I oped the door, supposing still 'twas night,
But what a morn!—I seemed to half intrude
In sacred fane upon a holy rite;
A purpled crimson peached the east, and strewed
The whole horizon round with amethyst-hued,
Blue-bending tints. And as I forward rode,
And in my hallowed east such vision viewed,
I thought of one o'er whom this glory glowed,
Who, like Aurora, soon would leave her soft abode.
IN MAY.
Now is the time when swallows twitter round,
And robin redbreasts carol in the trees,
When the grass grows very green on lower ground,
And opening buds embalm the buxom breeze,
When orchards murmur with the half-blind bees,
Freed till th' uncellared hives again be full,
The time when old men smile and maidens please,
Loose-zoned in summer dresses light and cool,
And laughing urchins shirk the lessons of the school.
Perchance it is the hour when dawn unveils
The visage of the day; when o'er the bar
The radiant morning rides with saffron sails,
Streamers of light on each resplendent spar,
Fraught with rich gifts. Now, sunk, each faded star.
The Sun, the Sun,—the glorious Lord of Day!
Behold, he comes! before his orbèd car,
Caparisoned with gold, in dazzling play,
Impatient dance his steeds to pace the purple way.
Or, is it in the cool and tranquil eve,
When shadows lengthen and the shades increase,
When in the west celestial wonders weave
Gorgeous Nirvanas of absorbent peace,—
Transparency's impenetrable fleece,
Clouds of all colors floating every wise,
On which the Sun looks up before he cease,
As some old man a moment ere he dies
Beholds with bliss serene the beauties of the skies.
THE BATTLE OF CHATEAUGUAY.
There is a valley where the wheat fields wave
In autumn like a gold ymolten sea;
There is a river whose cool waters lave
Sweet-scented gardens, groves, and rolling lea,
And homes of people worthy to be free;
There is a name whose sound is like a song
On lips of its own maidens—Chateauguay;
Yet mighty as the combat of the strong,
And glorious as the march of Freedom over Wrong.
And here they fought; and each encountered ten,
With war-steed and artillery arrayed;
But righteous was their cause, and they were men,—
Dark plumes of Iroquois, and Scotia's plaid,
But most, the brothers of the arm which made
Napoleon terrible with triumphing.
Between the foe and heaven they knelt and prayed,
Then, rising, heard their leader's summons ring—
"Such is our duty to our God—now for our King!"