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“They that seek me early shall find me.”—Columbian STAR.
CoME, while the blossoms of thy years are brightest,
Thou youthful wanderer in a flowery maze;
Come, while the restless heart is bounding lightest,
And joy's pure sunbeams tremble in thy ways;
Come, while sweet thoughts, like summer buds unfolding,
Waken rich feelings in the careless breast—
While yet thy hand the ephemeral wreath is holding,
Come, and secure interminable rest.
Soon will the freshness of thy days be over,
And thy free buoyancy of soul be flown;
Pleasure will fold her wing, and friend and lover
Will to the embraces of the worm have gone;
Those who now bless thee will have passed for ever;
Their looks of kindness will be lost to thee;
Thou wilt need balm to healthy spirit's fever,
As thy sick heart broods over years to be
Come, while the morning of thy life is glowing,
Ere the dim phantoms thou art chasing die—
Ere the gay spell, which earth is round thee throwing,
Fades §. the crimson from a sunset sky.
Life is but shadows, save a promise given,
Which lights up sorrow with a fadeless ray:
O, touch the sceptre —with a hope in heaven—
Come, turn thy spirit from the world away.
Then will the crosses of this brief existence
Seem airy nothings to thine ardent soul,
And, shining brightly in the forward distance,
Will of thy patient race appear the goal;
Home of the weary' where, in peace reposing,
The spirit lingers in unclouded bliss:
Though o'er its dust the curtained grave is closing,
Who would not early choose a lot like this?
A Son's Farewell to his JMother, and Departure from Home. on NEcTI cut OBs ER v ER.
“In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping and great mourning; Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not.” St. JMatt. ii. 18.
* We are not sensible that this piece is inferior; in any respect whatever. to Moore’s celebrated and beautiful Sacred Melodies We lately saw it quoted, and wrongly ascribed to the English poet. It was written in
And harps that told Messiah’s birth
Are hung on heaven's eternal throne.
Fled is the bright and shining throng
That swelled on earth the welcome strain,
And lost in air the choral song
That floated wild on David's plain:—
For dark and sad is Bethlehem’s fate;
Her valleys gush with human blood;
Despair sits mourning at her gate,
And Murder stalks in frantic mood.
At morn, the mother's heart was light,
Her infant bloomed upon her breast;
At eve, ’twas pale and withered quite,
And gone to its eternal rest.
Weep on, ye childless mothers, weep;
Your babes are hushed in one cold grave;
In Jordan's streams their spirits sleep,
Their blood is mingled with the wave. .
Ertract from a Poem delivered at the Departure of the Senior Class of Yale College, in 1826–N. P. WILLIs.
WE shall go forth together. There will come
Alike the day of trial unto all,
And the rude world will buffet us alike.
Temptation hath a music for all ears;
And mad ambition trumpeteth to all;
And the ungovernable thought within
Will be in every bosom eloquent;-
But, when the silence and the calm come on,
And the high seal of character is set,
We shall not all be similar. The scale
Of being is a graduated thing;
And deeper than the vanities of power,
Or the vain pomp of glory, there is writ
Gradation, in its hidden characters.
Charleston, South Carolina, and published in the Port-Folio of 1818, Whilo under Mr. Dennie's care, the pages of this Jonal were enriched with many fine articles, both in poetry and prose.—Ed.
The pathway to the grave may be the same,
And the proud man shall tread it, and the low,
With his bowed head, shall bear him company.
Decay will make no difference, and death,
With his cold hand, shall make no difference;
And there will be no precedence of power,
In waking at the coming trump of God;
But in the temper of the invisible mind,
The godlike and undying intellect,
There are distinctions that will live in heaven,
When time is a forgotten circumstance:
The elevated brow of kings will lose
The impress of regalia, and the slave
Will wear his immortality as free,
Beside the crystal waters; but the depth
Of glory in the attributes of God,
Will measure the capacities of mind;
And as the angels differ, will the ken
Of gifted spirits glorify him more.
It is life’s mystery. The soul of man
Createth its own destiny of power;
And, as the trial is intenser here,
His being hath a nobler strength in heaven.
What is its earthly victory? Press on 1 For it hath tempted angels. Yet press on! For it shall make you mighty among men; And from the eyrie of your eagle thought, Ye shall look down on monarchs. O, press on" For the high ones and powerful shall come To do you reverence; and the beautiful Will know the purer language of your brow, And read it like a talisman of love 1 Press on! for it is godlike to unloose The spirit, and forget yourself in thought; Bending a pinion for the deeper sky, And, in the very fetters of your flesh, Mating with the pure essences of heaven! Press on!—‘for in the grave there is no work, And no device.”—Press on! while yet ye may
So lives the soul of man. It is the thirst
Of his immortal nature; and he rends
The rock for secret fountains, and pursues
The path of the illimitable wind
For mysteries—and this is human pride!
There is a gentler element, and man
May breathe it with a calm, unruffled soul,
And drink its living waters till his heart
Is pure—and this is human happiness
Its secret and its evidence are writ
In the broad book of mature. "Tis to have
Attentive and believing faculties;
To go abroad rejoicing in the joy
Of beautiful and well created things;
To love the voice of waters, and the sheen
Of silver fountains leaping to the sea;
To thrill with the rich melody of birds,
Living their life of music; to be glad"
In the gay sunshine, reverent in the storm;
To see a beauty in the stirring leaf,
And find calm thoughts beneath the whispering tree;
To see, and hear, and breathe the evidence
Of God's deep wisdom in the natural world!
It is to linger on ‘the magic face
Of human beauty,’ and from light and shade
Alike to draw a lesson; 'tis to love
The cadences of voices that are tuned
By majesty and purity of thought;
To gaze on woman’s beauty, as a star
Whose purity and distance make it fair;
And in the gush of music to be still,
And feel that it has purified the heart!
It is to love all virtue for itself,
All nature for its breathing evidence;
And, when the eye hath seen, and when the ear
Hath drunk the beautiful harmony of the world,
It is to humble the imperfect mind,
And lean the broken spirit upon God!
Thus would I, at this parting hour, be true
To the great moral of a passing world.
Thus would I—like a just departing child,
Who lingers on the threshold of his home—
Remember the best lesson of the lips
Whose accents shall be with us now, no more!
It is the gift of sorrow to be pure;
And I would press the lesson; that, when life
Hath half become a weariness, and hope
Thirsts for serener waters, Go abroad