Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

TIME.

UNPATHOMABLE Sea! whose waves are years,

Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!

Thou shoreless floud, which in thy ebb and how
Claspest the limits of mortality !
And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore.
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,

Who shall put forth on thee,
Unfathomable Sea ?

[ocr errors][merged small]

That time is dead for ever, child,
Drowned, frozen, dead for ever!

We look on the past,

And stare aghast
At the spectres wailing, pale, and ghast,
Of hopes which thou and I beguiled

To death on life's dark river.

The stream we gazed on then rolled by;
Ils waves are upreturning;

But we yet stand

In a lone land,
Like tombs to inark the memory
Of hopes and fears, which fade and flee

In the light of life's dim morning.
November 5th, 1817.

A SONG.

A widow bird sate mourning for her love

Upon a wintry bough; The frozen wind crept on above,

The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon the forest bare,

No flower upon the ground, And little motion in the air

Except the mill-wheel's sound.

THE WORLD'S WANDERERS.

Tell me, thou star, whose wings of light
Speed thee in thy fiery flight,
In what cavern of the night

Will thy pinions close now?

Tell me, moon, thou pale and grey
Pilgrim of heaven's homeless way,
In what depth of night or day

Seekest thou repose now?

Weary wind, who wanderest
Like the world's rejected guest,
Hast thou still some secret nest

On the tree or billow?

A DIRGE.

Rough wind, that moanest loud

Grief 100 sad for song ; Wild wind, when sullen cloud

Knells all the night long ; Sad storm, whose tears are vain, Bare woods, whose branches stain, Deep caves and dreary main,

Wail, for the world's wrong :

LINES.

Far, far away, O ye

Halcyons of memory, Seek some far calnier nest Than this abandoned breast;No views of your false spring To my heart's winter bring ; Once having gone, in vain

Ye come again.

Vultures, who build your bowels High in the Future's towers, Withered hopes on hopes are spread, Dying joys, choked by the dead, Will serve your beaks for prey

Many a day.

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.

ORPHAN bours, the year is dead,

Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry hours, smile instead,

For the year is but asleep.
See, it smiles as it is sleepiug,
Mocking your untimely weeping.

As an earthquake rocks a corse

In its coffin in the clay,
So White Winter, that rough nurse,

Rocks the dead-cold year to-day;
Solemn hours! wait aloud
For your mother in her shroud.

As the wild air stirs and sways

The tree-swung cradle of a child,
So the breath of these rude days

Rocks the year:-be calm and mild,
Trembling hours; she will arise
With new love within her eyes.

January grey is here,

Like a sexton by lier grave;
February bears the bier,

March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps—but, О ye hours,

Follow with May's fairest flowers, January 1st, 1821.

A DIRGE.

Rough wind, that moanest loud

Grief 100 sad for song ; Wild wind, when sullen cloud

Knells all the night long; Sad storm, whose tears are vain, Bare woods, whose branches stain, Deep caves and dreary main,

Wail, for the world's wrong 1

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors]
« ZurückWeiter »