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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

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 19:30:15