How beautiful is Zion!-Like a queen, Arm'd with a helm, in virgin loveliness Her heaving bosom in a bossy cuirass, She sits aloft, begirt with battlements And bulwarks swelling from the rock, to guard The sacred courts, pavilions, palaces,
Soft gleaming through the umbrage of the woods Which tuft her summit, and, like raven tresses, Waved their dark beauty round the tower of
Resplendent with a thousand golden bucklers,
The embrasures of alabaster shine;
Hail'd by the pilgrims of the desert, bound
To Judah's mart with orient merchandise.
But not, for thou art fair and turret-crown'd,
Wet with the choicest dew of heaven, and bless'd
With golden fruits, and gales of frankincense,
Dwell I beneath thine ample curtains. Here,
Where saints and prophets teach, where the stern
law
Still speaks in thunder, where chief angels watch,
And where the glory hovers, here I war.
ART thou a thing of mortal birth,
Whose happy home is on our earth!
Does human blood with life imbue
These wandering veins of heavenly blue,
That stray along thy forehead fair,
Lost 'mid a gleam of golden hair?
Oh! can that light and airy breath
Steal from a being doomed to death;
Those features to the grave be sent
In sleep thus mutely eloquent;
Or, art thou, what thy form would seem,
The phantom of a blessed dream?
A human shape I feel thou art,
I feel it at my beating heart,
Those tremors both of soul and sense
Awoke by infant innocence !
Though dear the forms by fancy wove,
We love them with a transient love:
Thoughts from the living world intrude
Even on her deepest solitude:
But, lovely child! thy magic stole
At once into my inmost soul,
With feelings as thy beauty fair,
And left no other vision there.
To me thy parents are unknown;
Glad would they be their child to own!
And well they must have loved before,
If since thy birth they loved not more.
Thou art a branch of noble stem,
And, seeing thee, I figure them.
What many a child!ess one would give,
If thou in their still home would'st live!
Though in thy face no family line
Might sweetly say, "This babe is mine!"
In time thou would'st become the same
As their own child,-all but the name!
How happy must thy parents be
Who daily live in sight of thee!
Whose hearts no greater pleasure seek
Than see thee smile, and hear thee speak,
And feel all natural griefs beguiled
By thee, their fond, their duteous child.
What joy must in their souls have stirred
When thy first broken words were heard ;
Words, that, inspired by Heaven, expressed
The transports dancing in thy breast!
And for thy smile!-thy lip, cheek, brow,
Even while I gaze are kindling now.
I called thee duteous; am I wrong?
No! truth I feel is in my song:
Duteous thy heart's still beatings move
To God, to Nature, and to Love!
To God!-for thou, a harmless child,
Hast kept his temple undefiled:
To Nature!-for thy tears and sighs
Obey alone her mysteries:
To Love!-for fiends of hate might see
Thou dwell'st in love and love in thee!
What wonder then, though in thy dreams
Thy face with mystic meaning beams!
Oh! that my spirit's eye could see
Whence burst those gleams of ecstasy
That light of dreaming soul appears
To play from thoughts above thy years.
Thou smilest as if thy soul were soaring
To Heaven, and Heaven's God adoring!
And who can tell what visions high
May bless an infant's sleeping eye!
What brighter throne can brightness find,
To reign on than an infant's mind,
Ere sin destroy, or error dim,
The glory of the Seraphim?
TYPE of the antique Rome' rich reliquary Of lofty contemplation, left to Time By buried centuries of pomp and power! At length, at length-after so many days Of weary pilgrimage, and burning thirst, (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) I kneel, an alter'd and an humble man, Within thy shadows-and so drink, within My very soul, thy grandeur, gloom, and glory. Vastness, and age, and memories of old! Silence, and desolation, and dim night! I fee, ye now-I feel ye in your strength. O, spells more sure than e'er Judæan king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane ! O, charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!
Here, where a hero fell, a column falls! Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle! Here, where on golden throne the CESAR sate, On bed of moss lies gloating the foul adder! Here, where on ivory couch the monarch loll'd,
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