Return!-alas! my Arab steed! what shall thy master do,
When thou, who wert his all of joy, hast vanish'd from his view?
When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears
Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false mirâge appears.
Slow and unmounted will I roam, with weary foot alone, Where with fleet step, and joyous bound, thou oft hast borne me on;
And, sitting down by that green well, I'll pause and sadly think,
"It was here he bow'd his glossy neck, when last I saw him drink!"
When last I saw thee drink!-away! the fever'd dream is o'er
I could not live a day, and know, that we should meet no more!
They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong
They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long.
Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold?
"Tis false-'t is false, my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold!
Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back, and scour the dis tant plains;
Away! who overtakes us now, shall claim thee for
IT seem'd as Nature's flame were dead!-No beam
From sun or moon diffused its cheering gleam
O'er that dark sky, at morn which seem'd so fair,
It thence seem'd darker now. The murky air,
Close, thick, and lowering, with its burthen press'd
The spirits down, and clogg'd the labouring breast.
The birds were silent on the leafless spray;
And wild and waste the soul's Elysium lay,
Spoil'd of its floral treasure. Cankerous Want
And Sorrow's worm had kill'd Health's blooming plant:
Hope, the fond sunflower, turn'd no more its eye
Where orient lustre fired the eastern sky;
The primrose, Youth, was dead, untimely dead;
The lily, Virtue, lived, but droop'd its head;
And Bliss (that empress-rose, whose odorous power
And blushing cups at morn's delicious hour
Pour'd on my senses from its emerald seats
A blaze of beauties, and a cloud of sweets,)
Now, lost its glowing gems and green attire,
Met my sad eyes a rude unsightly briar,
Menaced my hand with thorns, as near I drew,
And wept its ravish'd flowers in tears of dew.
Oh! I was sad at soul!-no aid was nigh,
No present joy, no future hope!-Mine eye
Where'er in suppliant anxious search I turn'd,
"T was anguish, 't was despair!-my bosom burn'd,
My heart was broken! Now in sullen mood
And dull dark apathy I silent stood,
Like one to marble changed: and now again
Wild Memory flash'd her torch athwart my brain,
And fired it into madness. Then the ground
I struck with throbbing front, and scatter'd round
Locks of torn hair; and still in frantic tone
Of mingled rage and pain, half shriek, half groan,
1 raved of honest hearts with treachery paid,
Of perjured love, false friends, and trust betray'd,
And cursed in bitter grief and fury vain
Man's flinty heart and woman's fickle brain.
When lo! as thus in maniac state I lay,
A Matron towards me won her easy way.
With solemn steps she moved her robes of white
Of vestal make, though not so dazzling bright,
Were pure as Virtue's own: and o'er her head
A cypress veil in decent guise was spread,
Fix'd on her forehead by a sacred wreath,
And pass'd in graceful folds her chin beneath
Inspiring awe, but awe unmix'd with fear,
Calm was her cloudless eye: Her brow, so clear From wrinkles, spoke (though pale) a heart which ne'er
Had known the withering touch of guilt or care.
A bowl, around whose brim the poppy reign'd,
In her right hand she bore: Her left sustain'd
A mirror, on whose polish'd breast were shown
A thousand mingled shapes of things unknown,
Where Fancy bade the enraptured thought unite
All that was pure and precious, fair and bright.
Yet what those objects were, in vain mine eyes
I strain'd to know; for still would mists arise,
Which o'er the crystal surface as they play'd
Confounded light with light, and shade with shade.
Yet oh! so beauteous show'd those clouded views,
So bright those doubtful forms and blended hues,
I thought, while gazing on their lines obscure,
All witness'd pomp seem'd mean, all dreams of wealth
seem'd poor!
She waved her hand; the clouds dispersed! —'t is true,
The gaudy sun no dazzling lustre threw
Athwart Heaven's vault; but that clear tranquil gray,
Whose sober hue attends on parting day,
Stole o'er the skies, eye-soothing!-On the dame
With lofty head and port majestic came;
And, as she pass'd, oft cropt some drooping flower,
Whose beauties bloom'd unmark'd in sunless bower,
Till pluck'd by her, then first perceived the eye,
Its form how graceful, and how rich its dye.
As on she moved, Want, Sorrow, Pain, and Care,
Fled from her glance, and sought less sacred air.
Soothed by her voice, inveterate Malice pour'd
His arrows at her feet, and broke his sword.
Deep Slumber bound the Passions' stormy train;
No more did Slander hiss, or hiss'd in vain:
And where that Matron's hallow'd step once trod
Envy herself with flowers oft dress'd the sod.
With awful hope I gazed, while near she drew,
And from her bowl on my parch'd forehead threw
Some opiate drops.-Oh! then how swift my soul
Cast off her burthen! Grateful languor stole
O'er all my frame, and soon my temples round
Sleep with soft hand her wreath of poppies bound.
Yet ere I sank to rest-"Oh! thou," I said,
Pain's readiest balm, and Sorrow's surest aid,
Whose power can every pang and care repel,
Oh! Friend of Misery, deign thy name to tell!"-
I paused. The gracious smile consent reveal'd;
With holiest kiss my wearied eyes she seal'd;
And while her lips inhaled my sighing breath,
Softly she whisper'd-" Friend, my name is Death."
M. G. LEWIS.
THE CONQUEROR.
THERE was a temple, a glorious one,
Of the noble in death the dwelling;
Its gilded dome was bright in the sun,
And its organ tones were swelling.
A varied light through its windows stray'd,
All painted in antique story;
And over its marble pavement play'd,
Like a gem diffusing glory
I saw the lamb on its altar stone,
The banner of love displaying;
And heard in a deep unearthly tone,
Who their hallow'd rites were paying.
There was a city, the home of the free,
Where wisdom and wit were abiding; The boast of the land, the queen of the sea, Where her fleets were gallantly riding.
The great and the good, the fair and the brave,
All, all in that city abounded;
She never had stoop'd to bow as the slave,
Nor by tyrants had been confounded.
Oh! she was a city to liberty dear!
And never had dream'd of danger;
Her wealth was the boast of the far and near, And none to her home was a stranger.
There was a home, like the one above,
A home of many the dearest ;
Where the mother clasp'd in tenderest love,
All that to her heart was nearest.
The sire, and the son, and the daughter fair,
And the youth to whom she was plighted,
In a bower of bliss and beauty, where
A seraph had been delighted.
They were bound in the dearest of earthly ties;
They loved, and in love requited
Had learn'd the bliss of their lot to prize,
Ere the bud of hope was blighted.
There rose on the earth a mighty one,
On a blood-dyed charger mounted;
His arms were bright in the morning sun,
And fame his deeds recounted.
With a great and valorous host he came,
In a whirlwind fury speeding;
With him rode Might, but Want and Flame,
And Ruin and Death succeeding.
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