A hundred years since here her lover stood Beside her grave in such despairing mood, And yet from out the vanished past I hear His cry of anguish sounding deep and clear, And all my heart with pity melts, as though To-day's bright sun were looking on his woe. "Of such a wife, O righteous heaven! bereft, What joy for me, what joy on earth is left ? Still from my inmost soul the groans arise, Still flow the sorrows ceaseless from mine eyes. "" Alas, poor tortured soul! I look away From the dark stone,- how brilliant shines the day! A low wall, over which the roses shed Their perfumed petals, shuts the quiet dead Apart a little, and the tiny square Stands in the broad and laughing field so fair, And gay green vines climb o'er the rough stone wall, And all about the wild-birds flit and call, And but a stone's-throw southward, the blue sea Rolls sparkling in and sings incessantly. Lovely as any dream the peaceful place, And scarcely changed since on her gentle face For the last time on that sad April day He gazed, and felt, for him, all beauty lay His only hope! But when slow time had dealt Firmly with him and kindly, and he felt The storm and stress of strong and piercing pain Yielding at last, and he grew calm again, Doubtless he found another mate before He followed Mary to the happy shore! But none the less his grief appeals to me Who sit and listen to the singing sea This matchless summer day, beside the stone He made to echo with his bitter moan, And in my eyes I feel the foolish tears For buried sorrow, dead a hundred years! BEETHOVEN. O SOVEREIGN Master! stern and splendid power, That calmly dost both time and death defy; Lofty and lone as mountain peaks that tower, Leading our thoughts up to the eternal sky: Keeper of some divine, mysterious key, Raising us far above all human care, Unlocking awful gates of harmony To let heaven's light in on the world's despair; Smiter of solemn chords that still command Echoes in souls that suffer and aspire, In the great moment while we hold thy hand, Baptized with pain and rapture, tears and fire, [him Buried with her forever. Dull to Looked the bright world through eyes with tears so dim! "I soon shall follow the same dreary way That leads and opens to the coasts of day." God lifts our saddened foreheads from the dust, PURE AND HAPPY LOVE. BUT happy they! the happiest of their kind! Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, That binds their peace, but harmony itself, Attuning all their passions into love; Where Friendship full-exerts her softest power, Perfect esteem enlivened by desire Ineffable, and sympathy of soul; Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, With boundless confidence: nought but love for UNUSUAL THE TEMPEST. darkness broods; and growing, gains The full possession of the sky, surcharged With wrathful vapor, from the secret beds, Where sleep the mineral generations, drawn. Thence nitre, sulphur, and the fiery spume Of fat bitumen, steaming on the day, With various-tinctured trains of latent flame, Pollute the sky, and in yon baleful cloud, A reddening gloom, a magazine of fate, Ferment; till, by the touch ethereal roused, The dash of clouds, or irritating war Can answer love, and render bliss Of fighting winds, while all is calm A SERENER blue, With golden light enlivened, wide invests The happy world. Attempered suns arise, Sweet-beamed, and shedding oft through lucid clouds A pleasing calm; while broad and brown, below Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain: A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky; The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field, And black by fits the shadows sweep along. A gaily-chequered heart-expanding view, Far as the circling eye can shoot around, Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn. These are thy blessings, industry! rough power! Whom labor still attends, and sweat, and pain; Yet the kind source of every gentle art, And all the soft civility of life. |