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That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
Like a swarm of golden bees,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Are each paved with the moon and these.
I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the moon's with a girdle of pearl; The volcanos are dim, and the stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
The mountains its columns be.
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-coloured bow ;,
While the moist earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of earth and water,
And the nursling of the sky;
I change, but I cannot die.
The pavilion of heaven is bare,
Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
SUPPOSED TO BE SPOKEN BY A DYING SON.
Weep not for me, mother! because I must die,
Weep not for me, mother! because death is nigh,
It is but a moment—a pang—and no more—
A struggle—and that to be free;
Oh death has no terror for me.
Weep not for me, mother I the Christian should fling
His frailties and fears to the wind;
Can he leave them for ever behind.
Farewell to thee now—the mist thickens fast;
The cold hand is laid on my breast;
I go to the home of the blest! ,
EXTRACT FROM THE MINSTREL.
Yet such the destiny of all on earth;
O smile, ye heaveis, serene; yc mildews wan,
THE VANITY OF LIFE IMPROVED.
I've seen the lovely garden flowers
In all their beauty glow;
Lay all their glory low.
I've seen the youth in beauty's pride,
And highest health to-day, Before to-morrow's evening tide
A breathless lump of clay.
Then what's our life? a vapour sure;
Away it swiftly flies;
How trifling such a prize!
The hastening day will soon arrive,
When awful death shall come, And close the scene of this vain life
In darkness and the tomb.