In silence wert thou left; Come to thy sisters! joyously again All the home-voices, blent in one sweet strain, Shall greet their long bereft. Over thine orphan head The storm hath swept, as o'er a willow's bough; In thy divine abode, Change finds no pathway, memory no dark trace, And-oh! bright victory-death by love no place: Come, spirit, to thy God! Mrs. Hemans. HE WALKED WITH GOD. Genesis v. 24. He walked with God, in holy joy, Or sought the flowers by stream and fount, The graver noon of manhood came, One voice was in his heart-the same A shepherd king on eastern plains- And calmly, brightly, that pure life No cloud it knew, no parting strife, He bowed him not, like all beside, But joined at once the glorified, So let us walk!-the night must come We through the darkness must go home, Mrs. Hemans. THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. What hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ? Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-coloured shells, Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain ! Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea! We ask not such from thee. Yet more, the depths have more !-What wealth untold, Far down, and shining thro' their stillness lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal Argosies! Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main ! Earth claims not these again. Yet more, the depths have more!-Thy waves have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, Yet more the billows and the depths have more! High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! They hear not now the booming waters roar, The battle-thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave! Give back the true and brave! Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom The place was kept at board and hearth so long! The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown But all is not thine own. To thee the love of woman hath gone down, Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown ; Yet must thou hear a voice,-Restore the dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee! Restore the dead, thou sea! Mrs. Hemans. CASABIANCA.* The boy stood on the burning deck The flame that lit the battle's wreck, Yet beautiful and bright he stood, A proud, though childlike form. * Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the Battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned, and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder. |