Into invisibility, while forth

The Saviour of the world walk'd, and stood Before the sepulchre, and view'd the clouds Impurpled glorious by the rising sun.

JESUS APPEARS TO THE DISCIPLES.
THE evening of that day, which saw the Lord
Rise from the chambers of the dead, was come.
His faithful followers, assembled, sang

A hymn, low-breathed; a hymn of sorrow, blent
With hope; when, in the midst, sudden he stood;
The awe-struck circle backward shrink; he looks
Around with a benignant smile of love,
And says, Peace be unto you: Faith and joy
Spread o'er each face, amazed; as when the moon,
Pavilion'd in dark clouds, mildly comes forth,
Silvering a circlet in the fleecy ranks.

PAUL ACCUSED BEFORE THE TRIBUNAL OF
THE AREOPAGUS.

LISTEN that voice! upon the hill of Mars,
Rolling in bolder thunders than e'er peal'd
From lips that shook the Macedonian throne;
Behold his dauntless outstretch'd arm, his face
Illumed of heaven :-he knoweth not the fear
Of man, of principalities, of powers.

The stoic's moveless frown; the vacant stare
Of Epicurus' herd; the scowl and gnash malign
Of superstition, stopping both her ears;

The Areopagite tribunal dread,

From whence the doom of Socrates was utter'd ;—
This hostile throng dismays him not: he seems
As if no worldly object could inspire

A terror in his soul; as if the vision,

Which, when he journey'd to Damascus, shone
From heaven, still swam before his eyes,
Outdazzling all things earthly; as if the voice,
That spake from out th' effulgence, ever rang
Within his ear, inspiring him with words,
Burning, majestic, lofty, as his theme,―
The resurrection, and the life to come.

PAUL ACCUSED BEFORE THE ROMAN GOVERNOR OF JUDEA.

THE judge ascended to the judgment-seat;
Amid a gleam of spears th' apostle stood.
Dauntless he forward came, and look'd around,
And raised his voice, at first in accents low,
Yet clear; a whisper spread among the throng:-
So when the thunder mutters, still the breeze
Is heard, at times, to sigh; but when the peal
Tremendous, louder rolls, a silence dead
Succeeds each pause,-moveless the aspen
leaf.
Thus fix'd and motionless, the listening band
Of soldiers forward lean'd, as from the man
Inspired of God, truth's awful thunders roll'd.
No more he feels, upon his high-raised arm,
The ponderous chain, than does the playful child
The bracelet, form'd of many a flowery link.
Heedless of self, forgetful that his life
Is now to be defended by his words,
He only thinks of doing good to them
Who seek his life; and while he reasons high

Of justice, temperance, and the life to come,
The judge shrinks trembling at the prisoner's voice.

PARAPHRASE.

Who healeth all thy diseases: who redeemeth thy life from destruction: who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies.-PSALM Ciii. 3, 4.

THESE eyes, that were half-closed in death, Now dare the noontide blaze;

My voice, that scarce could speak my wants, Now hymns Jehovah's praise.

How pleasant to my feet unused, To tread the daisied ground! How sweet to my unwonted ear

The streamlet's lulling sound.

How soft the first breath of the breeze
That on my temples play'd!
How sweet the woodland evening song,
Full floating down the glade!

But sweeter far the lark that soars Through morning's blushing ray; For then unseen, unheard, I join

His lonely heavenward lay.

And sweeter still that infant voice,
With all its artless charms ;-
'Twas such as he that Jesus took,
And cherish'd in his arms.

O Lord my God! all these delights
I to thy mercy owe;

For thou hast raised me from the couch
Of sickness, pain, and wo.

"Twas thou that from the whelming wave My sinking soul redeem'd; 'Twas thou that o'er destruction's storm A calming radiance beam'd.

ON VISITING MELROSE,

AFTER AN ABSENCE OF SIXTEEN YEARS.

YON setting sun, that slowly disappears,
Gleams a memento of departed years:

Ay, many a year is gone, and many a friend,
Since here I saw the autumn sun descend.
Ah! one is gone, whose hand was lock'd in mine,
In this, that traces now the sorrowing line:
And now alone I scan the mouldering tombs,
Alone I wander through the vaulted glooms,
And list, as if the echoes might retain
One lingering cadence of her varied strain.
Alas! I heard that melting voice decay,
Heard seraph tones in whispers die away;
I mark'd the tear presageful fill her eye,
And quivering speak,-I am resign'd to die.
Ye stars that through the fretted windows shed
A glimmering beam athwart the mighty dead,
Say to what sphere her sainted spirit flew,
That thither I may turn my longing view,
And wish, and hope, some tedious seasons o'er,
To join a long lost friend, to part no more.

THE WILD DUCK AND HER BROOD. How calm that little lake! no breath of wind Sighs through the reeds; a clear abyss it seems, Held in the concave of th' inverted sky,In which is seen the rook's dull flagging wing Move o'er the silvery clouds. How peaceful sails Yon little fleet, the wild duck and her brood! Fearl of harm, they row their easy way; The water-lily neath the plumy prows, Dips, reappearing in their dimpled track. Yet, e'en amid that scene of peace, the noise Of war, unequal, dastard war, intrudes. Yon revel rout of men, and boys, and dogs, Boisterous approach; the spaniel dashes in; Quick he descries the prey; and faster swims, And eager barks; the harmless flock dismay'd, Hasten to gain the thickest grove of reeds. All but the parent pair; they, floating, wait To lure the foe, and lead him from their young; But soon themselves are forced to seek the shore. Vain then the buoyant wing; the leaden storm Arrests their flight; they, fluttering, bleeding, fall, And tinge the troubled bosom of the lake.

