Hither I came in manhood's active prime,
And here my head hath felt the touch of time.
Heaven hath, with goodly increase, bless'd me here,
Where, childless and oppress'd with grief, I came; With voice of fervent thankfulness sincere
Let me the blessings which are mine proclaim: Here I possess,-what more should I require ? Books, children, leisure,-all my heart's desire.
Of my brave sire, whose deeds the warrior tribes
Tell round the desert's watch-fire, at the hour
Of silence, and of coolness, and of stars,
I will not leave thee! 'Twas in such an hour,
The dreams of rest were on me, and I lay
Shrouded in slumber's mantle, as within
The chambers of the dead. Who saved me then,
When the pard, soundless as the midnight, stole
Soft on the sleeper? Whose keen dart transfixed
The monarch of the solitudes? I woke
And saw thy javelin crimson'd with his blood,
Thou, my deliverer! and my heart e'en then
Call'd thee its brother.
I THANK THEE, GOD! FOR WEAL AND WOE.
I THANK thee, God! for all I've known
Of kindly fortune, health and joy;
And quite as gratefully I own
The bitter drops of life's alloy.
Oh! there was wisdom in the blow
That wrung the sad and scalding tear,
That laid my dearest idol low,
And left my bosom lone and drear.
I thank thee, God! for all of smart
That thou hast sent, for not in vain
Has been the heavy, aching heart,
The sigh of grief, the throb of pain.
What if my cheek had ever kept
Its healthful colour, glad and bright?
What if my eyes had never wept
Throughout a long and sleepless night?
Then, then, perchance, my soul had not
Remember'd there were paths less fair,
And, selfish in my own blest lot,
Ne'er strove to soothe another's care.
But when the weight of sorrow found
My spirit prostrate and resign'd,
The anguish of the bleeding wound
Taught me to feel for all mankind.
Even as from the wounded tree
The goodly, precious balm will pour;
So in the rived heart there'll be
Mercy that never flow'd before.
'Tis well to learn that sunny hours
May quickly change to mournful shade;
'Tis well to prize life's scatter'd flowers,
Yet be prepared to see them fade.
I thank thee, God! for weal and woe;
And, whatsoe'er the trial be,
'Twill serve to wean me from below,
And bring my spirit nigher thee.
Does the kind root bleed out his livelihood
As parent distributions to his branches,
Proud that his pride is seen, when he's unseen;
And must not gratitude descend again
To comfort his old limbs, in fruitless winter
Improvident?
COMI OSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSETSE IRE.
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined
Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is
To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown
With white-flower'd jasmine, and the broad-leaved myrtle,
And watch the clouds, that late were rich with
light,
Slow-saddening round, and mark the star of eve
Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents
Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world so hush'd!
Hark! the still murmur of the distant sea
Tells us of silence! And th' Eolian lute,
How by the desultory breeze caress'd,
Like some coy maid half-yielding to her lover,
It pours such sweet upbraidings, as must needs
Tempt to repeat the wrong! and now its strings
Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes
Over delicious surges sink and rise,
Such a soft floating witchery of sound-
Methinks, it should have been impossible
Not to love all things in a world like this,
Where e'en the breezes of the simple air
Possess the power and spirit of melody!
And thus, my love! as on the midway slope
Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon,
Whilst thro' my half-closed eyelids I behold
The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,
And tranquil muse upon tranquillity;
Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd,
And many idle flitting phantasies,
Traverse my indolent and passive brain,
As wild and various as the random gales
That swell or flutter on this subject lute!
And what if all of animated nature
Be but organic harps diversely framed,
That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps,
Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,
At once the soul of each, and God of all?.
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof
Darts, O beloved woman! nor such thoughts
Dim and unhallowed dost thou not reject,
And biddest me walk humbly with my God.
Meek daughter in the family of Christ,
Well hast thou said and holily dispraised
These shapings of the unregenerate mind,
Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break
On vain philosophy's aye-babbling spring.
For never guiltless may I speak of Him,
Th' Incomprehensible! save when with awe
I praise him, and with faith that inly feels;
Who with his saving mercies healed me,
A sinful and most miserable man,
Wildered and dark, and gave me to possess,
Peace, and this cot, and thee, heart-honour'd maid.
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