Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol III, No 13, 1851. Various

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      Angelic harps are in full concert heard,

      And voices chanting from the wood-crown'd hill,

      The deepening dale, or inmost sylvan glade;

      A privilege bestow'd by us, alone,

      On contemplation, or the hallow'd ear

      Of poet, swelling to seraphic strain."

      And art thou, Stanley, of that sacred band?

      Alas, for us too soon! Though rais'd above

      The reach of human pain, above the flight

      Of human joy, yet, with a mingled ray

      Of sadly pleas'd remembrance, must thou feel

      A mother's love, a mother's tender woe;

      Who seeks thee still in many a former scene,

      Seeks thy fair form, thy lovely beaming eyes,

      Thy pleasing converse, by gay lively sense

      Inspir'd – where moral wisdom mildly shone

      Without the toil of art, and virtue glow'd.

      In all her smiles, without forbidding pride.

      But, O thou best of parents! wipe thy tears;

      Or rather to parental Nature pay

      The tears of grateful joy – who for a while

      Lent thee this younger self, this opening bloom

      Of thy enlighten'd mind and gentle worth.

      Believe the muse: the wintry blast of death

      Kills not the buds of virtue; no, they spread.

      Beneath the heavenly beam of brighter suns,

      Through endless ages, into higher powers.

      Thus up the mount, in airy vision rapt,

      I stray, regardless whither; till the sound

      Of a near fall of water every sense

      Wakes from the charm of thought: swift-shrinking back,

      I check my steps, and view the broken scene.

      Smooth to the shelving brink a copious flood

      Rolls fair and placid; where collected all,

      In one impetuous torrent, down the steep

      It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round.

      At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad;

      Then whitening by degrees as prone it falls,

      And from the loud-resounding rocks below

      Dash'd in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft

      A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower

      Nor can the tortur'd wave here find repose:

      But, raging still amid the shaggy rocks,

      Now flashes o'er the scattered fragments, now

      Aslant the hollow'd channel rapid darts;

      And falling fast from gradual slope to slope,

      With wild infracted course, and lessen'd roar,

      It gains a safer bed, and steals at last,

      Along the mazes of the quiet vale.

      Invited from the cliff, to whose dark brow

      He clings, the steep-ascending eagle soars,

      With upward pinions, through the flood of day,

      And, giving full his bosom to the blaze,

      Gains on the sun; while all the tuneful race,

      Smit by afflictive noon, disorder'd droop,

      Deep in the thicket; or, from bower to bower

      Responsive, force an interrupted strain.

      The stockdove only through the forest coos,

      Mournfully hoarse; oft ceasing from his plaint,

      Short interval of weary woe! again

      The sad idea of his murder'd mate,

      Struck from his side by savage fowler's guile

      Across his fancy comes; and then resounds

      A louder song of sorrow through the grove.

      Beside the dewy border let me sit,

      All in the freshness of the humid air:

      There on that hollow'd rock, grotesque and wild,

      An ample chair moss-lin'd, and overhead

      By flowing umbrage shaded; where the bee

      Strays diligent, and with the extracted balm

      Of fragrant woodbine loads his little thigh.

      Now, while I taste the sweetness of the shade,

      While nature lies around deep-lull'd in noon,

      Now come, bold fancy, spread a daring flight,

      And view the wonders of the torrid zone

      Climes unrelenting! with whose rage compar'd,

      Yon blaze is feeble, and yon skies are cool.

      See, how at once the bright-effulgent sun,

      Rising direct, swift chases from the sky

      The short-liv'd twilight; and with ardent blaze

      Looks gayly fierce o'er all the dazzling air:

      He mounts his throne; but kind before him sends,

      Issuing from out the portals of the morn,

      The general breeze to mitigate his fire,

      And breathe refreshment on a fainting СКАЧАТЬ