Their fragrant heads the lilies wave, O'er Blackwood brow bright glow'd the moon ; Rills murmur'd music and the stars Refused to set our heads aboon : Ye might have heard our beating hearts, Wert thou an idol, all of gold, Had I the eye of worldish care,- My lass of green Gleneslan mill! CCCV. BERNARD BARTON, 1784-1849. SPRING. Rejoice my little merry mate, The blithesome spring is coming, To hear the wild bee humming round And listen to each gentle sound The birds shall sing from many a bower And, round full many a blooming flow The snow-drops by our garden-walk, Then shall our summer haunts again But since thou canst its joys partake, I would 'twere spring to-morrow. CCCVI. HEN. KIRKE WHITE, 1785—1806. STANZAS, WRITTEN SHORTLY BEFORE HIS DEATH. Thus far have I pursued my solemn theme, With self-rewarding toil; thus far have sung Of god-like deeds, far loftier than beseem The lyre which I in early days have strung; And now my spirits faint, and I have hung The shell, that solaced me in saddest hour, On the dark cypress; and the strings which rung With Jesus' praise, their harpings now are o'er, Or, when the breeze comes by, moan, and are heard no more. And must the harp of Judah sleep again? Shall I no more reanimate the lay ? O Thou who visitest the sons of men, Thou who dost listen when the humble pray, One little space prolong my mournful day; One little lapse suspend thy last decree! I am a youthful traveller in the way, It is the midnight hour:-the beauteous sea, Like that of dreamer murmuring in his sleep; 'Tis partly the billow, and partly the air, Above the happy deep. The sea, I ween, cannot be fann'd By evening freshness from the land, For the land it is far away; But God hath will'd that the sky-born breeze In the centre of the loneliest seas Should ever sport and play. The mighty Moon she sits above, A zone of dim and tender light That makes her wakeful eye more bright: And from her silent throne looks down, On the waves that lend their gentle breast 2. THE EVENING CLOUD. A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow: Long had I watched the glory moving on O'er the still radiance of the lake below. Tranquil its spirit seem'd, and floated slow! E'en in its very motion there was rest: While every breath of eve that chanced to blow Wafted the traveller to the beauteous West. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul! To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onwards to the golden gates of heaven, Where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies. 3. THE PAST. How wild and dim this life appears! Are faintly glittering by! And still forgotten while they go! The amber clouds one moment lie, We scarce believe it shone! Dreams follow dreams, through the long night-hours, Each lovelier than the last; But, ere the breath of morning-flowers, That gorgeous world flies past; And many a sweet angelic cheek, Whose smiles of love and fondness speak, Glides by us on this earth; While in a day we cannot tell Where shone the face we loved so well, CCCVIII. REV. G. CROLY, 1785—1860. This was the ruler of the land, When Athens was the land of fame; His sovereignty was held or won; Loved-but as freemen love alone; Then eloquence first flash'd below, 2. CZERNI GEORGE. 'Twas noon! a blood-red banner played Above thy rampart port, Belgrade; |