HAIL! queen of high and holy thought';
Of dreams, with fairy beauty fraught';
Sweet memories of the days gone by';
Glimpses of immortality';
Visions of grandeur, glory, power';
All that in inspiration's hour,
Like sunset's changing glories, roll
Within the poet's raptured soul!
Thy throne is in the crimson fold'
Around the setting day-star rolled-
Thou walkest through the sapphire sky'
When the bright moon is sailing high',
Touching the stars with purer light',
And lending holier charms to night':
The clouds a deeper glory wear',
The winds a softer music bear',
And earth is heaven', when thou art there.
There's not a murmur on the breeze',
Nor ripple on the dark blue seas',
Nor breath of violets, faintly sweet',
Nor glittering dew-drop at our feet',
Nor tinge of mellow radiance, where
Soft moonbeams melt along the air',
Nor shade, nor tint, on flower or tree',
But takes a softer grace from thee.
And love itself—the brightest gem
In all creation's diadem'-
Oh! what were mortal love', didst thou
Not lend a glory to his brow'?
Degraded, though of heavenly birth',
And sullied with the cares of earth'-
Wasted and worn, by doubts and fears',
Its youthful smiles soon change to tears':
But, at thy spirit-stirring breath',
It bursts the bonds of sin and death';
And, robed in heavenly charms by thee',
It puts on immortality.
On a plain rush-hurdle a silkworm lay', When a proud young princess came that way'; The haughty child of a human king'
Threw a sidelong glance at the humble thing',
That received, with silent gratitude',
From the mulberry leaf her simple food',
And shrunk, half scorn and half disgust',
Away from her sister child of the dust';
Declaring she never yet could see'
Why a reptile form like this should bē`;
And that she was not made with nerves so firm',
As calmly to stand by a 'crawling worm'!'
With mute forbearance the silkworm took
The taunting words and the spurning look.
Alike a stranger to self and pride',
She'd no disquiet from aught beside';
And lived of a meekness and peace possessed',
Which these debar from the human breast.
She only wished, for the harsh abuse',
To find some way to become of use'
To the haughty daughter of lordly man';
And thus did she lay a noble plan'
To teach her wisdom, and make it plain'
That the humble worm was not made in vain';
A plan so generous, deep and high',
That, to carry it out', she must even die'!
'No more,' said shè, will I drink or eat!
I'll spin and weave me a winding sheet',
To wrap me up from the sun's clear light',
And hide my form from her wounded sight.
In secret then, till my end draws nigh',
I'll toil for her'; and, when I die',
I'll leave behind, as a farewell boon'
To the proud young princess', my whole cocoon',
To be reeled and wove to a shining lace',
And hung in a veil o'er her scornful face!
And when she can calmly draw her breath'
Through the very threads that have caused my death',
When she finds, at length, she has nerves so firm',
As to wear the shroud of a crawling worm',
May she bear in mind, that she walks with pride'
In the winding sheet where the silkworm died!'
THE CHILD READING THE BIBLE.
I saw him at his sport erewhile',
The bright exulting boy;
Like summer's lightning came the smile
Of his young spirit's joy';
A flash that', wheresoe'er it broke',
To life's undreampt-of beauty woke.
His fair locks waved in sunny play
By a clear fountain's side',
Where jewel-colored pebbles lay
Beneath the shallow tide';
And pearly spray, at times, would meet'
The glancing of his fairy feet.
He twined him wreaths of all spring-flowers
Which drank that streamlet's dew
He flung them o'er the wave in showers',
Till, gazing, scarce I knew'
Which seemed more pure, or bright, or wild',
The singing fount', or laughing child.
To look on all that joy and bloom'
Made earth one festal scene',
Where the dull shadow of the tomb
Seemed as it ne'er had been.
How could one image of decay
Steal o'er the dawn of such clear day'?
I saw once more that aspect bright-
The boy's meek head was bow'd
In silence o'er the Book of Light',
And, like a golden cloud'—
The still' cloud of a pictured sky'-
His locks drooped round it lovingly.
And', if my heart had deem'd him fair
When, in the fountain glade',
A creature of the sky and air',
Almost on wings he played',-
Oh, how much holier beauty now'
Lit the young human being's brow!-
The being-born to toil'-to die'-
To break forth from the tomb'
Unto far nobler destiny
Than waits the sky-lark's plume!
I saw him in that thoughtful hour'
Win the first knowledge of his dower.
The soul, the awakening soul', I saw`;
My watching eye could trace
The shadows of its new-born awe'
Sweeping o'er that fair face';
As o'er a flower might pass the shade
By some dread angel's pinion made!
The soul! the mother of deep fears',
Of high hopes infinite',
Of glorious dreams', mysterious tears',
Of sleepless inner sight';
Lovely, but solemn, it arose'-
Unfolding'-what no more might close-
The red-leaved tablets undefiled',
As yet, by evil thought`;—
Oh, little dream'd the brooding child'
Of what within me wrought'
While his young heart first burn'd and stirr'd, And quiver'd to the eternal word.
And rev'rently my spirit caught
The rev'rence of his` gaze ;—
A sight with dew of blessing fraught
To hallow after-days';-
To make the proud heart meekly wise'
By the sweet faith in those calm eyes.
It seem'd as if a temple rose
Before me brightly there';
And, in the depths of its repose',
My soul o'erflowed with prayer',
Feeling a solemn presence nigh-
The power of infant sanctity.
O Father', mold my heart once more
By thy prevailing breath';
Teach me, oh, teach me, to adōre',
E'en with that pure one's faith-
A faith all made of love and light-
Childlike and, therefore', full of might.
THESE are the Gardens of the Desert-these'
The boundless, unshorn fields, where lingers yet
The beauty of the earth' ere man had sinned-
The Prairies'. I behold them for the first,
And my heart swells', while the dilated sight
Takes in the circling vastness. Lo! they stretch,
In airy undulations, far away',
As if an ocean, in its gentlest swell
Stood still', with all its rounded billows fixed',
And motionless', forever. Motionless'?
Nò, they are all unchained again. The clouds
Sweep over with their shadows', and, beneath',
The surface rolls, and fluctuates to the eye';
Dark hollows seem to glide along', and chase
The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South',
That toss the golden and the flamelike flowers',
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