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What though the radiance which was once so bright
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Which, having been, must ever be;
In the faith that looks through death,
And O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves,
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,.
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
T the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove, 'T was thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began; No more with himself or with nature at war,
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man :
"Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness and woe, Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall. But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay—
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn! O soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away! Full quickly they pass-but they never return.
"Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky,
The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays; But lately I marked when majestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendor again! But man's faded glory what change shall renew?
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!
"Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more.
I mourn-but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew. Nor yet for the ravage of Winter I mourn
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save; But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn?
O when shall day dawn on the night of the grave?"
THE FIRST VOICES OF PARADISE.
"'T was thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind,
My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
'O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried,
'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from Thee! Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride;
From doubt and from darkness Thou only canst free.'
And darkness and doubt are now flying away;
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn :
So breaks on the traveler, faint and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."
The First Voices of Paradise.
Of that sole man who was all human kind?
HEAR the sledges with the bells—
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Hear the mellow wedding-bells,
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight,
From the molten-golden notes!
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
To the swinging and the ringing
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
Hear the loud alarum bells
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
How they scream out their affright !
They can only shriek, shriek,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
By the twanging
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
Hear the tolling of the bells
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !