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THE TEARS I SHED.
Thee, from report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus with the host of heaven came, And lo! Creation widened on Man's view. Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed
Within thy beams, O Sunl or who could find, While flower, and leaf, and insect stood revealed,
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind! Why do we then shun death with anxious strife? If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?
JOSEPI BLANCO WHITE.
The Tears I Shed.
THE tears I shed must ever fall:
I mourn not for an absent swain;
And parted lovers meet again.
Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er;
And death shall join to part no more.
If certain that his heart is near,
Soft is the sigh; and sweet the tear.
We mourn the tenant of the tomb,
Can gild the horrors of the gloom.
But bitter, bitter are the tears
Of her who slighted love bewails;
No pleasing melancholy hails.
Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy;
The flame of love burns to destroy.
In vain does memory renew
The hours once tinged in transport's dye; The sad reverse soon starts to view,
And turns the past to agony. E'en time itself despairs to cure
Those pangs to ev'ry feeling due: Ungenerous youth! thy boast how poor,
To win a heart—and break it too!
[No cold approach, no alter'd mien,
Just what would make suspicion start; No pause the dire extremes between,
He made me blest—and broke my heart.] From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn;
Neglected and neglecting all; Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn; The tears I shed must ever fall.
HELEN CRANSTOUN STEWART.
To an Indian Gold Coin.
Slave of the dark and dirty mine,
What vanity has brought thee here? How can I love to see thee shine
So bright, whom I have bought so dear?
The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear For twilight converse, arm in arm;
The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear When mirth and music wont to charm.
TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN.
By Cherical's dark wandering streams,
Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams
Of Teviot loved while still a child,
Of castled rocks stupendous piled By Esk or Eden's classic wave,
Where loves of youth and friendship smiled, Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave!
Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade!
The perished bliss of youth's first prime, That once so bright on fancy played,
Revives no more in after-time.
Far from my sacred natal clime, I haste to an untimely grave;
The daring thoughts that soared sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave.
Slave of the mine, thy yellow light
Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. A gentle vision comes by night
My lonely widowed heart to cheer:
Her eyes are dim with many a tear, That once were guiding stars to mine:
Her fond heart throbs with many a fear! I cannot bear to see thee shine.
For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave,
I left a heart that loved me true! I crossed the tedious ocean-wave,
To roam in climes unkind and new.
The cold wind of the stranger blew Chill on my withered heart; the grave
Dark and untimely met my view, And all for thee, vile yellow slave!
Hal com'st thou now so late to mock
A wanderer's banished heart forlorn,
Now that his frame the lightning shock
Of sun-rays tipped with death has borne ?
From love, from friendship, country, torn,
Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn!
a Visit from St. Nicholas.
'T was the night before Christinas, when all through the
open the shutters and threw up the sash.
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.
So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys—and St. Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes how they twinkle ! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump-a right jolly old elf; And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
CLEMENT C. MOORE.
The Star-Spangled Banner.
O, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,