2.

Rose of the morning, the blushing and bright,
Thou whose whole life is one breath of delight;
Beloved of the maiden, the chosen to bind

Her dark tresses' wealth from the wild summer wind.
Fair tablet, still vowed to the thoughts of the lover,
Whose rich leaves with sweet secrets are written all

over;

Fragrant as blooming-thou lovely rose tree!
The tears of the midnight, why hang they on thee?

3.

Dark cypress I see thee-thou art my reply,

Why the tears of the night on thy comrade trees lie; That laurel it wreathed the red brow of the brave, Yet thy shadow lies black on the warrior's grave. That rose was less bright than the lip which it prest, Yet thy sad branches sweep o'er the maiden's last

rest:

The brave and the lovely alike they are sleeping,
I marvel no more rose and laurel are weeping.

4

Yet sunbeam of heaven thou fall'st on the tomb-
Why pausest thou by such dwelling of doom?
Before thee the grove and the garden are spread,
Why lingerest thou round the place of the dead?

Thou art from another, a lovelier sphere,

Unknown to the sorrows that darken us here.
Thou art as a herald of hope from above :-
Weep mourner no more o'er thy grief and thy love;
Still thy heart in its beating, be glad of such rest,
Though it call from thy bosom its dearest and best.
Weep no more that affection thus loosens its tie,
Weep no more that the loved and the loving must die
Weep no more o'er the cold dust that lies at your

feet,

But gaze on yon starry world-there ye shall meet.

5.

O heart of mine! is there not One dwelling there
To whom thy love clings in its hope and its prayer?
For whose sake thou numberest each hour of the day,
As a link in the fetters that keep me away;

When I think of the glad and the beautiful home,
Which oft in my dreams to my spirit hath come;
That when our last sleep on my eyelids hath prest,
That I may be with thee at home and at rest :
When wanderer no longer on life's weary shore,

I

may kneel at thy feet, and part from thee no more; While death holds such hope forth to soothe and to

save,

Oh sunbeam of heaven thou mayest well light the

grave.

NIGHT AND DEATH.

A SONNET.

Dedicated to S. T. Coleridge, Esq. by his sincere friend, Joseph Blanco White.

MYSTERIOUS night, when the first man but knew

Thee by report, unseen, and heard thy name,

Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,

This glorious canopy of light and blue?

Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came,

And lo! creation widened on his view!

Who could have thought what darkness lay con

cealed

Within thy beams, oh Sun? Or who could find,

Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, That to such endiess orbs thou mad'st us blind? Weak man! Why to shun death, this anxious strife? If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?

THE WANDERINGS OF CAIN.

A FRAGMENT.

By S. T. Coleridge, Esq.

"A LITTLE further, O my father, yet a little further, and we shall come into the open moonlight!" Their road was through a forest of fir-trees; at its entrance the trees stood at distances from each other, and the path was broad, and the moonlight, and the moonlight shadows reposed upon it, and appeared quietly to inhabit that solitude. But soon the path winded and became narrow; the sun at high noon sometimes speckled, but never illumined it, and now it was dark

as a cavern.

66

"It is dark, O my father!" said Enos, but the path under our feet is smooth and soft, and we shall soon come out into the open moonlight. why dost thou groan so deeply ?"

Ah,

"Lead on my child," said Cain, "guide me, little child." And the innocent little child clasped a finger of the hand which had murdered the righteous Abel, and he guided his father. "The fir branches drip upon thee my son."-" Yea, pleasantly, father, for I ran fast and eagerly to bring thee the pitcher and the

с

cake, and my body is not yet cool. How happy the squirrels are that feed on these fir trees! they leap from bough to bough, and the old squirrels play round their young ones in the nest. I clomb a tree yesterday at noon, O my father, that I might play with them, but they leapt away from the branches, even to the slender twigs did they leap, and in a moment I beheld them on another tree. Why, O my father, would they not play with me? Is it because we are not so happy as they? Is it because I groan sometimes even as thou groanest?" Then Cain stopped, and stifling his groans, he sank to the earth, and the child Enos stood in the darkness beside him; and Cain lifted up his voice, and cried bitterly, and said, "The Mighty One that persecuteth me is on this side and on that; he pursueth my soul like the wind, like the sand-blast he passeth through me; he is around me even as the air, O that I might be utterly no more! I desire to die-yea, the things that never had life, neither move they upon the earth-behold they seem precious to mine eyes. O that a man might live without the breath of his nostrils, so I might abide in darkness and blackness, and an empty space! Yea, I would lie down, I would not rise, neither would I stir my limbs till I became as the rock in the den of the lion, on which the young lion resteth his head whilst he sleepeth. For the torrent that roareth far off hath a voice; and the clouds in heaven look terribly on me; the mighty one who is against me speaketh in