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"Alas! my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me,
The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes,
And now fond thoughts arise,

And silver cords again to earth have won me,
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart,-
How shall I hence depart?

"How the lone paths retrace, where thou wert playing So late along the mountains at my side?

And I, in joyous pride,

By every place of flowers my course delaying,
Wove, even as pearls the lilies round thy hair,

Beholding thee so fair!

"And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted! Will it not seem as if the sunny day

Turned from its door away,

While, through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted, I languish for thy voice, which past me still,

Went like a singing rill?

"Under the palm-trees thou no more shall meet me, When from the fount at evening I return,

With the full water-urn!

Nor will thy sleep's low, dovelike murmurs greet me,
As 'midst the silence of the stars I wake,

And watch for thy dear sake!

“And thou, wilt slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee, Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed?

Wilt thou not vainly spread

Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, To fold my neck; and lift up in thy fear,

A cry which none shall hear?

"What have I said, my child?—will He not hear thee
Who the young ravens heareth from their nest?
Will He not guard thy rest,

And, in the hush of holy midnight near thee,
Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy?
Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy!

"I give thee to thy God!-the God that gave thee, A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!

And, precious as thou art,

And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee,
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!

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And thou shalt be His child!

Therefore, farewell!-I go! my soul may fail me, As the stag panteth for the water-brooks,

Yearning for thy sweet looks!

But thou, my firstborn! droop not, nor bewail me,—
Thou in the shadow of the Rock shall dwell,

The Rock of Strength,-farewell!"

THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT.

'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound!

And the knight look'd down from the Paynim's tower,
And a Christian host, in its pride and power,

Through the pass beneath him wound.

Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill,

Cease! let them hear the captive's voice,-be still!

"I knew 'twas a trumpet's note ! And I see my brethren's lances gleam,

And their pennons wave, by the mountain stream,
And their plumes to the glad wind float!

Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice,-be still!

"I am here, with my heavy chain! And I look on a torrent, sweeping by, And an eagle, rushing to the sky,

And a host, to its battle plain!

Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill, Cease! let them hear the captive's voice,-be still!

“Must I pine in my fetters here?

With the wild wave's foam, and the free bird's flight, And the tall spears glancing on my sight,

And the trumpet in mine ear?

Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill, Cease! let them hear the captive's voice,-be still!

"They are gone! they have all pass'd by!
They in whose wars I had borne my part,
They that I loved with a brother's heart,
They have left me here to die!

Sound again, clarion! clarion pour thy blast!
Sound! for the captive's dream of hope is past!"

THE TRUMPET.

THE trumpet's voice hath roused the land,
Light up the beacon-pyre!
A hundred hills have seen the brand,
And waved the sign of fire!

A hundred banners to the breeze

Their gorgeous folds have cast; And, hark! was that the sound of seas? A king to war went past!

The chief is arming in his hall,

The peasant by his hearth;
The mourner hears the thrilling call,

And rises from the earth!

The mother on her firstborn son

Looks with a boding eye;—

They come not back, though all be won, Whose young hearts leap so high.

The bard hath ceased his song, and bound

The falchion to his side;

E'en for the marriage altar crowned,

The lover quits his bride!

And all this haste, and change, and fear,

By earthly clarion spread!

How will it be when kingdoms hear

The blast that wakes the dead?

THE RETURN TO POETRY.

ONCE more the eternal melodies from far,

Woo me like songs of home: once more discerning
Through fitful clouds the pure majestic star,
Above the poet's world serenely burning,-
Thither my soul, fresh-winged by love, is turning,
As o'er the waves the wood-bird seeks her nest,
For those green heights of dewy stillness yearning,
Whence glorious minds o'erlook the earth's unrest.
Now be the spirit of Heaven's truth my guide
Through the bright land! that no brief gladness, found
In passing bloom, rich odour, or sweet sound,
May lure my footsteps from their aim aside:
Their true, high quest-to seek, if ne'er to gain,
The inmost, purest shrine of that august domain.

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure caves and cells?
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main!
Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-colour'd shells,
Bright things that gleam unrecked of and in vain.
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!

We ask not such from thee.

Yet more, the depths have more!—what wealth untold,
Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies!
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal argosies.

Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!

Earth claims not these again!

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