THE IMAGE IN LAVA.

Temple and tower have moulder'd,
Empires from earth have pass'd,
And woman's heart hath left a trace
Those glories to outlast!

And childhood's fragile image,

Thus fearfully enshrined,
Survives the proud memorials rear'd
By conquerors of mankind.

Babe! wert thou brightly slumbering
Upon thy mother's breast,
When suddenly the fiery tomb
Shut round each gentle guest?

A strange, dark fate o'ertook you,
Fair babe and loving heart!
One moment of a thousand pangs-
Yet better than to part!

Haply of that fond bosom

On ashes here impress'd,

Thou wert the only treasure, child!
Whereon a hope might rest.

Perchance all vainly lavish'd

Its other love had been,

And where it trusted, nought remain'd

But thorns on which to lean.

Far better, then, to perish,

Thy form within its clasp,

Than live and lose thee, precious one!
From that impassion'd grasp.

$315

Oh! I could pass all relics

Left by the pomps of old,
To gaze on this rude monument
Cast in affection's mould.

Love, human love! what art thou?
Thy print upon the dust
Outlives the cities of renown
Wherein the mighty trust!

Immortal, oh! immortal

Thou art, whose earthly glow Hath given these ashes holiness— It must, it must be so!

CHRISTMAS CAROL.

O LOVELY Voices of the sky,
That hymn'd the Saviour's birth!
Are ye not singing still on high,
Ye that sang, "Peace on earth?”
To us yet speak the strains
Wherewith, in days gone by,
Ye bless'd the Syrian swains,
O voices of the sky!

O clear and shining light, whose beams That hour Heaven's glory shed Around the palms, and o'er the streams, And on the shepherds' head;

A FATHER READING THE BIBLE.

Be near, through life and death,
As in that holiest night
Of Hope, and Joy, and Faith,
O clear and shining light!

O star which led to him whose love
Brought down man's ransom free;
Where art thou?-'Midst the hosts above
May we still gaze on thee!

In heaven thou art not set,

Thy rays earth might not dim-
Send them to guide us yet,
O star which led to him!

317

A FATHER READING THE BIBLE.'

'Twas early day, and sunlight stream'd
Soft through a quiet room,

That hush'd, but not forsaken seem'd,
Still, but with nought of gloom.

1 This little poem, which, as its Author herself expressed in a letter to Mrs. Joanna Baillie, was to her "a thing set apart," as being the last of her productions ever read to her beloved mother, was written at the request of a young lady, who thus made known her wish "that Mrs. Hemans would embody in poetry a picture that so warmed a daughter's heart:"

"Upon going into our dear father's sitting-room this morning, my sister and I found him deeply engaged reading his Bible, and being unwilling to interrupt such a holy occupation, we retired to the further end of the apartment, to gaze unobserved upon the serene picture. The bright morning sun was beaming on his

For there, serene in happy age,
Whose hope is from above,
A father communed with the page
Of Heaven's recorded love.

Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright,
On his grey holy hair,

And touch'd the page with tenderest light,
As if its shrine were there!
But oh! that patriarch's aspect shone

With something lovelier far

A radiance all the spirit's own,
Caught not from sun or star.

Some word of life e'en then had met
His calm, benignant eye;

Some ancient promise, breathing yet

Of Immortality!

Some martyr's prayer, wherein the glow
Of quenchless faith survives:
While every feature said—“I know
That my Redeemer lives!"

venerable silver hair, while his defective sight increased the earnestness with which he perused the blessed book. Our fancy led us to believe that some immortal thought was engaging his mind, for he raised his fine open brow to the light, and we felt we had never loved him more deeply. After an involuntary prayer had passed from our hearts, we whispered to each other, Oh! if Mrs. Hemans could only see our father at this moment, her glowing pen would detain the scene, for even as we gaze upon it, the bright gleam is vanishing.""

"December 9, 1826."

THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS.

And silent stood his children by,
Hushing their very breath,
Before the solemn sanctity

Of thoughts o'ersweeping death.
Silent-yet did not each young breast
With love and reverence melt?

Oh! blest be those fair girls, and blest
That home where God is felt!

THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS.1

"His early days

Were with him in his heart."

WORDSWORTH

319

THE Voices of two forest boys,

In years when hearts entwine,

Had fill'd with childhood's merry noise
A valley of the Rhine!

To rock and stream that sound was known,
Gladsome as hunter's bugle-tone.

The sunny laughter of their eyes,
There had each vineyard seen;
Up every cliff whence eagles rise,
Their bounding step hath been:
Ay! their bright youth a glory threw,
O'er the wild place wherein they grew.

1 For the tale on which this little poem is founded, see L'Hermite en Italie.