The colors planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear.

Transfer it from the sword's appeal
To Peace and Love.

Peace! Love! the cherubim that join
Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine,
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine,
Where they are not-

The heart alone can make divine

Religion's spot.

To incantations dost thou trust,
And pompous rites in domes august?
See mouldering stones and metal's rust
Belie the vaunt,

That men can bless one pile of dust
With chime or chant.

The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man! The temples-creeds themselves, grow wan! But there's a dome of nobler span,

A temple given

Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban
Its space is Heaven!

Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling,
Where trancing the rapt spirit's feeling,
And God himself to man revealing,

The harmonious spheres

Make music, though unheard their pealing
By mortal ears.

Fair stars! are not your beings pure?
Can sin, can death your worlds obscure?
Else why so swell the thoughts at your
Aspect above?

Ye must be Heavens that make us sure
Of heavenly love!

And in your harmony sublime

I read the doom of distant time;
That man's regenerate soul from crime

Shall yet be drawn,

And reason on his mortal clime

Immortal dawn.

What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!-
Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth

Earth's compass round;

And your high priesthood shall make earth
All hallowed ground.

SONG.

WITHDRAW not yet those lips and fingers
Whose touch to mine is rapture's spell;
Life's joy for us a moment lingers,

And death seems in the word-Farewell.
The hour that bids us part and go,
It sounds not yet,-oh! no, no, no!

Time, whilst I gaze upon thy sweetness,
Flies like a courser nigh the goal;
To-morrow where shall be his fleetness,
When thou art parted from my soul?
Our hearts shall beat, our tears shall flow,
But not together, no, no, no!

CAROLINE.

PART I.

I'LL bid the hyacinth to blow,
I'll teach my grotto green to be;
And sing my true love, all below
The holly bower and myrtle tree.

There all his wild-wood sweets to bring, The sweet south wind shall wander by, And with the music of his wing

Delight my rustling canopy.

Come to my close and clustering bower,
Thou spirit of a milder clime,

Fresh with the dews of fruit and flower,
Of mountain heath, and moory thyme.

With all thy rural echoes come,
Sweet comrade of the rosy day,
Wafting the wild bee's gentle hum,
Or cuckoo's plaintive roundelay.

Where'er thy morning breath has played,
Whatever isles of ocean fanned,
Come to my blossom-woven shade,
Thou wandering wind of fairy-land.

For sure, from some enchanted isle,
Where Heaven and Love their sabbath hold,
Where pure and happy spirits smile,
Of beauty's fairest, brightest mould:

From some green Eden of the deep,
Where Pleasure's sigh alone is heaved,
Where tears of rapture lovers weep,
Endeared, undoubting, undeceived;

From some sweet paradise afar,

Thy music wanders, distant, lostWhere Nature lights her leading star, And love is never, never crossed.

Oh, gentle gale of Eden bowers,

If back thy rosy feet should roam, To revel with the cloudless Hours

In Nature's more propitious home,

Name to thy loved Elysian groves,

That o'er enchanted spirits twine, A fairer form than cherub loves,

And let the name be CAROLINE.

CAROLINE.

PART II.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

GEM of the crimson-colored Even,
Companion of retiring day,
Why at the closing gates of Heaven,
Beloved star, dost thou delay?

So fair thy pensile beauty burns,
When soft the tear of twilight flows;

So due thy plighted love returns,
To chambers brighter than the rose:

To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love,
So kind a star thou seem'st to be,
Sure, some enamored orb above

Descends and burns to meet with thee.

Thine is the breathing, blushing hour,
When all unheavenly passions fly,
Chased by the soul-subduing power
Of Love's delicious witchery.

O sacred to the fall of day,

Queen of propitious stars, appear, And early rise, and long delay, When Caroline herself is here!

Shine on her chosen green resort,

Whose trees the sunward summit crown,

And wanton flowers, that well may court An angel's feet to tread them down.