"Go" said the Lord-"ye conquerers!
Steep in her blood your swords,
And raze to earth her battlements,
For they are not the Lord's!
Till Zion's mournful daughter,
O'er kindred bones shall tread,
And Hinnom's vale of slaughter,
Shall hide but half her dead!"
WERE not the sinful Mary's tears
An off ring worthy Heav'n,
When o'er the faults of former years
She wept-and was forgiven?
When, bringing every balmy sweet
Her day of luxury stor'd,
She o'er her Saviour's hallow'd feet
The precious perfume pour'd,-
And wip'd them with that golden hair,
Where once the diamond shone,
Tho' now those gems of grief were there,
Which shine for God alone!
Thou that hast slept in error's sleep,
Oh! would'st thou wake in Heaven,
Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep,
"Love much," and be forgiven.
TO SIGH, YET FEEL NO PAIN.
To sigh, yet feel no pain,
To weep, yet scarce know why,
To sport an hour with beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by ;
To kneel at many a shrine,
To lay the heart on none,
To think all other charms divine,
But those we just have won;
This is love, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.
To keep one sacred flame,
Through life unchill'd, unmov'd,
To love in wintry age the same,
That first in youth we lov'd;
To feel that we adore,
To such refin'd excess,
That tho' the heart would break with more,
We could not live with less;
This is love, faithful love,
Such as saints might feel above.
THE MAID OF LODI.
I SING the Maid of Lodi,
Sweet soother of my toil;
Peace dwells within her bosom,
And pleasure lights her smile.
Her eyes, of mildest lustre,
A placid mind disclose;
Her cheeks in beauty rival
The blushes of the rose.
When o'er the fading landscape
The shades of twilight steal,
When sea and land are blended
Beneath the dusky veil,
I meet the maid of Lodi,
On yonder vine-cloth'd hill,
Or whisper tales of rapture,
Beside yon sparkling rilł.
Around her humble dwelling
No servile crowds appear;
She but receives the homage
That springs from hearts sincere.
Then sing the maid of Lodi,
Whom native charms adorn,
Bright as the glowing radiance
That gilds the dawn of morn.
THE BEAUTIFUL MAID.-By Dibdin. WHEN absent from her my soul holds most dear,
What medley of passions invade;
In this bosom what anguish, what hope, and what fear,
I endure for my beautiful maid.
In vain 1 seek pleasure to lighten my grief,
Or quit the gay-throng, for the shade;
Nor retirement nor solitude yield me relief,
When away from my beautiful maid.
MY HEART WITH LOVE IS BEATING.
My heart with love is beating,
Transported by your eyes;
Alas; there's no retreating,
In vain a captive flies.
Then why such anger cherish,
Why turn thy eyes away?
For if you bid me perish,
Alas! I must obey.
Could deeds my heart discover,
Could valor gain thy charms,
I'd prove myself a lover,
Against a world in arms.
Proud Fair, thus low before thee,
A prostrate warrior view,
Whose love, delight and glory,
Are center'd all in you.
THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER.
WHY should our joys transform to pain?
Why gentle Hymen's silken chain,
A plague of iron prove!
Bendish, 'tis strange, the charm which binds
Millions of hands should leave their minds,
At such a loose from love.
In vain I sought the wondrous cause,
Rang'd the wide fields of nature's laws,
And urg'd the schools in vain ;
Then deep in thought, within my breast,
My soul retir'd, and slumber dress'd
A bright, instructive scene.
O'er the broad lands, and 'cross the tide,
On fancy's airy horse I ride,
(Sweet raptures of the mind !)
Till on the banks of Ganges flood,
In a tall ancient grove I stood,
For sacred use design'd,
Hard by, a venerable priest,
Risen with his god, the Sun, from rest,
A woke his morning song!
Thrice he conjur'd the murm'ring stream;
The birth of souls was all his theme,
And half divine his tongue.
He sang the eternal rolling flame,
That vital mass, which, still the same,
Does all our minds compose :
But shap'd in twice ten thousand frames,
Thence differing soul's of differing names,
And jarring tempers rose.
The mighty power which form'd the mind,
One mould for every two design'd,
And bless'd the new-born pair;
This be a match for that-(he said)
Then down he sent the souls he made,
To seek them bodies here.
But parting from their warm abode,
They lost their fellows on the road,
And never join'd their hands.
Ah! cruel chance, and crossing fates!
Our Eastern souls have dropp' their mates
On Europe's barb'rous lands.
Happy the youth who finds the Bride,
Whose birth is to his own alli'd,
The sweetest joys of life:
But O the crowds of wretched souls,
Fetter'd to minds of different moulds,
And chain'd to eternal strife!
Thus sang the wondrous Indian bard;
My soul with vast attention heard,
While Ganges ceas'd to flow.
Sure, then, (I cried,) might I but see
That gentle nymph who twinn'd with me,
I may be happy too.
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