Ring, joyous chords!-ring out again! And bring fresh wreaths!-we will banish all And the waving locks and the flying feet, That still should be where the mirthful meet? They are gone-they are fled-they are parted all : Alas! the forsaken hall! SONG OF A GUARDIAN SPIRIT. OH! droop thou not, my gentle earthly love! I bore through death, to brighter lands above, Yes! the deep memory of our holy tears, Our suffering love, through long devoted years, It was not vain, the hallow'd and the tried- Still, though unseen, still hovering at thy side, From our own paths, our love's attesting bowers, I am not gone; In the deep calm of Midnight's whispering hours, Thou art not lone : Not lone, when by the haunted streams thou That stream whose tone [weepest, Murmurs of thoughts, the richest and the deepest, We two have known: Not lone, when mournfully some strain awaking Of days long past, From thy soft eyes the sudden tears are breaking, Silent and fast: Not lone, when upwards, in fond visions turning Thy dreamy glance, [burning, Thou seek'st my home, where solemn stars are O'er night's expanse. My home is near thee, loved one! and around thee, Where'er thou art; [thee, Though still mortality's thick cloud hath bound Doubt not thy heart! Hear its low voice, nor deem thyself forsakenLet faith be given To the still tones which oft our being wakenThey are of heaven! SWISS SONG, ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF AN ANCIENT BATTLE. Look on the white Alps round! Where Freedom's voice and step are found, The faithful band, our sires, who fell If yet the wilds among, Our silent hearts may burn, When the deep mountain-horn hath rung, And home our steps may turn,— Home!-home !-if still that name be dear, Praise to the men who perish'd here! Look on the white Alps round! Up to their shining snows, Their caves prolonged the trumpet's blast, They saw the princely crest, They saw-and glorying there they stand, Praise to the mountain-born, Look on the white Alps round! Our children's fearless feet may bound, Teach them in song to bless the band If, by the wood-fire's blaze, When winter stars gleam cold, Forget not then the shepherd race, Who made the hearth a holy place! Look on the white Alps round! If yet the Sabbath-bell Comes o'er them with a gladdening sound, Think on the battle dell! For blood first bathed its flowery sod, That chainless hearts might worship God! THE DIVER. THOU hast been where the rocks of coral grow, Thou hast fought with eddying waves;Thy cheek is pale, and thy heart beats low, Thou searcher of ocean's caves! Thou hast look'd on the gleaming wealth of old, And wrecks where the brave have striven: The deep is a strong and fearful hold, But thou its bar hast riven ! A wild and weary life is thine : A weary life! but a swift decay In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek, And bright in beauty's coronal But who will think on thee? |