All that is left of life's promise is here, Thou, my young idol, in sorrow more dear! But thy murmurs remind me of many away, And though I am glad, love! I cannot be gay !--All has departed that offered like truth, Save thou-only thou,-and the song of my youth! THE VISIONIST. AFTER A PICTURE OF A GIRL, NEWLY AWAKENED, AND IN A MUSING ATTITUDE. SHE has been dreaming!—and her thoughts are, still, On their far journey in the land of dreams! The forms we call-but may not chase at will, That paints all visions in the hues of truth! OH! that the Spirit of thy votive song Go forth where despots sway, and dastards yield, -Oh! for the mystic harp of Kedron's vale, Oh! for a spell-like her's who called the dead, And brought the prophet from his dreamless bed,— To wake the spirit of the martyred brave, And break the slumber of Riego's grave! -Oh! for the warrior-youth of Judah's line, A David to "go up"-with staff and sling, Smite the Goliath of a sceptered Gath! Alas, the lovely land!-where fetters bind Like clouds that form-to melt--in Spanish skies! It comes--it comes !—like a far trumpet-blast, I hear the tumult and the stir, at last! Through the dull distance of a few short years, The gathering-cry is borne to prophet ears, When nations shall go forth, like water poured, To see an Agag hewn before the Lord, And Freedom lift, again, her starry crest, High o'er the new-born Hebron of the West! D |