which make the spirit glow with purified desire.

'Tis sweet, thus resting on this grassy mound,
To look upon the vales that stretch below,
On the old woods that throw their shadows round,
And on the silver streams of ceaseless flow,
Murmuring and making music as they go;
And on the hamlets, where a little star,

Beaming within the lattice, makes to glow
The homeward traveller's heart, as from afar
He hails a shelter from the world's contentious jar.

The shatter'd wrecks of generations past,

Slumbering around me are the village-dead:

O'er them no sculptured stones their shadows cast,
To keep the moonshine from their verdant bed.
Here oft my steps hath contemplation led;
And here alone in solemn reverie,

Under this hoary elm, with lichens red,

I've thought how years and generations flee,

And of the things which were, and never more shall be!

Nor is the day far distant, nor the hour
Deep in the bosom of futurity,

When all that revel now in pride and power,
Commingling dust with dust, as low shall lie.
Yes! all that live and move beneath the sky
An equal doom awaits: our sires have pass'd-
Alike the mightiest and the meanest die;
And, slowly come the doom, or come it fast,
The inexorable grave awaits us all at last!

But man was made for bustle and for strife!

Though sometimes, like the sun on summer days, The bosom is unruffled, yet his life

Consists in agitation, and his

ways

Are through the battling storm-blasts: to erase
Some fancied wrong, to gain some promised joy,
To gather earthly good, or merit praise,
Are, and will be, the objects that employ
His thoughts, and lead him on to dazzle or destroy.

Yet lost to all that dignifies our kind,

Cold were the heart, and bigoted indeed, Which, by its selfish principles made blind, Could destine all that differ'd from its creed To uttermost perdition! Who can feed

A doctrine so debasing in the breast?

We who are dust and ashes, who have need Of mercy, not of judgment, and at best

Are vanity to Him with whom our fate must rest!

Since thus so feeble, happy 'tis for us

That the All seeing is our Judge alone!
We walk in darkness-but not always thus:
The veil shall be withdrawn, and man be shown
Mysterious laws of nature now unknown.
Yes! what is shrouded from our feeble sight,
Or now seems but a chaos overgrown

With marvels, hidden in the womb of night,
Shall then burst on our view, clear, beautiful, and bright!

Oh! who that gazes on the lights of life,

Man in his might, and woman in her bloom, Would think that, after some brief years of strife,

Both must be tenants of the silent tomb!

Nought can revoke the irrevocable doomChildhood's despair, man's prayer, or woman's tear:

The soul must journey through the vale of gloom,

And ere it enters on a new career,

Burn in the light of hope, or shrink with conscious fear.

Then in resign'd submission let us bow
Before the Providence that cares for all:

'Tis thine, O God! to take or to bestow,

To raise the meek, or bid the mighty fall. Shall low-born doubts, shall earthly fears enthrall The deathless soul which emanates from Thee?

Forbid the degradation! No!-it shall

Burst from earth's bonds, like day-star from the sea, When from the rising sun the shades of darkness flee.