« AnteriorContinua »
If one were gay, through both their hearts
The tide of rapture rushed;
If one were sad, the voice of joy
In both their hearts was hushed; Yea, all their hearts and sympathies From the same fountain gushed. They had no separate interests, Affecting one alone,
To them distrust and selfishness
Were utterly unknown,
Their hearts were two sweet instruments
I saw them first one summer's day,
And then in childish waywardness
And round and round the garden chased
Oh! what a happy shout they raised
And then they talked of future days,
Until another butterfly
Recalled them to the chase.
At length they set them down to rest
And sadness settled like a cloud
And they looked in each others face and said, 'Poor children in the wood.'
They were happy all the summer day,
When they knelt to say their evening prayers
And the father and mother kissed their babes,
The morrow I was far away,
How those sweet creatures would be changed
And I thought about their sweet good night, Till my heart was moved to tears.
Now the golden morn aloft
Waves her dew bespangled wing With vermeil cheek, and whisper soft, She woos the tardy spring; Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance of the ground, And lightly o'er the living scene Scatters her freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; Mute was the music of the air, The herd stood drooping by ; Their raptures now, that wildly flow, No yesterday nor morrow know; 'Tis man alone, that joy descries With forward and reverted eyes.
Smiles on past misfortune's brow,
While hope prolongs our happier hour;
Still, where rosy pleasure leads,
See the wretch that long has toss'd
HYMN OF THE TURKISH CHILDREN.
[A recent traveller in Turkey describes an interesting ceremony witnessed by her, performed at a time of excessive drought. At dusk, the village children, walking two and two, and each carrying a bunch of flowers, drew near the cistern in their turn, and sang, to one of the thrilling melodies of the country, a hymn of supplication."]
ALLAH! Father! hear us;
Our souls are faint and weak:
We fain would chase that cloud away,
We seek the cooling fountain,
Alas! we seek in vain ;
The cloud that crowns the mountain
Melts not away in rain;
The stream is shrunk which thro' our plain
Oh! ope the secret springs again—
Allah! Father! hear!
We bring thee flowers, sweet flowers,