« PreviousContinue »
Or triumphal chant,
But an empty vaunt-
What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain ?
What shapes of sky or plain ?
With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be ;
Never came near thee:
Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Than we mortals dream,
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
With some pain is fraught;
Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear;
Not to shed a tear,
ALICE RAY.-MRS. SARAH J. IIALE
The birds their love-notes warble
Among the blossomed trees;
To wooing honeybees ;
Goes dancing on its way—
As happy Alice Ray.
An only child was Alice,
And, like the blest above,
An atmosphere of love;
Like dew her mother's kiss;
Like heaven, the place of bliss.
The joyous child had sprung, Like one bright flower, in wild-wood bower,
And gladness round her flung;
And turned again to pray,
The happy Alice Ray.
Was not from Venus caught;
From majesty of thought:
Her hair without a curl-
Her teeth as pure as pearl.
Her sweet, clear voice was heard,
Like carol of a bird :
As at some mirthful lay,
T is that dear Alice Ray.”
And so she came, like sunbeams
That bring the April greenAs type of nature's royalty,
They called her "Woodburn's queen!” A sweet, heart-lifting cheerfulness,
Like springtime of the year, Seemed ever on her steps to wait
No wonder she was dear.
Her world was ever joyous
She thought of grief and pain As giants of the olden time,
That ne'er would come again; The seasons all had charms for her,
She welcomed each with joyThe charm that in her spirit lived
No changes could destroy.
Her love made all things lovely,
For in the heart must live
We gain by what we give.
Then Shakspeare rose!-
His daring hand he flings,
And lo! a new creation glows!-There clustering round, submissive to his will, Fate's vassal train his high commands fulfil.
Madness, with his frightful scream,
Hatred, blasting with a glance,
Remorse, that weeps, and Rage, that roars, And Jealousy, that dotes, but dooms, and murders, yet adores.
Mirth, his face with sunbeams lit,
Arm-in-arm with fresh-eyed Wit,
From the feudal tower pale Terror rushing,
Where the prophet bird's wail
Dies along the dull gale,
Despair, that haunts the gurgling stream,
Then broken-hearted sinks to rest,
Young Love, with eye of tender gloom,
Where his plighted victims lie,
Where they met, but met to die :-
Through the dewy arbor peeping,
To youth's devoted tale is listening,
Rapture on her dark lash glistening, While fairies leave their cowslip cells, and guard the happy spot.
Thus rise the phantom throng,
Obedient to their master's song,
For other worlds war's great one sighed in vain-
With pictured folly gazing fools to shame,
CORIOLANUS AND VOLUMNIA.-SHAKSPEARE.
The Tent of Coriolanus.
Only their ends
This last old man,
Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading
young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants. My wife comes foremost; then the honor'd mould Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand The grand-child to her blood. But, out, affection ! All bond and privilege of nature break ! Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate.What is that curt'sy worth ? or those doves' eyes, Which can make gods forsworn ?-I melt, and am not Of stronger earth than others.—My mother bows; As if Olympus to a molehill should In supplication nod: and my young boy Hath an aspéct of intercession, which Great nature cries, Deny not.-Let the Volces Plough Rome, and harrow Italy: I'll never Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand, As if a man were author of himself, And knew no other kin. Vir.
My lord and husband ! Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.
Vir. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd,
Like a dull actor now,
O, stand up bless'd !
What is this?
Thou art my warrior; I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?
Cor. The noble sister of Publicola,