Build me a shrine, and I could kneel That one GREAT SPIRIT governs all. Where o'er my corse green branches wave; And those who from life's tumult fly With kindred feelings, press my grave. GLEANER'S SONG. DEAR Ellen, your tales are all plenteously stored And worldly caresses, And servants that fly when she's waited upon: These fields, my dear Ellen, I knew them of yore, The birds round us singing, For pleasure is pure when affection is won: He shouted and ran, as he leapt from the stile; When virtue inspires us, and doubts are all gone. GEORGE HENRY BOKER. ODE TO A MOUNTAIN OAK. PROUD mountain giant, whose majestic face, From thy high watch-tower on the steadfast rock, Looks calmly o'er the trees that throng thy base, How long hast thou withstood the tempest's shock? How long hast thou looked down on yonder vale Sleeping in sun before thee; Or bent thy ruffled brow, to let the gale Steer its white, drifting sails just o'er thee? Strong link 'twixt vanished ages! Thou hast a sage and reverend look; As if life's struggle, through its varied stages, Were stamped on thee, as in a book. But then came autumn, when Thy dry and tattered leaves fel dead; And sadly on the gale Thou drop'dst them one by one Drop'dst them, with a low, sad wail, On the cold, unfeeling stone. Next Winter seized thee in his iron grasp, And shook thy bruised and straining form; Or locked thee in his icicle's cold clasp, And piled upon thy head the shorn cloud's snowy fleece. Wert thou not joyful, in this bitter storm, That the green honors, which erst decked thy head, Sage Autumn's slow decay, had mildly shed? Else, with their weight, they'd given thy ills increase, And dragged thee helpless from thy uptorn bed. Year after year, in kind or adverse fate, can pour on patient Worth. From thy secure and sheltering branch The wild bird pours her glad and fearless lay, That, with the sunbeams, falls upon the vale, Adding fresh brightness to the smile of day, 'Neath those broad boughs the youth has told love's tale; And thou hast seen his hardy features blanch, Heard his snared heart beat like a prisoned bird, Fluttering with fear, before the fowler laid; While his bold figure shook at every word The strong man trembling at a timid maid! And thou hast smiled upon their children's play; Seen them grow old, and gray, and Nor 'neath life's ruthless tempests bend: But calmly stand like thee, Though wrath and storm shake me, Though vernal hopes in yellow Autumn end, And strong in truth work out my destiny. Type of long-suffering Power! Type of unbending Will! Strong in the tempest's hour, Bright when the storm is still; Rising from every contest with an unbroken heart, Strengthened by every struggle, emblem of might thou art! Sign of what man can compass, spite of an adverse state, Still, from thy rocky summit, teach us to war with fate! How canst thou call my modest love impure, Being thyself the holy source of all? Can ugly darkness from the fair sun fall? Or nature's compact be so insecure, That saucy weeds may sprout up and endure Where gentle flowers were sown? Or rattle o'er the pebbles, will allure With no feigned sweetness, if their fount be sweet. So thou, the sun whence all my light doth flow I HAVE been mounted on life's topmost wave, Until my forehead kissed the dazzling cloud; But, ah! my treacherous heart doth ever fail To ratify the sentence of my mind; For when conviction strikes me to the core, I swear I love thee fondlier than before; And were I now all free and unconfined, Loose as the action of the shore less wind, My slavish heart would sigh for bonds once more. I have been dashed beneath the AH! let me live on memories of old, The precious relics I have set aside From life's poor venture; things that yet abide My ill-paid labor, shining, like pure gold, Amid the dross of cheated hopes whose hold Dropped at the touch of action. Down the smooth past, review When each to each our mutual passion told When love grew frenzy in thy blazing eye, Fear shone heroic, caution quailed before My hot, resistless kisses - when we bore Time, conscience, destiny, down, down for aye, Beneath victorious love, and thou didst cry, "Strike, God! life's cup is running o'er and o'er " DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. CLOSE his eyes; his work is done! |