Far better, then, to perish,
Thy form within its clasp,

Than live and lose thee, precious one!
From that impassion'd grasp.

Oh! I could pass all relics
Left by the pomps of old,
To gaze on this rude monument
Cast in affection's mould.

Love, human love! what art thou?
Thy print upon the dust
Outlives the cities of renown
Wherein the mighty trust!
Immortal, oh! immortal

Thou art, whose earthly glow
Hath given these ashes holiness-
It must, it must be so!

CHRISTMAS CAROL.

O LOVELY Voices of the sky
That hymn'd the Saviour's birth!
Are ye not singing still on high,
Ye that sang, "Peace on earth?"
To us yet speak the strains
Wherewith, in days gone by,
Ye bless'd the Syrian swains,
O voices of the sky!

O clear and shining light, whose beams
That hour Heaven's glory shed
Around the palms, and o'er the streams,
And on the shepherds' head;

Be near, through life and death
As in that holiest night
Of Hope, and Joy, and Faith,
O clear and shining light!

O star which led to him whose love
Brought down man's ransom free;
Where art thou ?-Midst the hosts above

May we still gaze on thee?

In heaven thou art not set,

Thy rays earth might not dim

Send them to guide us yet,
O star which led to him!

A FATHER READING THE BIBLE

183

A FATHER READING THE BIBLE.*

TWAS early day, and sunlight stream'd
Soft through a quiet room,
That hush'd, but not forsaken seem'd,
Still, but with nought of gloom.
For there, serene in happy age,
Whose hope is from above,
A father communed with the page
Of Heaven's recorded love.

Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright,
On his grey holy hair,

And touch'd the page with tenderest light,
As if its shrine were there!

But oh! that patriarch's aspect shone
With something lovelier far-
A radiance all the spirit's own,
Caught not from sun or star.

Some word of life e'en then had met
His calm, benignant eye;

Some ancient promise, breathing yet
Of Immortality!

Some martyr's prayer, wherein the glow
Of quenchless faith survives.

While every feature said-" I know
That my Redeemer lives ""

And silent stood his children by,
Hushing their very breath,
Before the solemn sanctity

Of thoughts o'ersweeping death.

*This little poem, which, as its Author herself expressed in a let ter to Mrs. Joanna Baillie, was to her "a thing set apart," as being the last of her productions ever read to her beloved mother, was written at the request of a young lady, who thus made known her wish "that Mrs. Hemans would embody in poetry a picture that so warmed a daughter's heart:"

"Upon going into our dear father's sitting-room this morning, my sister and I found him deeply engaged reading his Bible, and being unwilling to interrupt such a holy occupation, we retired to the fur ther end of the apartment, to gaze unobserved upon the serene picture. The bright morning sun was beaming on his venerable silver hair, while his defective sight increased the earnestness with which he perused the blessed book. Our fancy led us to believe that some immortal thought was engaging his mind, for he raised his fine open brow to the light, and we felt we had never loved him more deeply. After an involuntary prayer had passed from our hearts, we whispered to each other, Oh! if Mrs. Hemans could only see our father at this moment, her glowing pen would detain the scene, for even as 'we gaze upon it the bright gleam is vanishing.'"'

"December 9, 1826."

Silent-yet did not each young breast
With love and reverence melt?
Oh! blest be those fair girls, and blest
That home where God is felt!

THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS*

-"His early days

Were with him in his heart."--Wordswarth

THE Voices of two forest boys,

In years when hearts entwine,

Had fill'd with childhood's merry noise
A valley of the Rhine:

To rock and stream that sound was known,
Gladsome as hunter's bugle tone.

The sunny laughter of their eyes,
There had each vineyard seen:
Up every cliff whence eagles rise,
Their bounding step hath been:
Ay! their bright youth a glory threw,
O'er the wild place wherein they grew.
But this, as day-spring's flush was brief
As early bloom or dew;

Alas! 'tis but the wither'd leaf.

That wears the enduring hue:
Those rocks along the Rhine's fair shore,
Might girdle in their world no more.
For now on manhood's verge they stood,
And heard life's thrilling call,
As if a silver clarion woo'd

To some high festival;

And parted as young brothers part,
With love in each unsullied heart.

They parted-soon the paths divide
Wherein our steps were one,
Like river branches, far and wide,
Dissevering as they run;

And making strangers in their course,
Of waves that had the same bright source.

Met they no more ?-once more they met,
Those kindred hearts and true!

"Twas on a field of death, where yet
The battle thunders flew,

Though the fierce day was well nigh past,
And the red sunset smiled its last.

*For the tale on which this little poem is founded, see L'Hermit. en Italia.

THE LAST WISH.

But as the combat closed, they found
For tender thoughts a space,
And e'en upon that bloody ground
Room for one bright embrace,

And pour'd forth on each other's neck
Such tears as warriors need not check.

The mists o'er boyhood's memory spread
All melted with those tears,

The faces of the holy dead

Rose as in vanish'd years;

The Rhine, the Rhine, the ever blest,
Lifted its voice in each full breast!

Oh! was it then a time to die?
that not in vain

It was

The soul of childhood's purity

And peace might turn again:
A ball swept forth-'twas guided well-
Heart unto heart those brothers fell!

Happy, yes, happy thus to go!
Bearing from earth away
Affections, gifted ne'er to know
A shadow, a decay.

A passing touch of change or chill,
A breath of aught whose breath can kill.

And they, between whose sever'd souls,
Once in close union tied,

A gulf is set, a current rolls
For ever to divide ;

Well may they envy such a lot,

Whose hearts yearn on-but mingle not

185

Well may

THE LAST WISH.

I weep to leave this world-thee-all these beautifu woods, and plains, and hills."-Lights and Shadows.

Go to the forest shade,

Seek thou the well known glade,

Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie
Gleaming through moss-tufts deep,
Like dark eyes fill'd with sleep,

And bathed in hues of Summer's midnight sky.
Bring me their buds, to shed
Around my dying bed

A breath of May and of the wood's repose;

For I in sooth, depart

With a reluctant heart,

That fain would linger where the bright sun glows.

Fain would I stay with thee-
Alas! this may not be;

Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours!
Go where the fountain's breast

Catches, in glassy rest,

The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers.
I know how softly bright,
Steep'd in that tender light,

The water-lilies tremble there e'en now;
Go to the pure stream's edge,
And from its whisp'ring sedge

Bring me those flowers to cool my fever'd trow!
Then, as in Hope's young days,
Track thou the antique maze

Of the rich garden to its grassy mound;
There is a lone white rose,
Shedding, in sudden snows,

Its faint leaves o'er the emerald turf around.

Well know'st thou that fair tree-
A murmur of the bee

Dwells ever in the honey'd lime above;
Bring me one pearly flower

Of all its clustering shower

For on that spot we first reveal'd our love.

Gather one woodbine bough,
Then, from the lattice low

Of the bower'd cottage which I bade the mark,
When by the hamlet last,

Through dim wood lanes we pass'd,

While dews were glancing to the glowworm's spark Haste! to my pillow bear

Those fragrant things and fair;

My hand no more may bind them up at eve-
Yet shall their odor soft

One bright dream round me waft

Of life, youth, summer-all that I must leave!
And, oh! if thou would'st ask
Wherefore thy steps I task,

The grove, the stream the hamlet vale to trace-
"Tis that some thought of me,
When I am gone, may be

The spirit bound to each familiar place.

I bid mine image dwell
(Oh! break not thou the spell!)

In the deep wood and by the fountain side:
Thou must not, my beloved!

Rove where we two have roved,

Forgetting her that in her Spring-time died!