Sidebilder
PDF
ePub
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.-JOHN BOWRING.

ted, it has the true elements of genuine poetry—simplicity and fidelity to nature. Upwards of one hundred thousand copies, set to music, were sold in 1832. The publishers made two thousand guineas by it in two years. Payne was a native of the city of New York. In 1809 he appeared there as "Young Norval," at the Park Theatre. In 1813 he went to England, where he became a successful playwright. In 1832 he returned to America, and was appointed United States Consul at Tunis, where he died.

[blocks in formation]

439

Up to thy mysteries; Reason's brightest spark,
Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try
To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark;
And thought is lost ere thought can mount so high,
E'en like past moments in eternity.

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call
First chaos, then existence;-Lord, on thee
Eternity had its foundation; all

Sprang forth from thee,—of light, joy, harmony, Sole origin; all life, all beauty, thine.

Thy word created all, and doth create; Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine. Thou art, and wert, and shalt be! glorious, great, Life-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround,
Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath!
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death.

As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze,
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth, from thee;
And as the spangles in the sunny rays

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry
Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise,

A million torches, lighted by thy hand,

Wander unwearied through the blue abyss; They own thy power, accomplish thy command, All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light, A glorious company of golden streams, Lamps of celestial ether, burning bright,

Suns lighting systems, with their joyous beams? But thou to those art as the noon to night.

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in thee is lost: What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee? And what am I, then? Heaven's unnumbered host, Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed

In all the glory of sublimest thought, Is but an atom in the balance, weighed

Against thy greatness,-is a cipher brought Against infinity!-What am I, then?-Naught!

Naught! But the effluence of thy light divine, Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too: Yes, in my spirit doth thy spirit shine,

As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. Naught! But I live, and on Hope's pinions fly Eager toward thy presence; for in thee

I live, and breathe, and dwell, aspiring high,

Even to the throne of thy divinity.

I am, O God! and surely thou must be!

Thou art directing, guiding all, thou art!
Direct my understanding, then, to thee;
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart;
Though but an atom 'mid immensity,
Still I am something fashioned by thy hand;
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,
On the last verge of mortal being stand,

Close to the realm where angels have their birth,
Just on the boundary of the spirit land!

The chain of being is complete in me;

In me is matter's last gradation lost;

And the next step is spirit-Deity!

I can command the lightning, and am dust! A monarch and a slave; a worm, a god!

Whence came I here, and how? So marvellously Constructed and conceived? Unknown? This clod Lives surely through some higher energy; From out itself alone it could not be!

Creator, yes! thy wisdom and thy word

Created me. Thon source of life and good! Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!

Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude, Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring

O'er the abyss of death, and bade it wear The garments of eternal day, and wing

Its heavenly flight, beyond this little sphere, E'en to its source-to thee-its Author there!

O thought ineffable! O vision blessed!

Though worthless our' conceptions all of thee,
Yet shall thy shadowed image fill our breast,
And waft its homage to thy Deity.
God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar;
Thus seek thy presence, Being wise and good!—
'Mid thy vast works, admire, obey, adore;

And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears its gratitude.

WISDOM AND WEALTH.
FROM THE RUSSIAN OF KHEMNITZER.

I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever,
Witty and wise; he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever

Gave him a welcome. "Strange!" cried he; "whence is it ?"

He walked on this side, then on that,

He tried to introduce a social chat;

Now here, now there, in vain he tried;

Some formally and freezingly replied, And some said, by their silence, "Better stay at home."

A rich man burst the door,

As Cræsus rich; I'm sure

He could not pride himself upon his wit;
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;

He had what some think better-he had wealth.
What a confusion! all stand up erect-
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in honest duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair;
And these conduct him there.

"Allow me, sir, the honor;" then a bow
Down to the earth-is 't possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?

The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said,

"This is indeed beyond my comprehension:"
Then looking round, one friendly face he found,
And said, "Pray tell me why is wealth preferred
To wisdom?" "That's a silly question, friend!”
Replied the other. "Have you never heard,
A man may lend his store
Of gold or silver ore,

But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend ?"

TRUE COURAGE.

