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POWER OF MUSIC.
They're superstitious, but religious still.
Round the dark windows clasping ivy clings, Twines round the porch, and in the sea-breeze swings; Its green leaves rustle :-heavy winds arise; The low cells echo, and the dark hall sighs. Now Fancy sees the ideal canvass stretched, And o'er the lines, that Truth has dimly sketched, Dashes with hurried hand the shapes that fly Hurtled along before her frenzied eye. The scudding cloud, that drives along the coast, Becomes the drapery of a warrior's ghost, Who sails serenely in his gloomy pall, O'er Morven's woods and Tura’s mouldering wall, To join the feast of shells, in Odin's misty hall. Is that some demon's shriek, so loud and shrill, Whose flapping robes sweep o'er the stormy hill ? No:—'tis the mountain blast, that nightly rages Around those walls, gray with the moss of ages. Is that a lamp sepulchral, whose pale light Shines in yon vault, before a spectre white ?
POWER OF MUSIC.
No:--'tis a glow-worm, burning greenly there,
Yes!—'tis some Spirit that those skies deforms,
BY WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.
METHINKS, when on the languid eye
Lify's autumn scenes grow dim; When evening shadows veil the sky,
And Pleasure's syren hymn Grows fainter on the tuneless ear, Like echoes from another sphere,
Or dream of Seraphim, It were not sad, to cast away This dull and cumbrous load of clay.
It were not sad, to feel the heart
Grow passionless and cold; To feel those longings to depart,
That cheered the good of old;
To clasp the faith which looks on high,
And makes the curtain fold
It were not lonely thus to lie
On that triumphant bed,
By white-winged seraphs led :
In peerless lustre shed;
And though the way to such a goal
Lies through the clouded tomb,
There rests no stains of gloom,
Up to its final home!
TO THE SHIP OF THE LINE
BY WILLIAM B. TAPPAN.
“ LEAP forth to the careering seas,"
Oh, ship of lofty name !
The stars and stripes of fame!
Where vaunting navies ride!
Her honor and her pride!
With thee and us to-day ;-
No traitor utters nay!
Thy glorious ribs of oak, Alive with men who cannot bow 'To kings, nor kiss the yoke!
Speed lightnings o'er the Carib Sea,
Which deeds of hell deform; And look! her hands are spread to thee
Where Afric's robbers swarm. Go! lie upon the Ægean's breast,
Where sparkle emerald isles