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And knew not compassion, but laugh'd at their
pray'r, When they called on their God, or wept loud in
despair ; Till again rose the morn, and all hush'd was the wail, And on cheeks stark and cold the grim darkness was
Then the white heartless demons, with curse and with
frown, Gave the dead to the deep, till the darkness came
down: But the angel who blasteth, unheard and unseen, Bade the tyrants lie low where their victims had
been : And down dropp'd the waves, and stone-still hung
the sail, And black sank the dead, while more pale grew the
Stern angel, how calmly his chosen he slew !
What hand sweeps the stars from the cheek of the
night? Who lifts up the sea in the wrath of his might? Why, down from his glance, shrinks in horror the
shark? Why stumbles o'er mountains the blind foodless
barque? Lo, his lightning speaks out, from the growl of the
gale! And shrieking she sinks—while the darkness turns
THE DYING BOY TO THE SLOE BLOSSOM.
BEFORE thy leaves thou com’st once more,
White blossom of the sloe !
Will then lie low.
A month at least before thy time
Thou com'st, pale flower, to me;
No more to be.
Why here in winter? No storm lowers
O'er Nature's silent shroud !
In beauty bow'd.
Sweet violets, in the budding grove,
Peep where the glad waves run; The wren below, the thrush above, Of bright to-morrow's joy and love
Sing to the sun.
And where the rose-leaf, ever bold,
Hears bees chant hymns to God, The breeze-bow'd palm, moss'd o'er with gold, Smiles on the well in summer cold,
And daisied sod.
But thou, pale blossom, thou art come,
And flowers in winter blow,
And thinks me slow.
For as the rainbow of the dawn
Foretells an eve of tears,
In early years.
Thy leaves will come ! but songful spring
Will see no leaf of mine; Her bells will ring, her bride's maids sing, When my young leaves are withering
Where no suns shine.
O might I breathe morn's dewy breath,
When June's sweet Sabbaths chime !
Before my time.
Even as the blushes of the morn
Vanish, and long ere noon
To die as soon ?
To love my mother and to die
To perish in my bloom !
Into the tomb.
He lived and loved—will sorrow say,
By early sorrow tried ;
He loved and died !
My mother smiles, then turns away,
But turns away to weep:
I soon must sleep.
Oh, love is sorrow! sad it is
To be both tried and true;
They sigh adieu.
But woodbines flaunt when blue bells fade,
Where Don reflects the skies;
Though William dies.
Then panting woods the breeze will feel,
And bowers, as heretofore, Beneath their load of roses reel; But I through woodbined lanes shall steal
No more, no more.
Well, lay me by my brother's side,
Where late we stood and wept ; For I was stricken when he diedI felt the arrow as he sigh'd
His last and slept.