« 上一頁繼續 »
It soften'd men of iron mould,
them yirtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not, fired not to the tone,
It told the triumphs of our king,
It wafted glory to our God;
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to Heaven, and there abode ! Since then, though heard on earth no more,
Devotion and her daughter Love
To sounds that seem as from above,
IF THAT HIGH WORLD.
If that high world, which lies beyond
Our own, surviving love endears ;
same, except in tears— How welcome those untrodden spheres ! How sweet this
hour to die! To soar from earth, and find all fears
Lost in thy light-Eternity!
It must be so : 't is not for self
That we so tremble on the brink ; And striving to o'erleap the gulf,
Yet cling to being's severing link.
To hold each heart the heart that shares,
deathless theirs !
THE WILD GAZELLE.
The wild gazelle on Judah’s hills
Exulting yet may bound,
That gush on holy ground;
A step as fleet, an eye more bright, .
Hath Judah witness'd there;
Inhabitants more fair.
More blest each palm that shades those plains
Than Israel's scatter'd race;
In solitary grace:
But we must wander witheringly,
In other lands to die;
Our own may never lie:
OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.
weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream : Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell ; Mourn—where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell!
And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
and be at rest!
ye flee away
ON JORDAN'S BANKS.
On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
pray. The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steepYet there—even there—Oh God! thy thunders sleep :
There—where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone !
Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear!
Since our country, our God—Oh, my sire !
And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And of this, oh, my father! be sure-
Though the virgins of Salem lament,
my father and country are free!
When this blood of thy giving hath gush’d,
OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.
OH! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year, And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom :
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall sorrow lean her drooping head,
And lingering pause, and lightly tread,
Away! we know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress : Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less ? And thou—who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
MY SOUL IS DARK,
My soul is dark.-Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear : And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again ; If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
'T will flow, and cease to burn my brain:
But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first; I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst ;
And ached in sleepless silence long ;
And break at once-or yield to song.
I SAW THEE WEEP.
I saw thee weep—the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue ;
A violet dropping dew:
Beside thee ceased to shine ;
That fill'd that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
Can banish from the sky,
Their own pure joy impart;
That lightens o'er the heart.
THY DAYS ARE DONE.
Thy days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's strains record
The slaughters of his sword!
The freedom he restored !
Though thou art fall’n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death! The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath : Within our veins its currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath!
Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word !
From virgin voices pour'd!
would do thy glory wrong; Thou shalt not be deplored.