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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 !

Thou from the dust hast set that glory free,
Coloring the cowslip with the sunny hours,

And pencilling the wood-anemone;
Silent they seem-yet each to thoughtful eye

Glows with mute poesy.

But what awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring !

The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs ? Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing,

Restorer of forgotten harmonies ! 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

Wherefore it should be thus, yet rous'd by thee, What fond, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell,

Gush for the faces we no more may see! How are we haunted, in thy wind's low tone,

By voices that are gone!

Looks of familiar love, that never more,

Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet, Past words of welcome to our household door,

And vanish'd smiles, and sounds of parted feetSpring ! mid'st the murmurs of thy flowering trees,

Why, why reviv'st thou these?

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 hills all glow'd with a festive light,
For the royal city rejoic'd by night :
There were lamps hung forth upon tower and tree,
Banners were lifted and streaming free;
Every tall pillar was wreath'd with fire,
Like a shooting meteor was every spire ;
And the outline of many a dome on high
Was trac'd, as in stars, on the clear dark sky.

I pass'd through the streets; there were throngs on

Like sounds of the deep were their mingled songs;
There was music forth from each palace borne-
A peal of the cymbal, the harp, and horn;

The forests heard it, the mountains rang,
The hamlets woke to its haughty clang !
Rich and victorious was every tone,
Telling the land of her foes o'erthrown.

Didst thou meet not a mourner for all the slain ?
Thousands lie dead on their battle-plain!
Gallant and true were the hearts that fell-
Grief in the homes they have left must dwell;
Grief o'er the aspect of childhood spread,
And bowing the beauty of woman's head :
Didst thou hear, 'midst the songs, not one tender

moan, For the many brave to their slumbers gone?

I saw not the face of

thereToo strong, perchance, was the bright lamp’s glare ! I heard not a wail ’midst the joyous crowdThe music of victory was all too loud!

a weeper

Mighty it roll'd on the winds afar,
Shaking the streets like a conqueror's car ;
Through torches and streamers its flood swept by-
How could I listen for moan or sigh?

Turn then away from life's pageants, turn,
If its deep story thy heart would learn!
Ever too bright is that outward show,
Dazzling the eyes till they see not woe.
But lift the proud mantle which hides from thy view
The things thou shouldst gaze on, the sad and true;
Nor fear to survey what its folds conceal-
So must thy spirit be taught to feel !

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