« PreviousContinue »
Thou hast fair forms that move
With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
THE DISTANT SHIP.
THE sea-bird's wing, o'er ocean's breast
Shoots like a glancing star,
While the red radiance of the west
Spreads kindling fast and far;
And yet that splendour wins thee not,
Thy still and thoughtful eye
Dwells but on one dark distant spot
Look round thee!--o'er the slumbering deep
A solemn glory broods;
A fire hath touch'd the beacon-steep,
A thousand gorgeous clouds on high
A softening thought of human cares,
Is not yon speck a bark, which bears
The lov'd of many a hearth?
Oh! do not Hope, and Grief, and Fear,
Bright are the floating clouds above,
But we are bound by cords of love
Therefore, amidst this wide array
Of glorious things and fair, My soul is on that bark's lone way, For human hearts are there.
THE BIRDS OF PASSAGE.
BIRDS, joyous birds of the wandering wing! Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring?
"We come from the shores of the green old Nile, From the land where the roses of Sharon smile, From the palms that wave thro' the Indian sky, From the myrrh-trees of glowing Araby.
"We have swept o'er cities in song renown'd-
Silent they lie, with the deserts round!
We have cross'd proud rivers, whose tide hath roll'd
All dark with the warrior-blood of old;
And each worn wing hath regain'd its home,