But a signal flame from a peak of snow,
Rock d through the dark skies to and fro!
There shot forth another-another still-
A hundred answers of hill to hill!
Tossing like pines in the tempest's way,
Joyously, wildly, the bright spires play,
And each is hail'd with a pealing shout,
For the high Alps waving their banners out!
Erni! young Erni! the land has risen!
-Alas! to be lone in thy narrow prison!
Those free streamers glancing, and thou not there!
-Is the moment of rapture, or fierce despair?
-Hark! there's a tumult that shakes his cell!
At the gates of the mountain citadel!

lark! a clear voice through the rude sounds

THOU art welcome, O thou warning voice,

My soul hath pined for thee;

Thou art welcome as sweet sounds from shore,

To wanderer on the sca.

I hear thee in the rustling woods,
In the sighing vernal airs;
Thou call'st me from the lonely earth,
With a deeper tone than theirs.

The lonely earth! since kindred steps
From its green paths are fled,
A dimness and a hush have fall'n
O'er all its beauty spread.
The silence of the unanswering soul
Is on me and around;

My heart hath echoes but for thee,

Thou still small warning sound!

Voice after voice hath died away,

Once in my dwelling heard,

Sweet household name by name hath changeu
To grief's forbidden word!

From dreams of night on each I call,
Each of the far removed;
And waken to my own wild cry
Where are ye, my beloved?

Ye left me! and earth's flowers grew fill'd
With records of the past,

And stars pour'd down another light
Than o'er my youth they cast:
The skylark sings not as he sang
When ye were by my side,

And mournful tones are in the wind
Unheard before ye died!

Thou art welcome, O thou summoner!
Why should the last remain ?
What eye can reach my heart of hearts,
Bearing in light again?

Even could this be-too much of fear
O'er love would now be thrown-
Away, away! from time, from change,
To dwell amidst mine own!

THE PRAYER FOR LIFE.

O SUNSHINE and fair earth!
Sweet is your kindly mirth,

Angel of death! yet, yet awhile delay;
Too sad it is to part,

Thus in my spring of heart,
With all the light and laughter of the day.

For me the falling leaf
Touches no chord of grief,

No dark worm in the rose's bosom lies:
Not one triumphal tone,

One hue of hope is gone

From song or bloom beneath the summer skies

Call me not hence away,

Death, death! ere yet decay

Over the golden hours one shade has thrown, The poesy that dwells

Deep in green woods and dells,

Still to my spirit speaks of joy alone.

Yet not for this, O death!

Not for the vernal breath

Of winds, that shake forth music from the tree▸ Not for the splendour given

To night's dark regal heaven,

Spoiler! I ask thee not reprieve for these.

But for the happy love
Whose light, where'er I rove,
Kindles all nature to a sudden smile,
Shedding on branch and flower

A rainbow-tinted shower

Of richer life-spare, spare me yet awhile'

Too soon, too fast thou 'rt come
Too beautiful is home,

A home of gentle voices and kind eyes!
And I the loved of all,

On whom fond blessings fall

From every lip-oh! wilt thou rend such ties?

Sweet sisters! weave a chain
My spirit to detain;

Hold me to earth with strong affection back!
Bind me with mighty love

Unto the stream, the grove,

Ou daily paths, our life's familiar track!

Stay with me-gird me round!

Your voices hear a sound

Of hope-a light comes with you and departs :
Hush my soul's boding knell,
That murmurs of farewell!.

How can I leave this ring of kindest hearts!

Death! grave! and are there those
That woo your dark repose

'Midst the rich beauty of the glowing earth? Surely about them lies

No world of loving eyes

Leave me, oh leave me unto home and hearth!

SHE dwelt in proud Venetian halls,

'Midst forms that breathed from the pictured walls;
But a glow of beauty like her own,
There had no dream of the painter thrown.
Lit from within was her noble brow,
As an urn, whence rays from a lamp may flow;
Her young, clear cheek had a changeful hue,
As if ye might see how the soul wrought through⚫
And every flash of her fervent eye
Seem'd the bright wakening of Pocsy.

Even thus it was!-from her childhood's years,

A being of sudden smiles and tears,-
Passionate visions, quick light and shade,—
Such was that high-born Italian maid!
And the spirit of song in her bosom-cell,
Dwelt, as the odours in violets dwell,—
Or as the sounds in Æolian strings,
Or in aspen-leaves the quiverings;
There, ever there, with the life enshrined,
And waiting the call of the faintest wind.

In the city's hour of moonlight glec,—
Oft would that gift of the southern sky,
O'erflow from her lips in melody;
Oft amidst festal halls it came,
Like the springing forth of a sudden flame,-
Till the dance was hush'd, and the silvery tone
Of her inspiration was heard alone.

