As lightens the brown Hill to vivid green When juvenescent April's showery Sun Looks on its side, with golden glance, at Noon; So on the gloom of Life's now faded scene Shines the dear image of those days serene, From Memory's consecrated treasures won; The days that rose, ere youth, and years were flown, Soft as the morn of May;--and well I ween If they had clouds, in Time's alembic clear They vanish'd all, and their gay vision glows In brightness unobscur'd; and now they wear A more than pristine sunniness, which throws Those mild reflected lights that soften care, Loss of lov'd Friends, and all the train of Woes.
ON A LOCK OF MISS SARAH SEWARD'S HAIR WHO DIED IN HER TWENTIETH YEAR.
My Angel Sister, tho' thy lovely form Perish'd in Youth's gay morning, yet is mine This precious Ringlet!--still the soft hairs shine, Still glow the nut-brown tints, all bright and warm With sunny gleam!--Alas! each kindred charm Vanish'd long since; deep in the silent shrine Wither'd to shapeless Dust!--and of their grace Memory alone retains the faithful trace.-- Dear Lock, had thy sweet Owner liv'd, ere now Time on her brow had faded thee!--My care Screen'd from the sun and dew thy golden glow; And thus her early beauty dost thou wear, Thou _all_ of that fair Frame my love cou'd save From the resistless ravage of the GRAVE!
From a riv'd Tree, that stands beside the grave Of the Self-slaughter'd, to the misty Moon Calls the complaining Owl in Night's pale noon; And from a hut, far on the hill, to rave Is heard the angry Ban-Dog. With loud wave The rous'd and turbid River surges down, Swoln with the mountain-rains, and dimly shown Appals the Sense.--Yet see! from yonder cave, Her shelter in the recent, stormy showers, With anxious brow, a fond expecting Maid Steals towards the flood!--Alas!--for now appears Her Lover's vacant boat!--the broken oars Roll down the tide!--What images invade! Aghast she stands, the Statue of her fears!
ON CATANIA AND SYRACUSE SWALLOWED UP BY EARTHQUAKE.
Here, from laborious Art, proud TOWNS, ye rose! Here, in an instant, sunk!--nor ought remains Of all ye were!--on the wide, lonely plains Not e'en a stone, that might these words disclose, “Here stood CATANIA;”--or whose surface shows That this was SYRACUSE:--but louring reigns A trackless DESOLATION.--Dim Domains! Pale, mournful Strand! how oft, with anxious throes, Seek I sad relics, which no spot supplies!-- A SILENCE--a fix'd HORROR sears my soul, Arrests my foot!--Dread DOOM of human crimes, What art thou?--Ye o'erwhelmed Cities, rise! That your terrific skeletons may scowl Portentous warning to succeeding Times!