But go abroad, and con my lessons o'er.
The flowers, the rocks, the stars, the clouds, the dews,
Are living with them. Ponder on the laws
That animate, and govern, and sustain ;
And thus remember me, but not with tears.
"Again that thunder! I have had a dream— That vivid flash again!
The scene, the hour, were such as even now
And we did sit as now; one gentle hand
Pressed fondly thus in mine.
This lofty elm, those venerable oaks,
Hung their rich shade below. The laughing brook
Was gurrulous and clear; and as light clouds
Passed o'er the sunshine, shadows swept along
O'er the swayed grass as coolingly as now.
A cloud came up and blackened suddenly—
Like yonder frowning one. O, leave me not !
I told the tale I've just related thee;
And one bright tear stood in thine either eye;
One yellow curl, like this, was on thy neck;
Thy drooping eyelids fell, as now they fall;
Thy soft, transparent cheek was pale and cold;
And thou wert sweetly beautiful, as now!
I held thee to my bosom. Nay, shrink not,
I'm telling thee a dream! My yearning soul
Exhaled itself in one long, frantic kiss!
Thus, even thus, my lips were joined to thine!
A horrid flash (like that!) it blasted not!
And yet I fell. I felt thy fingers press
Upon my eyelids! Lilian! Lilian! Oh !
Great God forgive me !—Lilian! Water!—"
The lightning had not touched him; but he lay,
Low at the feet of the distracted girl,
A livid corse; thus yielding up to her
The highest sacrifice of love-a heart
That could not prove its worth, until it broke !—
And yet that shapeless being had a mind
To pierce the deepest mystery—a heart
That might have won an angel from its sphere!
He walked alone amid a world of love,
Dying for what is wasted; like the wretch,
Stricken with pestilence, who lays him down.
In nature's loveliest bower, where waters play
Almost within his touch. The cooling splash,
Mocking his thirst to madness, still he hears!-
Oh, aggravating torture, thus to die !—
While floods are round, to perish for a drop!
BY THOMAS A. JENCKES.
If no true spirits there were left to guide
The trembling state o'er factions stormy tide,
If no tried steersman seize the rocking helm,
Shun the wild waves that threatening yawn to whelm ;
If from this fount the stream of poison steals
Through all the nation loves, or thinks, or feels ;
Beware, proud Union, though thy power and wealth
May gild the ills that mine thy public health.
Though 'neath thine eagle flag, proud navies ride,
Where winds can waft, or ocean heaves his tide,
Though still thy call the patriot's heart should warm,
Fire the true soul, and nerve the sinewy arm,
Though from each mountain height to ocean wave
Swells the deep anthem of the free and brave;
Yet could these save thee, when the poison's course
Shall taint with death, thy life-blood's inmost source?
So thine own bird, the warrior Eagle, nurst
Where rolls the avalanche, and thunders burst,
Soared from his mountain eyry, free and high,
And thousands watched him wheeling through the sky;
Upward he sprang exulting on its flight,
Then paus'd and fluttered--from his cloudy height
Men saw his fall, and wonder'd as they gaz'd;
No bolt was sped-no blasting lightning blaz'd,
The secret viper curled beneath his wing,
Poison'd the life blood in his heart's warm spring,
Sank the proud bird, once monarch of the skies,
His dying hymn the raven's funeral cries.
Yet fear we not—a bold and Spartan band Rise firm midst them whose contests shake the land,
We trust a power above all rulers' art,
The power that guides to truth the human heart;
And while yon eagle standard floats, and thrills
The heart that's nurtured on our own free hills,
No power but heaven, no victor but the grave,
Can crush that band, omnipotent to save!
SONG OF THE WINDMILL SPIRITS.
HA, ha!--here we are, and the moon has not set;
And the mossy old Windmill is standing here yet.
The harvest is gathered, the summer has gone,
And again we rejoice in the scent of the corn.
Up all,-to the wings now! blow high, or blow low,
Round on the old Windmill once more we will go !
The trees have been leafless, their branches all white,
Since we left it, last autumn, one cold, frosty night,
And went far away from the region of snow,
To see the magnolia and locust-tree blow:
Then, the warm, sunny fields of the south we have trod,
To see the white cotton burst out from its pod;
And then, far away to the bright torrid zone,
Where the orange, and lemon, and citron have blown.
But once more, the season we love has come round,
And here, to enjoy it, again we are found ;
And while the bright moon which now lends us her beam,
Is looking alone on the rock and the stream,
And gently the dews of the midnight distil,
We will have one more ride on the wings of the mill !
Stretch out, then, stretch out, to the end of each wing,—
And send them all round, with a good, hearty swing;
Up and down--up and down-send them merrily round,—
Bear them down on that side, from the sky to the ground:
Now up!-send them up :-on this side let them fly
With a bound from the ground, till they point to the sky-
Now they crack: never mind,—they are used to the strain :
Up with them once more, now down with them again!
How gaily, that morning, we danced on the hill,
When we saw the old Pilgrims here building a mill;
There, at day-break, we stood when they laid the first stone,
And came, every night, till their labor was done.
How often around its old wings we have hung,
And have gambolled and laughed, and have shouted and sung.
Its frame-work all fell, ere a century waned,--
And only the shaft and the millstones remained.
It was built all of wood,
And bravely had stood,
Sound hearted and merry, as long as it could:
And the hardy old men
Of firm, solid stone they would build it again,
With a causeway and draw,
Because they foresaw
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