On my own heart I lay I come with mightier things! Who calls me silent ?-1 have many tones- I waft them not alone From the deep organ of the forest shades, A minstrel wild and strong thou art, with a mastery all thine own, And the spirit is thy harp, O Wind! that gives the answering tone. Thou hast been across red fields of war, where shivered hamlets lie, And thou bringest hence the thrilling note of a clarion in the sky; A rustling of proud banner-folds, a peal of storry drums, Or buried streams, unheard amidst their glades, All these are in thy music met, as when a leader Till the bright day is done; But in the human breast A thousand still small voices I awake, 'comes. Thou hast been o'er solitary seas, and from their wastes brought back Strong, in their sweetness, from the soul to shake Each noise of waters that awoke in the mystery of thy track; The chime of low soft southern waves on some Thou art come from long-forsaken homes, whercin our young days flew, Thou hast found sweet voices lingering there, the loved, the kind, the true; Thou callest back those melodies, though now all changed and fled, There is nothing in the wide world so like the voice Be still, be still, and haunt us not with music of a spirit. Gray's Letters. Oa! many a voice is thine, thou Wind! full many a voice is thine, From every scene thy wing o'ersweeps thou bearest a sound and sign, from the dead! Are all these notes in thee, wild Wind? these many notes in thee? Far in our own unfathomed souls their fount must surely be; Yes! buried, but unsleeping, there Thought watches, Memory lies, * Originally published in the Winter's Wreath, for From whose deep urn the tones are poured, 1830. through all Earth's harmonies. VOL. II. 48 THE BETTER LAND. "I HEAR thee speak of the better land, Thou callest its children a happy band; Mother! oh where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, So are we roused on this chequered earth, But one must the sound be, and one the call, And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle How shall the sleepers arise from the tombs ? boughs ?" LET US DEPART. IT is mentioned by Josephus, that a short time previously to the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans, the priests, going by night into the inner court of the temple to perform their sacred ministrations at the feast of Pentecost, felt a quaking, and heard a rushing noise, and after that, a sound as of a great multitude saying, "Let us depart hence." NIGHT hung on Salem's towers, And a brooding hush profound Lay where the Roman eagle shone, High o'er the tents around. The tents that rose by thousands In the moonlight glimmering pale, Like white waves of a frozen sca, Filling an Alpine vale. And the temple's massy shadow Yet watch'd his chosen hill. But a fearful sound was heard Within the fated city E'en then fierce discord raved, Though o'er night's heaven the comet sword Its vengeful token waved. There were shouts of kindred warfare Through the dark streets ringing high, Though every sign was full which told Of the bloody vintage nigh. Though the wild red spears and arrows And that fearful sound was heard But within the fated city There was revelry that night; The wine-cup and the timbrel note, And the blaze of banquet light The footsteps of the dancer Went bounding through the hall, And the music of the dulcimer Summon'd to festival. While the clash of brother weapons Lay down in their despair. And that fearful sound was heard It is home's own hour, when the stormy sky And by its gladdening blaze, THE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS. "I desire as I look on these, the ornaments and children of Earth, to know whether, indeed, such things I shall see no more ?-whether they have no likeness, no archetype in the world in which my future home is to be cast? or whether they have their images above, only wrought in a more wondrous and THE CURFEW-SONG OF ENGLAND. delightful mould."-Conversations with an Ambitious And her dim, yet speaking eye, Greets the violet solemnly. Therefore, once, and yet again, MARGUERITE OF FRANCE.* Thou falcon-hearted dove! Coleridge. THE Moslem spears were gleaming Round Damietta's towers, Though a Christian banner from her wall, Waved free its Lily-flowers. Ay, proudly did the banner wave, As Queen of Earth and Air; But faint hearts throbbed beneath its folds, Deep, deep in Paynim dungeon, Their knighthood's best array. 'Twas mournful, when at feasts they met, The wine-cup round to send, For each that touch'd it silently, And mournful was their vigil On the beleaguer'd wall, And dark their slumber, dark with dreams Of slow defeat and fall. Yet a few hearts of Chivalry Rose high to breast the storm, And one-of all the loftiest there- A woman, meekly bending O'er the slumber of her child, With her soft sad eyes of weeping love, As the Virgin Mother's mild. 'Midst the clash of spear and lance, And a strange, wild bower was thine, young Queen: Fair Marguerite of France ! A dark and vaulted chamber, Like a scene for wizard-spell, * Queen of St. Louis. Whilst besieged by the Turks in Damietta, during the captivity of the king, her husband, she there gave birth to a son, whom she named Tristan, in commemoration of her misfortunes. Information being conveyed to her that the knights intrusted with the defence of the city had resolved on capitulation, she had them summoned to her apartment, and, by her heroic words, so wrought upon their spirits, that they vowed to defend her and the Cross to the last extremity. Deep in the Saracenic gloom Of the warrior citadel; And there 'midst arms the couch was spread For the bright Queen of St. Louis, Her Lord was in the Paynim's hold, Yet calmly lay the desolate, With her young babe on her breast! There were voices in the city, Voices of wrath and fear "The walls grow weak, the strife is vain, We will not perish here! Yield! yield! and let the crescent gleam They bore those fearful tidings To the sad Queen where she layThey told a tale of wavering hearts, Of treason and dismay : The blood rush'd through her pearly cheek, The sparkle to her eye "Now call me hither those recreant knights, From the bands of Italy!''* Then through the vaulted chambers But they quail'd before the loftier soul Yes-as before the falcon shrinks So shrank they from th' imperial glance And her flute-like voice rose clear and high, "The honour of the Lily Is in your hands to keep, And the Banner of the Cross, for Him Who died on Calvary's steep; And the city which for Christian prayer Hath heard the holy bellAnd is it these your hearts would yield To the godless Infidel ? "Then bring me here a breastplate, And a helm, before ye fly, The proposal to capitulate is attributed by the French historian to the Knights of Pisa |