Is it that spirits of this nether world
Attracted, subtile, seek thine atmosphere;
When forced, perchance, to leave this mortal coil,—
For none but spirits can inhabit there ?*
I would I could but fly from sun to sun-
Serenely view those worlds that round thee roll;
But mark the myriads of angelic forms,
And search creation wide from pole to pole.
But this is what the angels love to do-
Nor ever cease their search from day to day;
Let me not then presumptuously aspire,
But here prepare my soul, and learn the way.
Go-gentle moon - I'll leave thee for the night,
I'll rest me on my bed and think of thee;
And dream, perhaps, I roam with spirits there,
And quaff the gales of vast eternity.
The force of gravity in the moon is only half that of the earth, consequently the force-retarding motion would be only half.
THERE is a calm - the winds are gone to sleep,
The noble ship sits helpless on the deep;
No signs of coming aid approaches near,
Nor gentle ripples on the expanse appear;
One vast and boundless mirror spreads around,
Nor cloudless skies e'en breathe a whispering
sound.
The gull on sulky wing the surface skims,
Or quiet sits and bathes her languid limbs,—
Nor care besets to seek the finny prey,
But sighs for winds or still more grateful spray.
One fainting deadness steals across the brain
Of all that living breathes the breathless main.
The sailor's anxious ken, with wistful eye,
Sad views the lifeless pendant drooping lie;
And bending watchful o'er the bulwark's side,
Would mark the symptoms of some fav'ring tide.
The ship in trim with every stunsail set,
To catch the slightest breath, if ought to get :
A prayer ascends aloft for gentle gales,
Yet still the sullen calm the same prevails;
Still ling'ring hope hangs out from day to day,
Nor winds arise to speed him on his way.
'Tis when despair o'erwhelms the patient crew,
Nor fainting hearts one cheering sign renew
"Tis then the rippling wave foretells the gale,
And fluttering pendant flies the swelling sail.
'Tis then the ship, delighted with the breeze,
Obeys her helm and proudly cleaves the seas.
'Tis then the sailors shout, "Afore the mast!"
And onward drives the ship to port at last!
And thus, methinks, the Christian feels afraid,
When on his voyage no steady course is made;
When by some sudden calm he faints within,
And drooping lags the soul o'erpowered by sin.
Tho' prayer with fervent heart and wistful eye,
Mounts up on wings towards th' ethereal sky,
And asks some cooling breeze to fan his breast,
Or waft him forward to his wished-for rest;
Yet all in vain as he from day to day
Still prays and hopes, nor speeds him on his way:
'Till when, perhaps in accents of despair,
The troubled waters feel the Spirit there
"Tis then the Christian breathes, new hopes inspire,
And new affections burn with holy fire.
"Tis then the breath of Heaven speeds him on,
Until the Sacred Haven safe is won.
OH! let the day perish wherein I was born,
And let it be darkness and never the morn;
Let God blot it out from the record of time;
Oh! perish for ever that birthday of mine!
Let clouds make it dark-like the shadow of
death,
Let every thing curse it that draws any breath,
May sun never warm it, nor light on it shine
Oh! perish for ever that birthday of mine!
Tell me why I was born- or why did I live?—
Or why did my mother pure nourishment give?
Peace then had been mine in the land of the blest,
Where wicked cease troubling- the weary find
rest;
Where pr soners are free and sheltered from fear, Nor voice of oppression can injure them there, Where the small and the great — the weak and the strong,
The servant and master –
AND where are my friends, my kindred, and all,
Who once were accustomed to come at my call?
Fled, fled, far away, - all my kindness forgot,
To them I'm a stranger and counted as nought;
Yea, my wife too, alas! is induced to depart!
Oh! where is affection, that test of the heart!
Those very dear friends, who were wont to be
Have left me— forsook me - nor dropped me
IDEM GRÆCE REDDITUM.
Φεῦ ! μοῦ φίλοι τε συγγενεῖς πάντες τε
Οἳ ἡδεῶς ἔλθειν πάλαι φιλοῦντο εὖ.
Εφυγον ὅλως! ἔφυγον
Πασῶν τε καλῶν δε χαρίτῶν — δωρῶν ἐμοῦ.
Αλοχος ἔφυγε ἐλπίδος ἀκὴ παιδῶν τε κήρ ̓́Αλοχος ῥὰ πολύδωρος πρὶν ἢ - οὐκ ἐτὶ λαρά ! Φεῦ! πάντ ̓ ἐπιχθόνια· · ῥοπὴ πᾶς ὁ βίος ὤν Εντιμοι οἱ φίλοι ἐμοῦ,— ἔχοντες εὖ
ἕ! δάκρυ οὐ ψεκασάντες ἕν.
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