Oft, on the wave of the Adrian sea,

And Fame went with her, the bright, the crown'd
And Music floated her steps around;
And every lay of her soul was borne
Through the sunny land, as on wings of morn.

For her spirit, as over her lyre's full chord,
All, all on a happy love was pour'd!

How loves a heart, whence the stream of song
Flows like the life-blood, quick, bright, and strong?
How loves a heart which hath ever proved
One breath of the world?-Even so she loved!
Blest, though the lord of her soul afar,
Was charging the foremost in Moslem war,-
Bearing the flag of St. Mark's on high,
As a ruling star in the Grecian sky.
Proud music breathed in her song, when Fame
Gave a tone more thrilling to his high name;
And her trust in his love was a woman's faith-
Perfect, but fearing no change but death.

But the fields are won from the Ottoman host,
In the land that quell'd the Persian's boast;
And a thousand hearts in Venice burn,
For the day of triumph and return!
-The day is come! the flashing deep
Foams where the galleys of victory sweep;
And the sceptred city of the wave,
With her festal splendour greets the brave;
Cymbal and clarion, and voice around,
Make the air one stream of exulting sound,
While the beautiful with their sunny smiles
Look from each hall of the hundred isles.

But happiest and brightest that day of all,
Robed for her warrior's festival,
Moving a queen, 'midst the radiant throng,
Was she, th' inspired one, the maid of song!
The lute he loved on her arm she bore,

As she rush'd in her joy to the crowded shore;
With a hue on her cheek like the damask glow
By the sunset given unto mountain-snow,
And her eye all fill'd with the spirit's play,
Like the flash of a gem to the changeful day,
And her long hair waving in ringlets bright-
So came that being of hope and light!
-One moment, Erminia! one moment more,
And life, all the beauty of life, is o'er!
The bark of her lover hath touch'd the strand-
Whom leads he forth with a gentle hand?
-A young, fair form, whose nymph-like grace
Accorded well with the Grecian face,
And the eye, in its clear soft darkness meek,
And the lashes that droop'd o'er a pale rose cheek;
And he look'd on that beauty with tender pride-
The warrior hath brought back an eastern bride!

But how stood she, the forsaken, there,
Struck by the lightning of swift despair?
Still, as amazed with grief, she stood,

And her cheek to her heart sent back the blood, And there came from her quivering lip no wordOnly the fall of her lute was heard,

As it dropt from her hand at her rival's feet, Into fragments, whose dying thrill was sweet.

What more remaineth? her day was done; Her fate and the Broken Lute's were one! The light, the vision, the gift of power, Pass'd from her soul in that mortal hour, Like the rich sound from the shatter'd string, Whence the gush of sweetness no more might

spring!

As an eagle struck in his upward flight,
So was her hope from its radiant height,
And her song went with it for evermore,
A gladness taken from sea and shore!
She had moved to the echoing sound of fame-
Silently, silently, died her name!
Silently melted her life away,

As ye have seen a young flower decay,
Or a lamp that hath swiftly burn'd, expire,
Or a bright stream shrink from the summer's fire
Leaving its channel all dry and mute-
Woe for the Broken Heart and Lute!

THE RECALL.

"Alas! the kind, the playful, and the gay,
They who have gladden'd their domestic board,
And cheer'd the winter hearth, do they return?"
Joanna Baillie.

COME home!-there is a sorrowing breath
In music since we went;
And the early flower-scents wander by,
With mournful memories blent:
The sounds of every household voice
Are grown more sad and deep,

And the sweet word-brother-wakes a wisn
To turn aside and weep.

O ye beloved, come home !-the hour
Of many a greeting tone,
The time of hearth-light and of song,
Returns-and ye are gone!

And darkly, heavily it falls

On the forsaken room,
Burdening the heart with tenderness,
That deepens 'midst the gloom.

Where finds it you, our wandering ones,
With all your boyhood's glee
Untamed, beneath the desert's palm,
Or on the lone mid sea?
'Mid stormy hills of battles old,

Or where dark rivers foam ?
Oh! life is dim where ye are not,

Back, ye beloved! come home!

Come with the leaves and winds of spring
And swift birds o'er the main!
Our love is grown too sorrowful,
Bring us its youth again!

Bring the glad tones to music back-
Still, still your home is fair;
The spirit of your sunny life
Alone is wanting there!

THE MASQUER'S SONG

THE festal eve o'er earth and sky,
In her sunset robe looks bright
And the purple hills of Sicily,
With their vineyards, laugh in light

I look round on the darkening vale,
That saw my childhood's plays:

The low wind in its rising wail

Hath a strange tone, a sound of other days. But I must rule my swelling breath:

A sign is in the sky;

Bright o'er yon gray rock's eagle nest
Shines forth a warning star-it bids me fly.
My father's sword is in my hand,

His deep voice haunts mine ear,

He tells me of the noble band,

Whose lives have left a brooding glory here.

