SOLITUDE!-amidst these ancient oaks, Whose shadows broad sleep on the mossy ground, And breeze-fanned boughs send fortha slumberous sound, Whose rugged trunks the hoary lichen cloaks, Where leaps the squirrel, and the raven croaks- In many a fold fantastic, round and round,— These tree-Laocoons-which the woodman's strokes Shall never make to totter to their fall,— Which time alone shall waste,-how dear art thou To me, who commune with thy calmness now, When peaceful Evening spreads her purple pall, And Contemplation, with her scroll unfurled, Brings sad-sweet thoughts to wean me from the world TIME'S WAVES AVE follows wave towards the waste sea-shore, So day to day succeedeth evermore, Those silent waves on Time's unresting tide; And we are like the ocean-birds, that ride Upon the billows; on their summits hoar One moment now they sit, and seem to soar; The next, into the black abyss they glide:Thus we elated rise, and are deprest Upon the changeful billow of each day, In light and gloom alternate, ne'er at rest, In good nor evil ever at a stay, Yet looking still to find some halcyon nest Of peace, when all Time's waves have passed away. THE ACONITE. LOWER, that foretell'st a Spring thou ne'er shalt see, Yet smilest still upon thy wintry day, Content with thy joy-giving destiny, Nor envying fairer flowers their festal May,— O golden-chaliced Aconite! I'll lay To heart the lesson that thou teachest me; I, too, contented with my times will be, B EAUTY still walketh on the earth and air: Our present sunsets are as rich in gold As ere the Iliad's music was out-rolled; The roses of the Spring are ever fair, 'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair, And the deep sea still foams its music old: So, if we are at all divinely-souled, This beauty will unloose our bonds of care. 'Tis pleasant, when blue skies are o'er us bending Within old starry-gated Poesy, To meet a soul set to no worldly tune, Like thine, sweet Friend! Oh, dearer this to me Than are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon, Or noble music with a golden ending. TO AMERICA. JOR force nor fraud shall sunder us! Oh ye Native to noble sounds, say truth for truth, This universal English, and do stand Its breathing book; live worthy of that grand Far, yet unsevered—children brave and free And rich as Chaucer's speech, and fair as Spenser's dream. |