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 Peace! Love! the cherubim that join The heart alone can make divine Religion's spot. To incantations dost thou trust, That men can bless one pile of dust 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 roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling, The harmonious spheres Make music, though unheard their pealing Fair stars! are not your beings pure? Ye must be Heavens that make us sure And in your harmony sublime I read the doom of distant time; Shall yet be drawn, And reason on his mortal clime Immortal dawn. What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth Earth's compass round; And your high priesthood shall make earth SONG. WITHDRAW not yet those lips and fingers And death seems in the word-Farewell. Time, whilst I gaze upon thy sweetness, CAROLINE. PART I. I'LL bid the hyacinth to blow, 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, Fresh with the dews of fruit and flower, With all thy rural echoes come, Where'er thy morning breath has played, For sure, from some enchanted isle, From some green Eden of the deep, 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, So fair thy pensile beauty burns, So due thy plighted love returns, To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love, Descends and burns to meet with thee. Thine is the breathing, blushing hour, 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. |