INVOCATION TO THE EVENING STAR. "Gem of the crimson coloured even, CAMPBELL. O thou! whose holy light is softly streaming What art thou-wondrous star? Parent of many thoughts! that-upward swellingSpurn the thick veil which wrapped them all day long; And round the Spirit's throne—their silent dwelling— What art thou-glorious ray? Whence-and what art thou?-What the secret spell That binds the burning bosom still to thee? Whence are the visions in thy train that dwell— The crowding thoughts that strive for mastery? How art thou linked, in thy distant reign, With human bliss or pain? How art thou blent with all mysterious things- With all the dreams that spread their lightning wings, Why, when thy thrilling beams are nightly trembling Far in the distance of the blue serene, Then crowd the memories of the heart, assembling To tell the soul of all that once hath been? Or bright, or desolate, whate'er they be Why come they still with thee? Why bring'st thou voices that have long been fled? Pine for the past in vain? How is thy speaking ray-thus sad—yet dear? The fiery soul, that finds no kindred here, Pour forth to night and thee its love—and woe? How doomed, the cold and heartless world to flee, Finds it a friend in thee? Strange that it should be thus!—is thine the place Where all the soul's young dreams are garnered in? Its warm first loves, that scarce retained a trace Of human selfishness, or grief, or sin? All-all of bright, of holy, and of pure, That might not here endure? Art thou a part of that mysterious flame That lives and burns within the human breast? Another-a more glorious—yet the same— So-worn with earth-we turn to thee for rest; Turn from the turbid streams of care and strifeTo quaff thy fount of life? Whate'er thou be, whom hallowed dreams surroundHail to thee-hail! Love's own-his guardian star! Thine is the lustre, 'mid the blue profound— Than all the orbs of night more glorious farThine is the power to speak-with thrilling tone;— Unto the heart alone. THE PARTING BETWEEN THE PRINCESS BRIDGET PLANTAGENET, AFTERWARDS ABBESS OF DARTFord, AND HER ROYAL MOTHER. BY MRS. C. GORE. "AND must I leave thee, mother,-leave And who will give that nightly kiss Which lulls me now so well to rest, And charms my sleep with dreams of bliss!" II. "Yes! thou must go, my blessed child; There, heavenly sounds alone are heard; There, heavenly thoughts prevail alone." "But are they worth one gentle word Breathed in mine own sweet mother's tone?" |