Come hither, grief; one draught of thee Will taste more sweet Than all false joy's hypocrisy, Flows with more honey far Than all Hyblæan hives; one pious sigh Than all the fair Arabia, and can sooner reach the sky. TWO VISITS TO A GRAVE. From an old Review. No name is appended to it. When not a blade of grass was moved The starry armament look'd down Long time had pass'd since they laid him there, I knew the stone, though blank and bare, Madly I wept that I had been Over the wrinkled sea, When he had found in this last sad scene A home and a privacy. The gloomy stillness of the hour Came coldly o'er my heart; And Faith and Hope forgot their power To calm the sinner's smart. I almost cursed the good great God, I left the tomb, I ceased to weep; Came thronging from the fields of sleep, That morn the hoar-frost still was there, Unshaken was the silver'd hair I heard a company of birds Their grateful carol troll: And a sense of prayer, too full for words, The web of morning mist was gone, And the sun, like a bold free spirit, shone I worshipp'd, as the gold flood pour'd And, when the beautiful I adored, I thought, I pray'd, and thus became As the frost's foes, the sunbeams, frame I was not happy; but I pray'd At heart that I might not be As he who in that grave was laid, Till I had lived as he. ODE TO A MOUNTAIN TORRENT. Translated from the German of STOLBERG, by WILLIAM TAYLOR. IMMORTAL youth, Thou streamest forth from rocky caves; No mortal saw The cradle of thy might; No ear has heard Thy infant stainmering in the gushing spring, How lovely art thou in thy silver locks; The fir-wood quakes; Thou castest down, with root and branch, the fir; And roll'st it scornful like a pebble on. Thee the sun clothes in dazzling beams of glory, Why hasten so to the cerulean sea; Strong as a god, Though yonder beckon treacherous calms below, And what the smiling of the friendly moon, Here thou canst wildly stream As bids thy heart: Hasten not so to the cerulean sea; Strong as a god, THE EBB TIDE. A passage in a poem contributed anonymously to an old number of the Athenæum. It is a fine bit of description. THERE is a joy and beauty unto them Whom the clear streams upbraid not, nor condemn, They cannot be indifferent; and be sure That, therefore, dearest friend, I would that thou Of my light boat, whose tall and slanted mast The living wind rejoices, and is strong, And would bear swiftly our swift thoughts along ; The river's windings; though, in ebb, it lay Sinuous, and twisting like a silver snake That winds its lithe form through the sounding brake. Stream backward with the altering stream; and sedge, Of shore, and mix'd with pebbles, shells, and sand, To be a wall betwixt the sea and land, Is fast left bare, save where the ebb trails back A few lank weeds, like ribbands, in the track Of its retreating. Would that thou mightst view Of gloom upon life's onward stream, more dark THE STATUES. Found in one of the journals of 1829. It is well worth snatching from oblivion. I SOUGHT the hall where tranquil stood The glorious gods, the godlike men, Their brows were full of inward thought, Beauty and age, the hostile powers By a deep life within sustain'd, I sought the hall wherein they stood And who, I said, 'mid brows so clear, A sacred awe, a strengthening might, |