Chiding with his rushing tide. Live, Belshazzar! night is waning, Safety with the morning beams! Where is now the boding prophet? Where the terror of his dreams? Crown the goblet! let it circle; Morn is breaking! lo, the summit Brighter, clearer, now it flashes, 'Tis not morning; darkness hovers O'er the firmament afar; Babylon, to death devoted, Lightens with the blaze of war. Arm we then! the blood of Ninus, 'Gainst the Persian, sword to sword! "Yet the bridges! broad Euphrates, Still protects us from the foe!" "God hath struck the mighty river, And its billows cease to flow." A SERENADE. BY EDWARD C. PINCKNEY. Look out upon the stars, my love, Of blending shades and light; Sleep not!—thine image wakes for aye, Within my watching breast: Sleep not!—from her soft sleep should fly, Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay With looks, whose brightness well might ma Of darker nights a day. TO THE PAINTED COLUMBINE. BY JONES VERY. BRIGHT image of the early years When glowed my cheek as red as thou, And life's dark throng of cares and fears Were swift-winged shadows o'er my sunny brow! Thou blushest from the painter's page, Robed in the mimic tints of art; But Nature's hand in youth's green age With fairer hues first traced thee on my heart. The morning's blush, she made it thine, I see the hill's far-gazing head, 36 22 TO THE PAINTED COLUMBINE. I hear the voice of woodland song Break from each bush and well-known tree, And on light pinions borne along, Comes back the laugh from childhood's heart of glee. O'er the dark rock the dashing brook, And, hastening to each flowery nook, Fair child of art! thy charms decay, When my voice mingled with the streamlet's chime; But on my heart thy cheek of bloom There shalt thou live and wake the glee |