As once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er
The golden sands of that island shore,
A footprint sparkled before his sight-
"T was the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite!
Beside a fountain, one sunny day,
As bending over the stream he lay,
There peep'd down o'er him two eyes of light,
And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite.
He turn'd, but, lo, like a startled bird,
That spirit fled! - and the youth but heard
Sweet music, such as marks the flight
Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite.
One night, still haunted by that bright look,
The boy, bewilder'd, his pencil took,
And, guided only by memory's light,
Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite.
"Oh thou, who lovest the shadow,” criot
A voice, low whisp'ring by his side,
"Now turn and see," — here the youth's delight
Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite
"Of all the Spirits of land and sea,”
Then rapt he murmur'd, "there's none like thee; And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light
In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!"
LAY HIS SWORD BY HIS SIDE
LAY his sword by his side, it hath served him too wel
Not to rest near his pillow below;
To the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell,
Its point was still turn'd to a flying foe.
Fellow-lab'rers in life, let them slumber in death,
Side by side, as becomes the reposing brave, That sword which he loved still unbroke in its sheath, And himself unsubdued in his grave.
Yet pause
for, in fancy, a still voice I hear,
As if breathed from his brave heart's remains,
Faint echo of that which, in Slavery's ear,
Once sounded the war-word, " Burst your chains!"
And it cries, from the grave where the hero lies deep,
"Tho' the day of your Chieftain forever hath set,
O leave not his sword thus inglorious to sleep, —
It hath victory's life in it yet!
"Should some alien, unworthy such weapon to wield,
Dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword,
Then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman seal'd,
Or return to the grave of thy chainless lord.
But, if grasp'd by a hand that hath learn'd the proud use
Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain,
Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let loose,
Leap forth from thy dark sheath again !”
OH, COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD OF OURS.
On, could we do with this world of ours
As thou dost with thy garden bowers,
Reject the weeds and keep the flowers,
What a heaven on earth we'd make it!
So bright a dwelling should be our own,
So warranted free from sigh or frown,
That angels soon would be coming down,
By the week or month to take it.
Like those gay flies that wing through air,
And in themselves a lustre bear,
A stock of light, still ready there,
Whenever they wish to use it;
So, in this world I'd make for thee,
Our hearts should all like fire-flies be,
And the flash of wit or poesy
Break forth whenever we choose it.
While ev'ry joy that glads our sphere
Hath still some shadow hov'ring near,
In this new world of ours, my dear,
Such shadows will all be omitted:.
Unless they're like that graceful one,
Which, when thou 'rt dancing in the sun,
Still near thee, leaves a charm upon
Each spot where it hath flitted'
FORGET not the field where they perish'd,
The truest, the last of the brave,
and the bright hope we cherish'd Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave
Oh! could we from death but recover
Those hearts as they bounded before, In the face of high heav'n to fight over That combat for freedom once more;
Could the chain for an instant be riven
Which Tyranny flung round us then,
No, 't is not in Man, nor in Heaven,
To let Tyranny bind it again!
But 't is past and tho' blazon'd in story
The name of our Victor may be,
Accursed is the march of that glory
Which treads o'cr the hearts of the free.
Far dearer the grave or the prison,
Illumed by one patriot name,
Than the trophies of all, who have risen
On Liberty's ruins to fame.
Ir thou 'It be mine, the treasures of air,
Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet;
Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair,
Or in Hope's sweet music sounds most sweet, - if thou wilt be mine, love!
Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove,
A voice divine shall talk in each stream;
The stars shall look like worlds of love,
And this earth be all one beautiful dream
In our eyes if thou wilt be mine, love!
And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high,
Like streams, that come from heaven-ward hills,
Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie
To be bathed by those eternal rills,
Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!
All this and more the Spirit of Love
Can breathe o'er them, who feel his spells;
That heaven, which forms his home above,
lle can make on earth, wherever he dwells,
As thou 'lt own, if thou wilt be mine, love
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