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To soar to upper regions bright,
Hold! hold! my wandering, maddening
October 18. A cloudy day, the woods I ranged
To chase in vain the form I see: All nature, like my heart, was changed —
An Autumn change to her and me! Unconscious to the spring I strayed, Where late we roved; there stood the
oak, There gushed the waters in its shade,
Then into sighs my feelings broke. Not tears - I cannot shed a tear; (now:
Those rain-drops shower no longer The passion-fire within my heart [flow.
Has dried their fount - they cannot Winds, clouds, and drizzling mists ca
Wildly along the autumn sky: [reered All dismal as myself appeared,
And lent my heart sad sympathy.
And loosened leaves whirled swarming
How kindly Nature deals to leaves their doom, And lends their suuset bright apparrelling! They burn, they glow, and every breeze's wing Faps them to faines which seemiugly con
sume: Brilliant with hues, they drop into the tomb, Out-blooming all the blossoms of their spring. Oh! thus, fair maiden! wben the Terror-King Shail come to change thy glory into gloom, Thus may be time, in thy calm hour of even, Thy features lighted with a sunset glow Caught from the opening realms of souls for
given From those best rays that glad the heart
below, Past virtue, present peace and coming Heaven, More bright than all the roses on them now!
END OF JOURNAL.
Not all -- not all; one speck of blue Shoots through my clouds the heavenly
hue: The gentian flower, whose azure clear Completes the garland of the year; Which ends with blue as it began, (man. To mark whence dropped the wreath to Sweetly its petals tighily rolled, Untwist their fringes to ihe cold, In lonely beauty ; save the bloom That lights the sick leaves to the tomb : And widely round me, as I gazed, The final contlagration blazed! [o'er, Poor leaves! thus scarred and crimsoned They seem all butchered in their gore : Siabbed by the frost, and left for dead, With Murder's mark of bloody red. What tints! -- the sumach bush is seen Vermillion-tipped, with base of green; And wheru each leaf o'erlaps its fellow, The hidden edge is gilt with yellow; While crimson vines the cedars screen, And starry gum-leaves tease the eyes With purple, pink, and creamy dyes; With livid spots bespattered, these, As if devoured by strange disease But monarch of the glowing trees, The maple rules the dazzling hour, Upsoaring like a blazing tower; All patched with hues, all pied and
freaked, With scarlet, gold, and damask streaked. And when the chill wind rushing came, The forests heaved with billowy flame,
Long years my heart the ache endured,
As fades a bloomy cloud at eve,
She fell ! in distant land she lies, Denied the bliss of dying eyes,
To shed their last fond lingering rays
won, Deceitful as the evening sun, Who tints the clouds that round him
press, With an unstable loveliness : A moment glads them with his light, Then gives them up to misty night. Each rose is girt with thousand thorns, Each favor by a thousand scorns; And where one sunny smile appears, There gush a thousand sighs and tears. Woman, farewell! thy dangerous smile No more my sore heart shall beguile: Now safer pleasure do I find, To meet the young of thy dear kind : Green buds before their charms are blown With thorns too soft to wound, or slay; As with young leopards one would play, Before their dangerous fangs are grown. Sweet, gentle pets! I love to see Your tricks, to place you on my knee; To watch your eyes, whose morning rays Though bright, yet burn not with their blaze:
(tips, And cheeks, whose peach the bloom just Not yet too tempting for the lips : And lips, whose cheaply-granted kiss Declares unripe their precious bliss : And shouting laugh, unquelled by guile To the still venom of the smile : As is the snake of warning sound Less fell than silent adder found. 'Tis sweet to see the fledglings try Their feeble wings before they ily: 'T is sweet to search the well of eyes, To find where truth of beauty lies : To watch within her armory fair, How darts are forged and polished there : To mark beginners learn to wield Of beams the sword, of lids the shield; And feel them, harmless as they be, Thus try their ''prentice hand' on me, Before their graduated charms Make war on hearts with practised arms. Thus gazing, I fall musing too, On coming harms they're doomed to do; The groans, the tears, the wounds, the
smarts, The bleeding and the broken hearts; Rejoicing in my safety here, Though purchased at a price most dear. When tired of harmless joys like these, I've hidden stores among the trees; And in the wild-wood ever find Fresh beauties to delight the mind. Dear Nature! truest love to me, When shunned by all, I fly to thee; By every winning grace adorned, Thee can I love, and be unscorned : To thy true lover constant still, Thy charms ne'er wound the heart they
The only love of all the rest
And queenly on a rainbow hill
Behold me with you still !!
To heal the ills that wear the breast,
He'll find, whate'er his suffering,
And health in every spring!
Dear Reader ! if my tedious song
And I, thy carthly teacher,
Would blush thy powers to see : Thou art to me the parent now,
And I a child to thee!
Thy brain so uninstructed,
While in this lowly state, Now threads the mazy track of spheres,
Or reads the book of fate.
Now range the realnis of space: Look down upon the rolling stars,
Look up to God's own face !
Yet in life's steady noon confessed
And, after trial's heavy toll,
The idol of a woman's soul !
Thy little hand, so helpless,
That scarce its toys could hold, Now clasps its mate in holy prayer,
Or strikes a harp of gold.
Thy feeble feet, unsteady,
That tottered as they trod, With angels walk the heavenly ways,
Or stand before their God.
