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240 SARAH HELENA WHITMAN. Oh! then, beloved, I think on thee! And on that life, so strangely fair, Ere yet one cloud of memory Had gather'd in hope's golden air. I think on thee, and thy lone grave, On the green hill-side far away; I see the wilding flowers that wave Around thee, as the night-winds sway. Though Hope can ne'er on earth fulfil The glory of her morning dream, The music soul of Nature still Resumes her sweet, unfailing theme. As Proserpine returned once more On Enna's flowery fields to rove, Still doth the breathing spring restore The sorrowing heart to light and love. And still though only clouds remain On life's horizon, cold and drear; The dream of youth returns again, With the sweet promise of the year. DAVID* And he sent and brought him in. Now David was ruddy, and withal of a beautiful countenance, and goodly to look to. And the Lord said, Arise, anoint him, for this is he."—I. SAM. XVI. 11,12. Ay, this is he—the bold and gentle boy, That in lone pastures by the mountain's side Guarded his fold, and through the midnight sky Saw on the blast the "God of battles" ride; *Suggested by Hoppin's Statue, representing the young champion of Israel in the act of throwing the sling. SARAH HELENA WHITMAN. 241 Beheld his bannered armies on the height, And hear their clarion sound through all the stormy night. The valiant boy that o'er the twilight wold Tracking the dark lion and ensanguined bear; Following their bloody footsteps from the fold Far down the gorges to their lonely lair; This is the stout heart, that from the lion's jaw Back o'er the shuddering waste the bleeding victim bore Through his fair locks lie all unshorn and bare To the bold toying of the mountain wind, A conscious glory haunts the o'ershadowing air, And waits with glittering coil his brows to bind, While his proud temples bend superbly down, As if they felt e'en now the burden of a crown. Though a stern sorrow slumbers in his eyes, As if his prophet glance foresaw the day When the dark waters o'er his soul should rise, And friends and lovers wander far away; Yet the graced impress of that floral mouth Breathes of love's golden dream and the voluptuous South. Peerless in beauty as the prophet star, That in the dewy traces of the dawn Floats o'er the solitary hills afar. And brings sweet tidings of the lingering morn; Or weary at the day-god's loitering wain, Strikes on the harp of light a soft prelusive strain. So his wild harp with psaltery and shawm Awoke the nations in thick darkness furled, While mystic winds from Gilead's groves of balm Wafted its sweet hosannas through the world; So when the day-spring from on high he sang, With joy the ancient hills and lonely valleys rang. 21 Q
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 19:30:15