The bracelet, formed of many a flowery link.
Heedless of self, forgetful that his life
Is now to be defended by his words,
He only thinks of doing good to them
Who seek his life; and while he reasons high
Of justice, temperance, and the life to come,
The judge shrinks trembling at the prisoner's
voice.
ON VISITING MELROSE, AFTER AN ABSENCE OF SIXTEEN YEARS.
YON setting sun, that slowly disappears,
Gleams a memento of departed years:
Ay, many a year is gone, and many a friend,
Since here I saw the autumn sun descend.
Ah! one is gone, whose hand was locked in mine,
In this, that traces now the sorrowing line:
And now alone I scan the mouldering tombs,
Alone I wander through the vaulted glooms,
And list, as if the echoes might retain
One lingering cadence of her varied strain,
Alas! I heard that melting voice decay,
Heard seraph tones in whispers die away :
I marked the tear presageful fill her eye,
And quivering speak,-I am resigned to die.
Ye stars, that through the fretted windows shed
A glimmering beam athwart the mighty dead,
Say to what sphere her sainted spirit flew,
That thither I may turn my longing view,
And wish, and hope, some tedious seasons o'er,
To join a long-lost friend, to part no more.
YON motley, sable-suited throng, that wait
Around the poor man's door, announce a tale
Of wo; the husband, parent, is no more.
Contending with disease, he laboured long,
By penury compelled; yielding at last,
He laid him down to die; but, lingering on
From day to day, he from his sick-bed saw,
Heart-broken quite, his children's looks of want
Veiled in a clouded smile; alas! he heard
The elder lispingly attempt to still
The younger's plaint,-languid he raised his head,
And thought he yet could toil, but sunk
Into the arms of death, the poor man's friend.
The coffin is borne out; the humble pomp Moves slowly on; the orphan mourner's hand (Poor helpless child!) just reaches to the pall. And now they pass into the field of graves, And now around the narrow house they stand, And view the plain black board sink from the sight.
Hollow the mansion of the dead resounds,
As falls each spadeful of the bone-mixed mould.
The turf is spread; uncovered is each head,-
A last farewell: all turn their several ways.
Woes me! those tear-dimmed eyes, that sobbing
breast!
Poor child! thou thinkest of the kindly hand
That wont to lead thee home: no more that hand
Shall aid thy feeble gait, or gently stroke
Thy sun-bleached head and downy cheek.
But go, a mother waits thy homeward steps;
In vain her eyes dwell on the sacred page,-
Her thoughts are in the grave; 'tis thou alone,
Her first-born child, canst rouse that statue-gaze
Of wo profound. Haste to the widowed arms;
Look with thy father's look, speak with his voice,
And melt a heart that else will break with grief.
THE THANKSGIVING OFF CAPE
TRAFALGAR
UPON the high, yet gently rolling wave,
The floating tomb that heaves above the brave,
Soft sighs the gale, that late tremendous roared,
Whelming the wretched remnants of the sword.
And now the cannon's peaceful thunder calls
The victor bands to mount their wooden walls,
And from the ramparts, where their comrades fell,
The mingled strain of joy and grief to swell:
Fast they ascend, from stem to stern they spread,
And crowd the engines whence the lightnings sped:
The white-robed priest his upraised hands extends;
Hushed is each voice, attention leaning bends;
Then from each prow the grand hosannas rise,
Float o'er the deep, and hover to the skies.
Heaven fills each heart; yet Home will oft intrude,
And tears of love celestial joys exclude.
The wounded man, who hears the soaring strain,
Lifts his pale visage, and forgets his pain;
While parting spirits, mingling with the lay,
On halleluiahs wing their heavenward way.
TWICE has the sun commenced his annual round,
Since first thy footsteps tottered o'er the ground,
Since first thy tongue was tuned to bless mine ear,
By faltering out the name to fathers dear.
O! Nature's language, with her looks combined,
More precious far than periods thrice refined!
O! sportive looks of love, devoid of guile,
I prize you more than Beauty's magic smile;
Yes, in that face, unconscious of its charm,
I gaze with bliss, unmingled with alarm.
Ah, no! full oft a boding horror flies
Athwart my fancy, uttering fateful cries.
Almighty Power! his harmless life defend,
And if we part, 'gainst me the mandate send.
And yet a wish will rise,-would I might live,
Till added years his memory firmness give!
For, O! it would a joy in death impart,
To think I still survived within his heart;
To think he'll cast, midway the vale of years,
A retrospective look, bedimmed with tears;
And tell, regretful, how I looked and spoke ;
What walks I loved; where grew my favourite oak;
How gently I would lead him by the hand;
How gently use the accent of command;
What lore I taught him, roaming wood and wild,
And how the man descended to the child;
How well I loved with him, on Sabbath morn,
To hear the anthem of the vocal thorn;
To teach religion, unallied to strife,
And trace to him the way, the truth, the life.
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