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Thou hast fair forms that move

With queenly tread;

Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dead.

Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien :-

Rome, Rome! thou art no more

As thou hast been!


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
Of all the main and sky.

Look round thee!--o'er the slumbering deep

A solemn glory broods;

A fire hath touch'd the beacon-steep,
And all the golden woods :

A thousand gorgeous clouds on high
Burn with the amber light ;-
What spell, from that rich pageantry,
Chains down thy gazing sight?

A softening thought of human cares,
A feeling link'd to earth!

Is not yon speck a bark, which bears

The lov'd of many a hearth?

Oh! do not Hope, and Grief, and Fear,
Crowd her frail world even now,
And manhood's prayer and woman's tear,
Follow her venturous prow?

Bright are the floating clouds above,
The glittering seas below;

But we are bound by cords of love
To kindred weal and wo.

Therefore, amidst this wide array

Of glorious things and fair, My soul is on that bark's lone way, For human hearts are there.


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,
Under peasant's roof-tree, or monarch's dome."

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