Onward! throw all terrors off!
Slight the scorner,-scorn the scoff.
In the race, and not the prize,
Glory's true distinction lies.
Triumph herds with meanest things,-
Common robbers, vilest kings,

'Mid the reckless multitude!
But the generous, but the good,
Stand in modesty alone,
Still serenely struggling on,
Planting peacefully the seeds
Of bright hopes and better deeds.

Mark the slowly-moving plough:
Is its day of victory now?

It defiles the emerald sod,

'Whelms the flowers beneath the clod.

Wait the swiftly-coming hours,—

Fairer green and sweeter flowers,

Richer fruits, will soon appear,

Cornucopias of the year!

SIR JOHN HERSCHEL.-HEW AINSLIE.

441

Sir John Herschel.

Herschel, the celebrated astronomer, was born at Slough, near Windsor, in 1792, and studied at St. John's College, Cambridge. He died at Collingwood, Kent, in 1871, aged seventy-nine. Profoundly versed as he was in the physical sciences, he was master of an elegant English style, and did not utterly neglect poetry. Intellectually, he was symmetrically developed. His expedition to the Cape of Good Hope, and his residence there four years, at his own expense, for a purely scientific object, shows the extent of his devotion to science. On his return, he was covered with honorary distinctions. In reference to the notion that scientific study leads to a doubt of the immortality of the soul, he declares that the effect on every well-constituted mind must be the direct contrary. Of the hexameter stanzas we quote, the first was made in a dream in 1841, and written down immediately on waking.

THROW THYSELF ON THY GOD. Throw thyself on thy God,

Nor mock him with feeble denial;
Sure of his love, and oh!

Sure of his mercy at last;

Bitter and deep though the draught, Yet shun not the cup of thy trial, But in its healing effect,

Smile at its bitterness past.

Pray for that holier cup

While sweet with bitter lies blending,
Tears in the cheerful eye,

Smiles on the sorrowing cheek,
Death expiring in life,

When the long-drawn struggle is ending;
Triumph and joy to the strong,
Strength to the weary and weak.

Hew Ainslie.

Ainslie (1792-1878) was a native of the parish of Dailly, Ayrshire. He was for a time the amanuensis of Dugald Stewart. In 1822, having married, he set sail for New York, tried farming, then had some experience with Robert Owen's community at New Harmony, Ind., then tried the occupation of a brewer, then that of superintending the erection of mills and factories in the Western States. He finally (1827) settled in Louisville, Ky., where, his son getting into prosperous circumstances, the old man

He lived to his eighty-sixth year, and his death was caused by a severe shock from falling.

SIGHINGS FOR THE SEA-SIDE.

At the stent o' my string,

When a fourth of the earth
Lay 'tween me and Scotland-
Dear land o' my birth,-
Wi' the richest of valleys,
And waters as bright

As the sun in midsummer
Illumes wi' his light,-
And surrounded wi' a'
That the heart or the head,
The body or the mou'

O' mortal could need,

I ha'e paused in sic plenty,
And stuck in my track,
As a tug frae my tether
Would mak' me look back,-
Look back to auld hills

In their red heather bloom,
To glens wi' their burnies,

And hillocks o' broom,To some loup in our loch,

Whar the wave gaes to sleep, Or the black craggy headlands That bulwark the deep;Wi' the sea lashing in

Wi' the wind and the tideAy, 'twas then that I sickened, 'Twas then that I cried :

O! gie me a sough o' the auld saut sea, A scent o' his brine again,

To stiffen the wilt that this wilderness Has brought on this breast and brain.

Let me hear his roar on the rocky shore,
His thud on the shelly sand;
For my spirit's bowed, and my heart is dowed,
Wi' the gloom o' this forest land.

Your sweeping floods an' your waving woods
Look brave in the suns o' June;

But the breath o' the swamp brews a sickly damp,
And there's death in the dark lagoon.

was enabled to devote himself to literary pursuits the Ay, gie me the jaup o' the dear auld saut,

rest of his life. His volume of "Scottish Songs, Ballads, and Poems" was published by Redfield, New York, in 1855. Ainslie was a poet from his youth, and in some of his productions exhibits much of the spirit of Burns.

A scent o' his brine again!

To stiffen the wilt that this wilderness

Has laid on this bosom and brain.

« ForrigeFortsett »