FROM Snowy plains, and icy sprays,
From moonless nights, and sunless days,
Welcome, poor bird! I'll cherish thee;
I love thee, for thou trustest me.
Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest!
Fondly I'll war thee in my breast:-
How quick thy little heart is beating!
As if its brother flutterer greeting.
Thou need'st not dread a captive's doom;
No: freely flutter round my room;
Perch on my lute's remaining string,
And sweetly of sweet summer sing.
That note, that summer note, I know;
It wakes at once, and soothes my wo;
I see those woods, I see that stream,
I see,-ah, still prolong the dream!
Still with thy song those scenes renew,
Though through my tears they reach my view.

No more now, at my lonely meal,
While thou art by, alone I'll feel;
For soon, devoid of all distrust,
Thou'lt nibbling share my humble crust;
Or on my finger, pert and spruce,
Thou'lt learn to sip the sparkling juice;
And when (our short collation o'er)
Some favourite volume I explore,
Be't work of poet or of sage,
Safe thou shalt hop across the page;
Uncheck'd, shall flit o'er Virgil's groves,
Or flutter 'mid Tibullus' loves.
Thus, heedless of the raving blast,
Thou'lt dwell with me till winter's past;
And when the primrose tells 'tis spring,
And when the thrush begins to sing,
Soon as I hear the woodland song,
Freed, thou shalt join the vocal throng.

EPITAPH ON A BLACKBIRD KILLED BY A HAWK.

WINTER was o'er, and spring-flowers deck'd the glade;

The blackbird's note among the wild woods rung: Ah, short-lived note! the songster now is laid

Beneath the bush on which so sweet he sung.

Thy jetty plumes, by ruthless falcon rent,
Are now all soil'd among the mouldering clay;
A primrosed turf is all thy monument,
And for thy dirge the redbreast lends his lay.

THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL. YON motley, sable-suited throng, that wait Around the poor man's door, announce a tale Of wo; the husband, parent, is no more. Contending with disease, he labour'd long, By penury compell'd; yielding at last, He laid him down to die; but, lingering on From day to day, he from his sick-bed saw, Heart-broken quite, his children's looks of want Veil'd in a clouded smile; alas! he heard The elder lispingly attempt to still

The younger's plaint,-languid he raised his head,

The coffin is borne out; the humble pomp Moves slowly on; the orphan mourner's hand (Poor helpless child!) just reaches to the pall. And now they pass into the field of graves, And now around the narrow house they stand, And view the plain black board sink from the sight. Hollow the mansion of the dead resounds,

As falls each spadeful of the bone-mix'd mould.
The turf is spread; uncover'd is each head,-
A last farewell: all turn their several ways.
Wo's me! those tear-dimm'd eyes, that sobbing
breast!

Poor child! thou thinkest of the kindly hand
That wont to lead thee home: No more that hand
Shall aid thy feeble gait, or gentle stroke
Thy sun-bleach'd head and downy cheek.
But go, a mother waits thy homeward steps;
In vain her eyes dwell on the sacred page,-
Her thoughts are in the grave; 'tis thou alone,
Her first-born child, canst rouse that statue gaze
Of wo profound. Haste to the widow'd arms;
Look with thy father's look, speak with his voice,
And melt a heart that else will break with grief.

THE THANKSGIVING OFF CAPE TRA

FALGAR. UPON the high, yet gently rolling wave, The floating tomb that heaves above the brave, Soft sighs the gale, that late tremendous roar'd, Whelming the wretched remnants of the sword. And now the cannon's peaceful thunder calls The victor bands to mount their wooden walls, And from the ramparts, while their comrades fell, The mingled strain of joy and grief to swell:

Fast they ascend, from stem to stern they spread,
And crowd the engines, whence the lightnings sped:
The white-robed priest his upraised hands extends:
Hush'd is each voice, attention leaning bends;
Then from each prow the grand hosannas rise,
Float o'er the deep, and hover to the skies.
Heaven fills each heart; yet home will oft intrude,
And tears of love celestial joys exclude.
The wounded man, who hears the soaring strain,
Lifts his pale visage, and forgets his pain;
While parting spirits, mingling with the lay,
On hallelujahs wing their heavenward way.

TO MY SON.

TWICE has the sun commenced his annual round,
Since first thy footsteps totter'd o'er the ground,
Since first thy tongue was tuned to bless mine ear,
By faltering out the name to fathers dear.
O! nature's language, with her looks combined,
More precious far than periods thrice refined!
O! sportive looks of love, devoid of guile,
I prize you more than beauty's magic smile:
Yes, in that face, unconscious of its charm
I gaze with bliss, unmingled with alarm.

Ah, no! full oft a boding horror flies
Athwart my fancy, uttering fateful cries.
Almighty Power! his harmless life defend,
And if we part, 'gainst me the mandate send.
And yet a wish will rise,-would I might live,
Till added years his memory firmness give!
For, O! it would a joy in death impart,
To think I still survived within his heart;
To think he'll cast, midway the vale of years,
A retrospective look, bedimm'd with tears;
And tell, regretful, how I look'd and spoke;
What walks I loved; where grew my favourite oak;
How gently I would lead him by the hand;
How gently use the accent of command;

What lore I taught him, roaming wood and wild,
And how the man descended to the child;
How well I loved with him, on Sabbath morn,
To hear the anthem of the vocal thorn;
To teach religion, unallied to strife,
And trace to him the way, the truth, the life.

But far and farther still my view I bend,—
And now I see a child thy steps attend ;-
To yonder churchyard wall thou takest thy way,
While round thee, pleased, thou seest the infant play;
Then lifting him, while tears suffuse thine eyes,
Pointing, thou tell'st him, There thy grandsire lies.