"Twas sunset upon Spain. The sky of JuneBent o'er her airy hills, and on their tops,The mountain cork-trees caught the fading lightOf a resplendent day. The painter threwHis pencil down, and with a glance of prideUpon his beautiful and finished…
Hie to the mountain afar,
All in the cool of the even,
Led by you beautiful star,
First of the daughters of Heaven.
Sweet to the slave is the season of rest -
Something far sweeter he looks for to-night;
His heart lies…
The human mind - that lofty thing!
The palace and the throne
Where reason sits, a sceptered king,
And breathes his judgment tone.
Oh! who with silent step shall trace The borders of that haunted place,
Nor in his weakness own
That mystery and…
There is a plant that never dies -
'Tis not of earth, but heaven;
'Tis ting'd with pure celestial dyes, Its odors wafted to the skies.
By breeze or tempest driv'n;
'Tis not a tender, fragile thing -
It strengthens with the storm;
And 'midst the…
An hour has passed with lingering pace,
Since, bent in careless musing nigh,
I marked upon thy moss grown face
The noiseless shadow stealing by;
An hour has passed - and wandering back
The fit of vacant idleness o'er,
I see that shade in onward…
How painfully pleasing the fond recollection
Of youthful connections and innocent joys,
When blest with parental advice and affection,
Surrounded with mercies, with peace from on high.
I still view the chairs of my sire and my mother,
The seats…
Oh, mother dear, my lips are dry,
And Bessy's hands are cold; -
Mother, dear mother! help me nigh
Your bosom - surely you can hold
Your little boy. I will not cry,
Nor ask again for drink or bread,
If you will only let me lie
Upon your breast,…
How beautiful it stands
Behind its elm-tree screen,
With pure and Attic cornice crowned,
All graceful and serene.
Most sweet, yet sad, it is,
Upon you scene to gaze,
And list its inborn melody,
The voice of other days.
For there, as many a…
WAY-WORN pilgrim, child of fears,Cease thy sorrows, dry thy tears,Earth has pierced thee; - left aloneUrge to heaven that bitter moan.Pilgrim, wanderer, though thou be,Heaven shall soothe thy agony;Soon that pulse shall throb no more;But Heaven has…
What speaks the thunder, when its midnight cry
Rolls through heaven's vast and cloudy palaces?
What writes the lightning on the ebon sky,
When the fierce tempests, wrapped in sackcloth, rise
From their huge cradles, on the roaring seas? What…
