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The subsequent Poems were written at the request of my friend, the Hon. Dr. Kinnaird, for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been published, with the music, arranged by Mr. Braham and Mr. Nathan.



She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that 's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes ; Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face ; Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent !


The harp the monarch minstrel swept,

The king of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallow'd while she wept

O'er tones her heart of hearts had given.
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!

It soften'd men of iron mould,

It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

That felt not, fired not to the tone,
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne !

It told the triumphs of our king,

It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladden'd valleys ring,

The cedars bow, the mountains nod;

Its sound aspired to Heaven, and there abode ! Since then, though heard on earth no more,

Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar

To sounds that seem as from above,
In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.


If that high world, which lies beyond

Our own, surviving love endears ; If there the cherish'd heart be fond,

The eye the same, except in tears How welcome those untrodden spheres !

How sweet this very hour to die! To soar from earth, and find all fears

Lost in thy light-Eternity!

It must be so : 't is not for self

That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulf,

Yet cling to being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think

To hold each heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink,

And soul in soul grow deathless theirs !

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The wild gazelle on Judah's hills

Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills

That gush on holy ground;
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by:

A step as fleet, an eye more bright,

Hath Judah witness'd there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight

Inhabitants more fair.
The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah’s statelier maids are gone!

More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scatter'd race;
For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace :
It cannot quit its place of birth,
It will not live in other earth.

But we must wander witheringly,

In other lands to die;
And where our fathers' ashes be,

Our own may never lie:
Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.


Он! !

weep for those that wept hy Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream : Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell ; Mourn—where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell!

And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?
And Judah’s melody once more rejoice
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice ?
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
How shall

and be at rest!
The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country—Israel but the grave!

ye flee away


On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,
The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep-
Yet there—even there—Oh God! thy thunders sleep :

There—where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone !
There—where thy shadow to thy people shone !
Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire :
Thyself—none living see and not expire !

Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear!
Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear :
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod!
How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God!


SINCE our country, our God—Oh, my sire !
Demand that thy daughter expire ;
Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow-
Strike the bosom that 's bared for thee now!

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow!

And of this, oh, my father! be sure-
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere it flow,
And the last thought that soothes me below.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent !
I have won the great battle for thee,

my father and country are free!

When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd,
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd,

my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died !

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