The following lines were written to the air No. 4, in the 5th book of Mendelsohn's "Lieder ohne Worte."

Oh, say not, lady, That ought could ever This fond heart sever From love and thee Go, bid the billow Now calm its motion, The restless ocean Rest endlessly!

Should'st thou deceive me,-- All earthly blessing, Not worth possessing,-- Away I'd flee.

And far from home, love-- My lost hopes mourning-- Nor thence returning,-- I'd pray for thee!

And though a stranger To earthly gladness, There is a sadness More glad than mirth,--

The joy of sorrow; The sweetest pleasure, A tear-bought treasure Of heavenly birth!

Though all around me Were darkness veiling, Yet light unfailing In death shall rise!

Though day departeth, Nor cloud nor sorrow Shall dim that morrow In yonder skies!

THE FRIEND.

There is a friend, whose love Is closer than a brother's,-- Tender, endearing,--'tis above E'en fondness like a mother's:-- She may forget her suckling's cry, His ear attends the feeblest sigh.

On Him thy panting breast, By care and anguish riven, Bleeding and torn, hath found its rest, From other refuge driven:-- And earth, with all its joys and fears, Hath ceased to bring or smiles or tears.

Morn's dew-enamell'd flowers, The cloud through azure sweeping, Their brightness owe to sadder hours, Their calm, to storms and weeping.-- That Friend shall thus each tear illume, To forms of glory shape that gloom.

Eve's sapphire cloud hath been Dark as the brow of sorrow; Those dew pearls wreath'd in emerald green, Once wept a coming morrow:-- But glory sprang o'er earth and sky, And all was light and ecstacy.

Yon star upon the brow Of night's grey coronet, Morn's radiant blush, eve's ruddy glow, Had yon bright sun ne'er set, Were hidden still from mortal sight, Lost in impenetrable light.

Then should afflictions come, Dark as the shroud of even, A thousand glories glitter from The burning arch of heaven!

Though earth be wrapt in doubt and gloom, New splendours dawn o'er daylight's tomb.

And who that azure hung With lamps of living fire?

Who, when the hosts of morning sung, First listen'd to their quire?

The Man of Sorrows mercy sent,-- In heav'n the G.o.d!--the Omnipotent!

HE is that friend, whose love Nor life nor death shall sever!

Eternal as yon throne above, Unchanged, endures for ever.

What would'st thou more, frail fabric of the dust; OMNIPOTENCE thy Shield!--thy Refuge!--Trust!

LINES TO A LADY

WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD NEVER SEEN.

What though thy form I ne'er beheld, Yet fancy oft would trace Expression, features, look, with all Their witchery or grace.

What though thy voice were never heard, I felt its melting tone, That came like some mysterious spell, Unbidden and alone!

I saw thee in the winged beam, First-born of morning light; In darkness oft I saw thee still, A vision of the night.

And though unheard, unseen,--thy name The same sweet image brings, And fancy o'er the mimic scene, Her own bright halo flings.

Oh who shall tell the wondrous glimpse Imagination threw, As though past, present, and to come Were open to her view!

As though the hidden sense had now, From earthly dross refin'd, Pierc'd this material and left Mortality behind!

And is not this a ray that breaks, With unquench'd potency, Forth from the Omnipotent,--a light From his omniscient eye?

A spark from that eternal mind, First breath'd into our breast; An image of the Infinite, On finite pow'rs impress'd.

And though debas'd, degraded, dim, From heav'n's own light they shine, Imagination, fancy, thought, Their origin divine!

THE BIRCH

ON THE WORCESTERSHIRE BEACON, GREAT MALVERN.

It stood alone on the green hill side, That fairy birchen tree, Its yellow leaves in the autumn breeze Were flutt'ring heavily.

The early frosts brought those pale leaves down, Ere the storms of winter came; And stripp'd and bare stood my birchen tree, But a wreck to tell its name.

I pa.s.s'd the place when the streams were still, When the earth was chang'd to stone, On the leafless boughs a h.o.a.ry show'r, As a spell of heav'n was thrown.

The glistening sprays by the wind were stirr'd, Like a banner gently furl'd; It seem'd, in its pure and peerless grace, A gift from another world.

And even thus in our inner life, When the early frosts are come, When the greenness has pa.s.s'd from life away, And the music of earth is dumb;

'Tis then that the light and hope of heav'n, O'er the lonely heart are flung, And our spirit knows a holier joy Than that to which erst it clung.

And year by year is the type renew'd, That our wayward hearts may learn, There is peace for the stripp'd and wearied ones, Who in faith to their Father turn.

1841.

ASTROLOGY.

'Tis said that in the burning stars The fate of man is writ: Yet quail not, Christian, at the sign; By LOVE those lamps are lit.

1848.