Viewing page 39 of 309

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

60  MARIA A. BROOKS.
And this at intervals in language bright
  Told her blue eyes; though oft the tender lid
Droop'd like a noon-day lily, languid, white,
  And trembling, all save love and lustre hid;

Then, as young christian bard had sung, they seem'd
  Like some Madonna in his soul, so sainted;
But opening in their energy they beam'd 
  As tasteful Grecians their Minerva painted;

While o'er her graceful shoulder's milky swell,
  Silky as those on little children seen,
Yet thick as Indian fleece her ringlets fell,
  Nor own'd Pactolus' sands a brighter sheen. 


EGLA'S BOWER.
(FROM THE SAME.)

ACACIAS here inclined
  Their friendly heads in thick profusion, planted,
And with a thousand tendrils clasp'd and twined;
  And when at fervid noon all nature panted,

Enwoven with their boughs, a fragrant bower
  Inviting rest its mossy pillow flung;
And here the full cerulean passion-flower,
  Climbing among the leaves,its mystic symbols hung

And, though the sun had gained his utmost height,
  Just as he oped its vivid folds at dawn,
Look'd still, that tenderest, frailest child of light,
  By shepherds named "the glory of the morn."

Sweet flower, thou'rt lovelier even than the rose:
  The rose is pleasure,-felt and known as such-
Soon past, but real,-tasted, while it glows;
  But thou, too bright and pure for mortal touch,

MARIA A. BOOKS. 61

Art like those brilliant things we never taste
  Or see, unless with Fancy's lip and eye,
When maddened by her mystic spells, we waste
  Life on a thought, and rob reality.

Here, too, the lily raised its snow-white head;
  And myrtle leaved, like friendship, when sincere, 
Most sweet when wounded, all around were spread; 
And though from noon's fierce heat the wild deer fled,
  A soft warm twilight reign'd impervious here.

Tranquil and lone in such a light to be,
  How sweet to sense and soul! the form recline
Forgets it e'er felt pain; and Reverie,
  Sweet mother of the muses, heart and soul are thine!

AMBITION.
(FROM THE SAME.)

Woe to thee, wild ambition! I employ
  Despair's low notes thy dread effects to tell; 
Born in high Heaven, her peace thou couldst destroy;
  And, but for thee, there had not been a Hell. 

Though the celestial domes thy clarion peal'd;
  Angels, entranced, beneath thy banners ranged, 
And straight were fiends; hurl'd from the shrinking field,
  They waked in agony to wail the change.

Darting through all her veins the subtle fire,
  The world's fair mistress first inhaled thy breath;
To lot of higher beings learnt to aspire;
  Dared to attempt, and doom'd the world to death.

The thousand wild desired, that still torment
  The fiercely struggling soul, where peace once dwelt,
But perish'd; feverish hope; drear discontent,
  Impoisoning all possest,- Oh! I felt
  6