3. "Twas the bow of Omnipotence, bent in his hand, Whose grasp at creation the universe spann'd; 'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime, His vow from the flood to the exile of time;Not dreadful, as when in a whirlwind he pleads, When storms are his chariot, and lightning his steeds,The black cloud of vengeance his banner unfurl'd, And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world,In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire, And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire, And the sword and the plague-spot with death strew the plain And vultures and wolves are the graves of the slain :
4. Not such was that rainbow, that beautiful one! Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone-the sun; A pavilion it seem'd with a deity graced,
And justice and mercy met there and embraced. Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom, Like love o'er a death-couch, or hope o'er the tomb; Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired. As love has just vanished, or hope had expired.
5. I gazed not alone on that source of my song; To all who beheld it these verses belong; Its presence to all was the path of the Lord! Each full heart expanded, grew warm and adored. Like a visit the converse of friends-or a day, That bow from my sight pass'd forever away; Like that visit, that converse, that day, to my heart, That bow from remembrance can never depart. 'Tis a picture in mem'ry, distinctly defined, With the strong and imperishing colors of mind:- A part of my being beyond my control, Ron that cloud, and transcribed on my soul.
The last Days of Autumn.
1. Now the growing year is over, And the shepherd's tinkling bell, Faintly from its winter cover,
Rings a low farewell:
Now the birds of Autumn, shiver Where the withered beach-leaves quiver, O'er the dark and lazy river,
2. Now the mist is on the mountain, Redd'ning in the rising sun;
Now the flowers around the fountains Perish one by one:
Not a spire of grass is growing; But the leaves that late were glowing, Now its blighted green are strowing With a mantle dun.
3. Now the torrent brook is stealing Faintly down the furrowed glade- Not as when in winter pealing, Such a din it made,
That the sound of cataracts falling Gave no echo so appalling, As its hoarse and heavy brawling In the pine's black shade.
4. Darkly blue the mist is hovering Round the clifted rock's bare height All the bordering mountains covering With a dim uncertain light:
Now, a fresher wind prevailing, Wide its heavy burden sailing, Deepens as the day is failing, Fast the gloom of night. .
5. Slow the blood-stained moon is rising Through the still and hazy air, Like a sheeted specter gliding In a torch's glare:
Few the hours her light is given- Mingling clouds of tempest driven O'er the mourning face of heaven, All is blackness there."
SECTION III.
An Evening sketch.
'Tis twilight now? The sovereign sun behind his western hills In glory hath declined. The mighty clouds Kissed by his warm effulgence, hang around In all their congregated hues of pride, Like pillars of some tabernacle grand, Worthy his glowing presence; while the sky Illumin'd to its center, glows intense, Changing his sapphire majesty to gold.
2. How deep is the tranquillity! the trees Are slumbering through their multitude of boughs, Even to the leaflet on the frailest twig!
A twilight gloom pervades the distant hills; An azure softness mingling with the sky. Then drags the fishman to the yellow shore His laden nets; and, in the sheltering cove, Behind yon rocky point, his shallop moors, To tempt again the perilous deep at dawn.
3. The sea is waveless, as a lake ingulf'd 'Mid sheltering hills,-without a ripple spreads Its bosom, silent and immense,-the hues Of flickering day have from its surface died, Leaving it garb'd in sunless majesty.
With bosoming branches round, yon village hangs Its rows of lofty elm trees; silently,
Towering in spiral wreaths to the soft sky,
The smoke from many a cheerful hearth ascends, Melting in ether.
The evening star illumines the blue south, Twinkling in loveliness. O! holy star, Thou bright dispenser of the twilight dews,- Thou herald of Night's glowing galaxy, And harbinger of social bliss!—how oft, Amid the twilights of departed years, Resting beside the river's mirror clear, On trunk of massy oak, with eyes upturn'd To thee in admiration, have I sat,
Dreaming sweet dreams till earth-born turbulence Was all forgot; and thinking that in thee, Far from the rudeness of this jarring world, There might be realms of quiet happiness!
SECTION IV.
Niagara Falls.
1. TREMENDOUS torrent! for an instant hush The terrors of thy voice, and cast aside Those wide-involving shadows, that my eyes May see the fearful beauty of thy face- I am not all unworthy of thy sight; For, from my very boyhood, have I loved-- Shunning the meaner track of common minds- To look on nature in her loftier moods.
2. At the fierce rushing of the hurricaneAt the near bursting of the thunderbolt
I have been touched with joy; and, when the sea,- Lashed by the wind, hath rocked my bark, and showed Its yawning caves beneath me, I have loved
Its dangers and the wrath of elements. But never yet the madness of the sea
Hath moved me, as thy grandeur moves me now 3. Thou flowest on in quiet, till thy waves Grow broken 'midst the rocks; thy current then Shoots onward, like the irresistible course Of destiny. Ah! terrible thy rage!
The hoarse and rapid whirlpools there! My brain Grows wild, my senses wander, as I gaze Upon the hurrying waters; and my sight Vainly would follow, as toward the verge Sweeps the wide torrent-waves innumerable Meet there and madden-waves innumerable Urge on and overtake the waves before, And disappear in thunder and in foam.
4. They reach-they leap the barrier: the abyss Swallows, insatiable, the sinking waves.
A thousand rainbows arch them, and the woods Are deafened with the roar. The violent shock Shatters to vapor the descending sheets; A cloudy whirlwind fills the gulf, and heaves The mighty pyramid of circling mist To heaven. The solitary hunter, near, Pauses with terror in the forest shades.
5. God of all truth! in other lands I've seen Lying philosophers, blaspheming men, Questioners of thy mysteries, that draw Their fellows deep into impiety;
And therefore doth my spirit seek thy face In earth's majestic solitudes. Even here My heart doth open all itself to thee.
In this immensity of loneliness
I feel thy hand upon me.
The eternal thunder of the cataract brings
Thy voice, and I am humbled as I hear.
6. Dread torrent! that with wonder and with fear
Dost overwhelm the soul of him that looks
Upon thee, and dost bear it from itself,
Whence hast thou thy beginning? Who supplies Age after age, thy unexhausted springs?
What power hath ordered, that, when all thy weight Descends into the deep, the swollen waves Rise not, and roll to overwhelm the earth?
7. The Lord hath opened his omnipotent hand, Covered thy face with clouds, and given his voice To thy down-rushing waters; he hath girt Thy terrible forehead with his radiant bow. I see thy never-resting waters run, And I bethink me how the tide of time Sweeps to eternity. So pass off man--
Pass-like a noon-day dream-the blossoming days, And he awakes to sorrow.
8. Hear, dread Niagara! my latest voice. Yet a few years, and the cold earth shall close Over the bones of him who sings thee now
Thus feelingly. Would that this, my humble verse, Might be, like thee, immortal. Í, meanwhile, Cheerfully passing to the appointed rest, Might rise my radiant forehead in the clouds To listen to the echoes of my fame.
1. ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
2. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
3. By torch and trumpet fast array'd, Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neigh'd, To join the dreadful revelry.
4. Then shook the hills with thunder riven. Then rush'd the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flash'd the red artillery.
5. And redder yet those fires shall glow, On Linden's hills of blood-stained snow, And darker yet shall be the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
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