« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »
On Wardlaw and Cairntable the clear shining dew Glistened sheen 'mong the heathbells and mountain flowers blue;
And far up in heaven, in the clear shining cloud,
And Wellwood's sweet valley breathed nothing but glad
The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty and redness; Its daughters were happy to hail the returning,
And drink the delights of green July's bright morning.
But, ah! there were hearts cherished far other feelings,
'Twas the few faithful ones, who with Cameron were lying Concealed 'mong the mist where the heath-fowl were crying,
For the horsemen of Earlshall around them were hovering, And their bridle-reins rung through the thin misty covering.
Their faces were pale, and their swords were unsheathed, But the vengeance that darkened their brow was unbreathed:
With eyes raised to Heaven, in meek resignation,
The hills with the deep mournful music were ringing,
But the melody died 'mid derision and laughter,
As the hosts of th' ungodly rushed on to the slaughter.
Though in mist, and in darkness, and fire they were shrouded,
Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and unclouded; Their dark eyes shot lightning, as, proud and unbending, They stood like the rock which the lightning is rending.
The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming, The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming; The heavens were dark, and the thunder was rolling, While in Wellwood's dark moorlands the mighty were falling.
When the righteous were fallen, and the combat had ended,
A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended,
A seraph unfolded the doors bright and shining,
On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding, Through the paths of the thunder the horsemen are riding;
Glide swiftly, bright spirits, the prize is before ye,
A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory.
ON A DECEASED CHILD.
AND this is, death! how cold and still,
And yet too beautiful for tears.
But when I see the fair wide brow,
That never looked so fair as now,
When life and health were laughing there,
I wonder not that grief should swell
I wonder not that parents' eyes,
In gazing thus, grow cold and dim, That burning tears and aching sighs
Are blended with the funeral hymn;
The spirit hath an earthly part,
That weeps when earthly pleasure flies, And heaven would scorn the frozen heart That melts not when the infant dies.
And yet, why mourn? that deep repose
Those eyes shall never weep again.
For think not that the blushing flower
Shall wither in the churchyard sod, 'Twas made to gild an angel's bower Within the paradise of God.
Once more I gaze-and swift and far
Move up thy path-way in the sky:
Then let the burthened heart be free,
The mournful beauty of the dead;
Farewell! I shall not soon forget!
Thy features calm and mildly sweet;
But no, that look is not the last,
We yet may meet where seraphs dwell,
Where love no more deplores the past,
Nor breathes that withering word-Farewell!
HYMN OF NATURE.
GOD of the earth's extended plains!
The dark green fields contented lie; The mountains rise like holy towers
Where man might commune with the sky;
The tall cliff challenges the storm
That lours upon the vale below,
Where shaded fountains send their streams
God of the dark and heavy deep!
The waves lie sleeping on the sands,
Till the fierce trumpet of the storm
Hath summoned up their thundering bands; Then the white sails are dashed like foam, Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas, Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale Serenely breathes, depart in peace.
God of the forest's solemn shade!
When, side by side, their ranks they form,
To weave on high their plumes of green,
God of the light and viewless air!
The fierce and wintry tempests blow;