English

He will not come this year when tulips raise
Their scarlet heads within Aurora's gaze;
Spring will be blighted with a bitter lack,
Nothing on earth can ever bring him back
To my lorn heart that he has vanished from—
He will not come.

Blithe May will bring a pageant for the fields,
Lighting the world, which now Niobe shields,—
But he is buried with a last year's rose
'Neath a hyacinthine sepulchre of snows.
Spring will arrive with all its glad voice dumb.
He will not come …

FOR A CURIOUS CHAMBER-STOVE, IN THE FORM OF AN URN, SO CONTRIVED AS TO MAKE THE FLAME DESCEND, INSTEAD OF RISE, FROM THE FIRE: INVENTED BY DOCTOR FRANKLIN .

Like a Newton sublimely he soar'd
To a Summit before unattained;
New regions of Science explor'd,
And the Palm of Philosophy gain'd.

With a Spark, that he caught from the Skies,
He display'd an unparallel'd wonder:
And we saw, with delight and surprise,

You that of Godlinesse do make mock,
And those that are religious, jeere,
As if they were your laughing stock;
Know that ere long God will appear
To judge this wicked world; and then
They wil be found to be the only men.

Though now you tread them underneath your feete,
And no more reckoning of them make
Then of the dust that's in the street,
The time shall come when God wil take
Them for his richest jewels, and
Prize them, as 'twere the signet on's right hand.

Yea to your shame and wonder He will raise

Upon a drear, white Winter's day,
When snow upon the meadows lay,
And all the memories of May
Were with the roses laid away,
There burst upon the wintry gloom
A fairy flower, all a-bloom,
Whose sweet, soul-scent made glad the hour;
December's sullen heavens smiled,
For there was born of love, a Flower —
The Lily-Spirit of a Child!

A Song

Tune : Hearts of Oak .

When good Queen Elizabeth govern'd the Realm,
And Burleigh's sage Counsels directed the Helm,
In vain Spain and France our Conquests oppos'd;
For Valour conducted what Wisdom propos'd.
Beef and Beer was their Food;
Love and Truth arm'd their Band;
Their Courage was ready —
Steady, Boys, Steady —
To fight and to conquer by Sea and by Land.

But since Tea and Coffee, so much to our Grief,

August is here; within the ivy leaves
The bees make mournful music, and the sea
Is pale with presaged Autumn and wild songs
Wanton upon the waves ... Strange spirits speak
Within the dusk-winds; phantom-hands implore
Sweet Summer back again. The sunshine stands
Reluctantly upon the mountain-top
Smiling farewell to the awaiting waves.
Already evening brings a scent of frost,
And late the white dew lies upon the lawn.
The harvest moon grows pallid in the sky,
And far the stars seem on their sapphire thrones.

See'st thou yon mountain, so immensely high,
Around whose sky-crown'd head raw tempests fly!
How, low'ring darkly, o'er the shadow'd plain,
It hangs, the genuine seat of horror's reign!
Its craggy sides hold, thin, a sterile soil,
Which, promising no harvest, tempts no toil!
No grazing cattle crop subsistence, there,
Nor flow'r-fed breezes feast the hungry air!
No soft meand'ring current glides along,
To court the meadows, with its murm'ring song,
No lofty spires a wand'ring glance invite,

If, on the tow'ring Alps ' amazing height,
Whose cliffy tops our climbing eyes affright,
And, with chill horror, strike the startled sight,
If, there, Celinda , thou had'st chanc'd to be
The piny product of some teeming tree;
Tasteless, of human pity, might'st thou grow,
And, forc'd to bend, when ruffling tempests blow,
Nod, angry, at the plains, that spread, below.
Ev'n pines, and oaks, can bend to stones, and be
More flexible, than thy strong hate, to me!
The greedy ocean, whose insatiate waves

Where go the broken songs? Where go the lives
That flash'd, and pass'd? Where goes the man we love,
If he should die? Where goes the valiant life
That labour'd and was buried and forgot?
— Where go the very days that even now
We grasp and love ... they sink, they fade away, —
And we remain, and wonder, and are dumb.

White heat, the glare of sand, the shouts of men; —
Here at the rail-head are the incomers
Fresh from the sea; and here the inland men
With wagons, carriers, or their naked selves

L — S of Kamba

Seeing the stars and groping in the dust

Love is a lonely mountain tinged with dawn,
Rising unmov'd and dumb among the hills,
Rain-wash'd, and swept by winds that do not wait,
Giant, pathetic, turning to the skies.
Stone eyes that measure distance, while the base
Grapples with granite hands the shrinking plain;
A shatter'd power, fetter'd by itself,
Seeing the stars, but groping in the dust.