« ElőzőTovább »
This goblet, wrought with curious art,
Are running all to waste.
And as it mantling passes round,
And give a bitter taste.
Above the lowly plants it towers-
Lost vision to restore.
It gave new strength and fearless mood;
A wreath of fennel wore.
Then in Life's Goblet freely press
New light and strength they give.
And he who has not learn'd to know
He has not learn'd to live.
The prayer of Ajax was for light;
To see his foeman's face.
Let our unceasing, earnest prayer
O suffering, sad humanity!
Patient, though sorely tried !
Then sleep we side by side!
THE DYING CHILD.
The following touching poem is extracted from a volume entitled The Village Paupers, by a Suffolk poet-Mr. FULCHER, of Sudburywhich was characterised by the Times as “containing passages worthy of Crabbe's happiest efforts.” It will be familiar to most of our readers, having appeared in Bernard Barton's Remains, and in many of our serials. We regret to record Mr. FULCHER's recent and sudden decease.
COME closer, closer, dear mamma,
My heart is fill'd with fears,
But cannot see your tears.
I feel your warm breath on my lips,
That are so icy cold;
Give me your hand to hold.
6. How doth the busy bee,”
When sitting on your knee.
Nor can I recollect my prayers ;
know That the great God will angry be
If I forget them too.
Oh will he not be vext?
What is it that comes next ? “Hush darling! you are going to
The bright and blessed sky,
To live with him on high.”.
As tenderly as you ?
Come and live with me too ?
must first lay me to sleep,
And sha'nt I feel afraid ?
And say my pretty prayer
And see that no one's there?
That they your grave shall make
Close to you when I wake ?
Your watch beside me keep;
Now lay me down to sleep :-
Dear, dear mamma, good-bye :
Be with me when I die!
THE GIRL OF DUNBWY.
Another of the musical ballads of Thomas Davis, the Irish poet, of whom a critic has truly said, that "the author unites within himself the combined qualities of Pindar, Sappho, and Alcæus, and engrafts the luxuriant fancy of the Persian poets on the wild vigour of the Scandinavian scald.”
'Tis pretty to see the girl of Dunbwy
Poor is her diet, and hardly she lies--
Her brow 'neath her raven hair gleams, just as if
But, pale as her cheek is, there's fruit on her lip,
I saw her but once, and I look'd in her eye,
I never can think upon Bantry's bright hills,
TO A SEAGULL.
By GERALD GRIFFIN, better known as the author of The Collegians, and other popular novels. White bird of the tempest! oh beautiful thing, With the bosom of snow, and the motionless wing, Now sweeping the billow, now floating on high, Now bathing thy plumes in the light of the sky; Now poising o'er ocean thy delicate form, Now breasting the surge with thy bosom so warm; Now darting aloft, with a heavenly scorn, Now shooting along, like a ray of the morn, Now lost in the folds of the cloud-curtained dome, Now floating abroad like a flake of the foam, Now silently poised o'er the war of the main, Like the spirit of charity brooding o'er pain; Now gliding with pinion, all silently furled, Like an angel descending to comfort the world ! Thou seem'st to my spirit, as upward I gaze, And see thee, now clothed in mellowest rays ; Now lost in the storm-driven vapours that fly, Like hosts that are routed across the broad sky! Like a pure spirit true to its virtue and faith, Mid the tempests of nature, of passion, and death!
Rise! beautiful emblem of purity, rise !