He bids their offspring guard from stain
Their pure and lofty faith;

And yield up all things to maintain

The cause, for which they girt themselves death.

And I obey.-I leave their towers

Unto the stranger's tread;

Unto the creeping grass and flowers;

Unto the fading pictures of the dead.

I leave their shields to slow decay,

Their banners to the dust;

I go, and only bear away

Their old, majestic name,-a solemn trust!

I go up to the ancient hills,

Where chains may never be,

Where leap in joy the torrent rills.

Where man may worship God, alone and free

There shall an altar and a camp

Impregnably arise;

There shall be lit a quenchless lamp,

To shine, unwavering, through the open skies.

And song shall 'midst the rocks be heard,
And fearless prayer ascend;
While, thrilling to God's holy word,

The mountain pines in adoration bend.

And there the burning heart no more
Its deep thought shall suppress,
But the long-buried truth shall pour

Free currents thence, amidst the wilderness. Then fare thee well, my mother's bower, Farewell, my father's hearth!

Perish, my home! where lawless power
Hath rent the tie of love to native earth.

Perish! let deathlike silence fall
Upon the lone abode :

Spread fast, dark ivy, spread thy pall:-
I go up to the mountains, with my God.

Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallow'd day.

The halls, from old heroic ages gray,

Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low, With whose thick orchard blooms the soft winds play,

Send out their inmates in a happy flow,
Like a free vernal stream. I may not tread
With them those pathways,-to the feverish bed
Of sickness bound;—yet, oh my God! I bless
Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath fill'd
My chasten'd heart, and all its throbbings still'd
To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.

THE CHILDE'S DESTINY.

"And none did love him,-not his lemans dear,But pomp and power alone are woman's care; And where these are, light Eros finds a frere,' Byron.

No mistress of the hidden skill,
No wizard gaunt and grim,
Went up by night to heath or hill,
To read the stars for him;
The merriest girl in all the land
Of vinc-encircled France,
Bestow'd upon his brow and hand

Her philosophic glance:

"

"I bind thee with a spell," said she,
"I sign thee with a sign;
No woman's love shall light on thee,
No woman's heart be thine!

"And trust me, 't is not that thy cheek
Is colourless and cold,

Nor that thine eye is slow to speak
What only eyes have told;
For many a cheek of paler white
Hath blush'd with passion's kiss;
And many an eye of lesser light

Hath caught its fire from bliss ;
Yet while the rivers seek the sea,

And while the young stars shine,
No woman's love shall light on thee,
No woman's heart be thine!

"And 't is not that thy spirit, awed
By beauty's numbing spell,
Shrinks from the force, or from the fraud
Which beauty loves so well;
For thou hast learn'd to watch and wake,
And swear by earth and sky;
And thou art very bold to take

What we must still deny :

I cannot tell the charm was wrought
By other threads than mine,
The lips are lightly begg'd or bought,
The heart may not be thine!

"Yet thine the brightest smile shall be
That ever beauty wore,
And confidence from two or three,
And compliments from more ;

And one shall give-perchance hath given,
What only is not love;
Friendship,-oh! such as saints in heaven
Rain on us from above.

If she shall meet thee in the bower,

Or name thee in the shrine,

Oh! wear the ring, anu guard the flower,-Her heart may not be thine!

"Go, set thy boat before the blast,
Thy breast before the gun :-
The haven shall be reach'd at last,
The battle shall be won;

Or muse upon thy country's laws,
Or strike thy country's lute ;-
And patriot hands shall sound applause,
And lovely lips be mute:

Go, dig the diamond from the wave,
The treasure from the mine;
Enjoy the wreath, the gold, the grave,-
No woman's heart is thine!

"I charm thee from the agony Which others feel or feign; From anger, and from jealousy,

From doubt, and from disdain; I bid thee wear the scorn of years Upon the cheek of youth, And curl the lip at passion's tears, And shake the head at truth: While there is bliss in revelry, Forgetfulness in wine,

Be thou from woman's love as free, As woman is from thine!"

TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND AND RELATIVE.

"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God."

WE miss thy voice while early flowers are blowing,

And the first blush of blossom clothes each bough,

And the spring sunshine round our home is glow ing,

Soft as thy smile-thou wouldst be with us now

With us!-we wrong thee by the earthly thought—

Could our fond gaze but follow where thou art, Well might the glories of this world seem naught To the one promise given the pure in heart.

Yet wert thou blest e'en here-oh! ever blest In thine own sunny thoughts and tranqu! faith!

The silent joy that still o'erflow'd thy breast, Needed but guarding from all change by death

So is it seal'd to peace!-on thy clear brow Never was care one fleeting shade to cast, And thy calm days in brightness were to flow A holy stream untroubled to the last