Nor is thy tongue less skilful;
Before the throne divine 'T is pleading for a mother's weal,
As once she prayed for thine!
'T is never sent in vain : The heavenly surgeon maims, to save
He gives no useless pain.
Our God, to call us homeward,
His only Son sent down; And now, still more to tempt us there,
Has taken up our own.
Thou bright and star-like spirit !
That in my visions wild I see mid heaven's seraphic host,
Oh! canst thou be my child ?
My grief is quenched in wonder,
And pride arrests my sighs : A branch from this unworthy stock,
Now blossoms in the skies!
Our hopes of thee were lofty
But have we cause to grieve? Oh! could our proudest, fondest wish
A nobler fate conceive?
Fair reader ! for thy gentle eyes,
The little weeper, tearless
The sinner snatched from sin, The babe to more than manhood grown,
Ere childhood did begin!
For beauty is a travelling grace,
With one wide-blazing glow of light,
The sun peeps like a cherub over Greenwich Hill; the buds are bursting from their husks in Saint James' Park; and the swallow repairs its nest under the eaves of the old Abbey:
'Furor jam cæli æquinoctialis
It is well there are odes ready made to the Spring : I should have otherwise begun this letter with an invocation to the Muses. Our rural tastes revive with this season as naturally as the vegetation. We leave the town instinctively, as the bees their hive England has a full compensation for the damps and vapors of winter, in the length and beauty of her summer's days. In July Aurora opens her eye-lids at three, and Apollo unyokes his steeds not sooner than ten of an evening. Day and Night, too, meet each other with gentle and courteous approaches, and not with blunt, unceremonious obtrusion, as in our unmannerly Pennsylvania. At six, I stood upon the Westminster Bridge, looking out upon the misty wilderness of houses, and the steeples and towers peering over the smoke of the dim city. It is a low, squat-looking town, Westminster, but prettily relieved by the winding Thames, and palace gardens, the Abbey, Houses of Lords and Commons, and in the distant prospect are old Sommerset, the Tower, Monument, Bank, and Gresham's Palace, where meet the antipodes on 'Change. Hindostan,
And thy silvery soil, Peru,
The river, too, is scanned by broad, uncovered bridges, alive with
their pigmy multitudes, and covered with all sorts of craft, more than twelve thousand at a look; frigates, barges, scullers, skiffs, the grave East-India-man, moving with solemn gravity toward the dock, and the gilded wherry scudding along, beautiful as Cleopatra's; the air love-sick with clustered ladies and their cavaliers; and a pitchy cloud of coal-boats, with swarms of smutty coal-heavers and sailors, float with the lubberly stream, knocking against each other, or warp inward with the east wind; and steamers at the wharf-side lie fizzing, or puffing, and blustering set out upon their voyages; or afar off, streak the heavens with their smoke. • Boa-sa ? Boa-så ? croaked a dozen of watermen, as I slipped from the bridge, hoarse as the ravens of the Mahonoy, and with a brevity worthy of Negro Hill, recommending their boats. But I had allowed myself a wider charter, and pursued my journey on foot to the south
I passed Vauxhall in its morning deshabille, smelling of the night's debauch, and bowed respectfully to the reverend Lambeth, the dwelling of the Archbishop; its Gothic confusion of battlements; its thirteen acres of exquisite gardens; its lawn, covered with the soft emerald green of the new spring, and venerable trees that overshade the palace to its roofs; with its parish church, St. Mary's. I saw here in the cemetery the grave of a woman once notoriously celebrated through the world, the Countess de la Motte. The Saxon kings had a mansion here, and the great Hardicanute died in it in 1042; a merry death, amid the jollity of a wedding dinner. The king's sister, the Countess Goda, lived on the very site of the present palace; and here Toni, a noble dame, led Gytha, Clapa’s beauteous daughter, to the altar; and here stands, facing the Thames on the southwest corner, a silent monument of human folly and cruelty; the Lollard's Tower, the prison-house of the followers of Wickliffe. Among the existing relics are staples and rings in the wall, to which the victims were chained, before being brought to the stake. One beautiful niche you see, between the windows in the third story, used to contain a statue of Saint Thomas à Becket. What has become of it? In the garden, Cardinal Pole planted with his own Catholic hands two fig-trees, which are celebrated all over the country for the fine white and delicious fruit they furnish to his heretical descendants. They are above fifty feet high, and cover a surface of forty feet in diameter. In the great Gothic wall, which is ninety-three feet by thirty-eight, and fifty high, and carved with a profusion of images, there is a mitre between four negroes' heads; and the crest of the Archbishop is the head of a negro crowned. What is the reason ecclesiastical and also ladies' arms of now-a-days have no crests ? Among the distinguished tenants of this palace, you must not forget Archbishop Cranmer. Here he confirmed, and after three years annulled, the marriage of Anna Boleyn with Henry. Do you wish to see an abridged list of his household ? A steward, treasurer, comptroller, garnators, clerk of the kitchen, caterer, clerk of the spicery, yeoman of the ewry, bakers, pantlers, yeoman of the horse, yeoman ushers, butlers of wine and ale, larders, squilleries, ushers of the hall, porters, sewers, cup-bearer, grooms of the chamber, marshal, groom ushers, almoner, cooks, chandler, butchers, master of the horse, yeo