Εικόνες σελίδας
PDF
Ηλεκτρ. έκδοση

Never until that instant came
Near his unask'd or without shame.

She fails-she sinks-as dies the lamp
In charnel airs, or cavern damp,
So quickly do his baleful sighs
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes.
One struggle and his pain is past-
Her lover is no longer living!

One kiss the maiden gives, one last,

[ocr errors]

Long kiss, which she expires in giving!

'Sleep," ," said the Peri, as softly she stole The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast"Sleep on, in visions of odor rest, In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd Th' enchanted pile of that lonely bird, Who sings at the last his own death lay, And in music and perfume dies away!" Thus saying, from her lips she spread

Unearthly breathings through the place,
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed
Such lustre o'er each paly face,

That like two lovely saints they seem'd
Upon the eve of doomsday taken
From their dim graves, in odor sleeping;

While that benevolent Peri beam'd

Like their good angel, calmly keeping

Watch o'er them till their souls would waken.

But morn is blushing in the sky;

Again the Peri soars above,

Bearing to Heav'n that precious sigh

Of pure, self-sacrificing love.

High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate,

Th' Elysian palm she soon shall win,

For the bright spirit at the gate
Smil'd as she gave that offering in:
And she already hears the trees

Of Eden, with their crystal bells
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze

That from the throne of Alla swells;
And she can see the starry bowls
That lie around that lucid lake,
Upon whose banks admitted Souls

Their first sweet draught of glory take!
But, ah! even Peri's hopes are vain-
Again the Fates forbade, again
Th' immortal barrier clos'd-" Not yet,"
The angel said, as with regret,

He shut from her that glimpse of glory-
"True was the maiden and her story,

Written in light o'er Alla's head,
By seraph eyes shall long be read.
But, Peri, see-the crystal bar
Of Eden moves not-holier far
Than ev'n this sigh the boon must be
That opes the gates of Heav'n for thee."

Now, upon Syria's land of roses
Softly the light of Eve reposes,
And, like a glory, the broad sun
Hangs over sainted Lebanon;
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer, in a vale of flowers,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.

But naught can charm the luckless Peri;
Her soul is sad-her wings are weary-
Joyless she sees the Sun look down
On that great Temple, once his own,
Whose lonely columns stand sublime,
Flinging their shadows from on high,
Like dials, which the wizard, Time,
Had rais'd to count his ages by!

Yet haply there may lie conceal'd
Beneath those Chambers of the Sun,
Some amulet of gems, anneal'd
In upper fires, some tablet seal'd

With the great name of Solomon,
Which, spell'd by her illumin'd eyes,
May teach her where, beneath the moon,
In earth or ocean, lies the boon,
The charm, that can restore so soon
An erring Spirit to the skies.

Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither:-
Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven,
Nor have the golden bowers of Even
In the rich West begun to wither;-
When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging
Slowly, she sees a child at play
Among the rosy wild flowers singing,
As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel flies,
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems.
Like winged flowers or flying gems:-
And, near the boy, who tir'd with play
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount

From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small imaret's rustic fount

Impatient fling him down to drink.
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd
To the fair child, who fearless sat,
Though never yet hath daybeam burn'd
Upon a brow more fierce than that-
Suddenly fierce-a mixture dire,
Like thunder clouds, of gloom and fire;
In which the Peri's eye could read
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed;
The ruin'd ones-the shrine profan'd-
Oaths broken-and the threshold stain'd
With blood of guests!-there written all,
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing angel's pen,
Ere Mercy weeps them out again.

[ocr errors]

Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening time
Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play :-
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's its lurid glance
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches, that have burnt all night
Through some impure and godless rite,
Encounter morning's glorious rays.

But, hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air,

From Syria's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers, where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod,

Kneels, with his forehead to the south,

Lisping th' eternal name of God

From Purity's own cherub mouth,

And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,

Like a stray babe of Paradise,

Just lighted on that flowery plain,

And seeking for its home again.

O, 'twas a sight-that Heav'n—that chiló

A scene, which might have well beguil'd

Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh

For glories lost and peace gone by!

And how felt he, the wretched Man
Reclining there-while memory ran
O'er many a year of guilt and strife,
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting place,
Nor brought him back one branch of grace.

"There was a time," he said in mild,
Heart-humbled tones-" thou blessed child!
When young, and haply pure as thou,
I look'd and pray'd like thee-but now-"
He hung his head-each nobler aim,

And hope, and feeling, which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came
Fresh o'er him, and he wept-he wept!

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!

In whose benign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.

"There's a drop," said the Peri, "that down from the moon

Falls through the withering airs of June

Upon Egypt's land, of so healing a power,
So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in the hour
That drop descends, contagion dies,
And health reanimates earth and skies!-
O, is it not thus, thou man of sin.

The precious tears of repentance fall?
Though foul thy fiery plagues within,

One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all!"

And now-behold him kneeling there
By the child's side, in humble prayer,
While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,

And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven
The triumph of a Soul Forgiven!

'Twas when the golden orb had set,

While on their knees they linger'd yet,
There fell a light more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star,
Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek.
To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam-
But well th' enraptur'd Peri knew
'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw
From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear
Her harbinger of glory near!

"Joy, joy forever! my task is done-
The Gates are pass'd, and Heaven is won!"

THE LANDING OF THE MAYFLOWER.-EDWARD EVERET г.

Do you think, sir, as we repose beneath this splendid pa ilion, adorned by the hand of taste, blooming with festive garlands, wreathed with the stars and stripes of this great republic, resounding with strains of heart-stirring music, that, merely because it stands upon the soil of Barnstable, we form any idea of the spot as it appeared to Captain Miles Standish, and his companions, on the 15th or 16th of November, 1620? Oh, no, sir. Let us go up for a moment, in imagination, to yonder hill, which overlooks the village and the bay, and suppose ourselves standing there on some bleak, ungenial morning, in the middle of November of that year. The coast is fringed with ice. Dreary forests, interspersed with sandy tracts fill the background. Nothing of humanity quickens on the spot, save a few roaming savages, who, ill-provided with what even they deem the necessaries of life, are digging with their fingers a scanty repast out of the frozen sands. No friendly lighthouses had as yet hung up their cressets upon your headlands; no brave pilot-boat was hovering like a sea-bird on the tops of the waves, beyond the Cape, to guide the shattered bark to its harbor; no charts and soundings made the secret pathways of the deep as plain as a gravelled road through a lawn; no comfortable dwellings along the line of the shore, and where are now your well-inhabited streets, spoke a welcome to the Pilgrim; no steeple poured the music of Sabbath morn into the ear of the fugitive for conscience' sake. Primeval wildness and native desolation brood over sea and land; and from the 9th of November, when, after a most calamitous voyage, the Mayflower first came to anchor in Provincetown harbor, to the end of December, the entire male portion of the company was occupied, for the greater part of every day, and often by night as well as by day, in exploring the coast and seeking a place of rest, amidst perils from the savages, from the unknown shore, and the elements, which it makes one's heart bleed to think upon.

But this dreary waste, which we thus contemplate in imagination, and which they traversed in sad reality, is a chosen land. It is a theatre upon which an all-glorious drama is to be enacted. On this frozen soil,-driven from the ivy-clad churches of their mother land,―escaped, at last, from loathsome prisons -the meek fathers of a pure church will lay the spiritual base

« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »