Oh! scorn him not !-the strength, whereby The patriot girds himself to die, Th' unconquerable power, which fills These have one fountain deep and clear— The same whence gush'd that child-like tear! BREATHINGS OF SPRING. Thou giv'st me flowers, thou giv'st me songs ;-bring back The love that I have lost! WHAT wak'st thou, Spring?-sweet voices in the woods, And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute; Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes, The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee, Ev'n as our hearts may be. And the leaves greet thee, Spring!—the joyous leaves, Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade, Where each young spray a rosy flush receives, When thy south-wind hath pierc'd the whispery shade, And happy murmurs, running through the grass, Tell that thy footsteps pass. And the bright waters-they too hear thy call, Spring, the awakener! thou hast burst their sleep! Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall Makes melody, and in the forests deep, Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray Their windings to the day. And flowers-the fairy-peopled world of flowers! But what awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring! Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art, What wak'st thou in the heart? Too much, oh! there too much!-we know not well Looks of familiar love, that never more, Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet, Vain longings for the dead!—why come they back With thy young birds, and leaves, and living blooms? Oh! is it not, that from thine earthly track Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs? Yes! gentle Spring; no sorrow dims thine air, Breath'd by our loved ones there! THE ILLUMINATED CITY. THE hills all glow'd with a festive light, There were lamps hung forth upon tower and tree, I pass'd through the streets; there were throngs on throngs Like sounds of the deep were their mingled songs; A peal of the cymbal, the harp, and horn; |