TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. SURE, to the mansions of the blest When infant innocence ascends, Some angel, brighter than the rest, The spotless spirit's flight attends. On wings of ecstasy they rise, Beyond where worlds material roll, Till some fair sister of the skies Receives the unpolluted soul. With dust united at our birth, Has quenched the radiance of the flame; Back to its God the living fire Reverts, unclouded as it came. Fond mourner! be that solace thine! Let Hope her healing charm impart, And soothe, with melodies divine, The anguish of a mother's heart. For reasons not to love him once I sought, 'T was vain, in holy ground He hid his face amid the shades of death! I waste for him my breath Who wasted his for me! but mine returns, And this lorn bosom burns With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, And waking me to weep Tears that had melted his soft heart: for years Wept he as bitter tears! "Merciful God!" such was his latest prayer, "These may she never share!" Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold Than daisies in the mould, Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate, His name and life's brief date. Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be, And, O, pray, too, for me! Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, Its piteous pageants bring not back, Of pain anew to writhe; Even I am weary in yon skies My lips that speak thy dirge of death, - Receive my parting ghost! This spirit shall return to Him Who gave its heavenly spark; Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim When thou thyself art dark! No! it shall live again, and shine In bliss unknown to beams of thine, By him recalled to breath, Who captive led captivity, Who robbed the grave of victory, And took the sting from death! Go, Sun, while merey holds me up To drink this last and bitter cup Saying, Weare twins in death, proud Sun! Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, Thy face is cold, thy race is run, "T is Mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears, That shall no longer flow. What though beneath thee man put forth Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim, discrowned king of day; And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Upon the stage of men, Nor with thy rising beams recall Life's tragedy again: On earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening universe defy To quench his immortality, Or shake his trust in God! GLENARA. O, HEARD ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail? "T is the chief of Glenara laments for his dear; And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier. Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud; Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud: THOMAS CAMPBELL. 1 did seem: LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter. "And fast before her father's men My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?" Out spoke the hardy Highland wight: "And by my word! the bonny bird Glenara! Glenara! now read me my So, though the waves are raging white, dream!" I'll row you o'er the ferry." By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still, as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Their trampling sounded nearer. "O, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, The boat has left a stormy land, And still they rowed amidst the roar His wrath was changed to wailing. a For, sore dismayed, through storm and | But to that fane, most catholic and Ye bright mosaics! that with storied In the sweet-scented pictures, heavenly Artist, With which thou paintest Nature's wide-spread hall, What a delightful lesson thou impartest Of love to all! Not useless are ye, flowers! though made for pleasure; Blooming o'er field and wave by day and night, From every source your sanction bids me treasure Harmless delight. Ephemeral sages! what instructors hoary For such a world of thought could furnish scope? |