ON HER RETURN FROM EUROPE.
How smiled the land of France Under thy blue eye's glance, Light hearted rover!
Old walls of chateaux grey, Towers of an early day, Which the Three Colors play Flauntingly over.
Now midst the brilliant train Thronging the banks of Seine : Now midst the splendor
Of the wild Alpine range,
Waking with change on change Thoughts in thy young heart strange, Lovely, and tender.
Vales, soft Elysian,
Like those in the vision
Of Mirza, when, dreaming,
He saw the long hollow dell, Touched by the prophet's spell, Into an ocean swell
With its isles teeming.
Cliffs wrapped in snows of years, Splintering with icy spears
Autumn's blue heaven: Loose rock and frozen slide,
Led thee o'er sea and land Back to the household, band
Whence thou wast taken ?
While, at the sunset time, Swells the cathedral's chime, Yet, in thy dreaming, While to thy spirit's eye Yet the vast mountain's lie Piled in the Switzer's sky, Icy and gleaming:
Prompter of silent prayer, Be the wild picture there
In the mind's chamber,
And, through each coming day Him, who, as staff and stay, Watched o'er thy wandering way, Freshly remember.
So, when the call shall be Soon or late unto thee,
As to all given,
Still may that picture live, All its fair forms survive, And to thy spirit give
Gladness in Heaven!
A FREE PARAPHRASE OF THE GERMAN.
To weary hearts, to mourning homes, God's meekest Angel gently comes : No power has he to banish pain, Or give us back our lost again; And yet in tenderest love, our dear And Heavenly Father sends him here.
There's quiet in that Angel's glance, There's rest in his still countenance ! He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear; But ills and woes he may not cure He kindly trains us to endure.
Angel of Patience! sent to calm Our feverish brows with cooling palm; To lay the storms of hope and fear, And reconcile life's smile and tear; The throbs of wounded pride to still, And make our own our Father's will!
Oh! thou who mournest on thy way, With longings for the close of day; He walks with thee, that Angel kind, And gently whispers "Be resigned: Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell The dear Lord ordereth all things well!"
ON READING HIS ESSAY ON THE "FUTURE STATE."
FRIEND of my soul!-as with moist eye
I look up from this page of thine,
Is it a dream that thou art nigh, Thy mild face gazing into mine?
That presence seems before me now, A placid heaven of sweet moonrise, When dew-like, on the earth below Descends the quiet of the skies.
The calm brow through the parted hair, The gentle lips which knew no guile, Softening the blue eye's thoughtful care With the bland beauty of their smile.
Ah me! - at times that last dread scene Of Frost and Fire and moaning Sea, Will cast its shade of doubt between The failing eyes of Faith and thee.
Yet, lingering o'er thy charmed page,
Where through the twilight air of earth,
Alike enthusiast and sage,
Prophet and bard, thou gazest forth;
Lifting the Future's solemn veil;
The reaching of a mortal hand
To put aside the cold and pale Cloud-curtains of the Unseen Land;
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