How changed from Zadig, in the days, When, through the streets of Babylon, The cynosure of every gaze,
Wild coursers drew his chariot on ; And him, the cherished of their king, Did sages praise, and poets sing!
And weary day—and wearier week- And listless month went lagging by, While still was Zadig doomed to seek What Fate was destined to deny, As morning-noon-and evening brought Astarte to his longing thought.
Long, long he wandered-long in vainShe seemed a star, that, from the sky
Had perished ne'er to rise again,
A flower, that had but bloomed to die ;
An angel sent man's sight to bless,
Then leave him to his loneliness!
Where had she fled ?-Her beaming brow For him had Earth an Eden made; Where had she vanished ?-Was she now In the City of the Silent laid? Should Hope still shine to soothe his care? Or must he bow to lank despair?
Thus weary night, and wearier day, In travail spent, gloomed o'er his head; And hope on hope had waned away,
As still he searched, and on he sped; And, far remote from friendly eye, He had no wish save one-to die
When lo! amid a summer plain, He saw a maiden on the sand, Reclining in a vacant vein,
And tracing letters with a wand: He lingered, and he looked to note
Why there she lay, or what she wrote.
Behold! the letters of his name,
Each following each, he saw her trace ;— Astarte could it be the same?
She rose, and sank in his embrace!
And thus the parted and deplored
To love were given, to life restored!
Love is the life of human life!
Oh, if the earth one moment gives With deep ecstatic rapture rife,
"Tis when before us breathes and lives,Absence, and doubt, and danger o'er,Her, whom we feared to meet no more!
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled Lone Manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs, Ah! that I were once more a careless child.
AWAKE ye sweet and shadowy thoughts that bring Remembrance o'er me of the happy vale, Whose rocks, and woody dells were wont to ring With the wild glee of years I now bewail! Ever the west-wind there, with dripping wing, Leaving the chafed waves, the riven sail, In its calm glens secluded, loved to rest, And gather softness from its peaceful breast!
Lo! shadowed forth in fancy's rising dream,
High from the far-seen front of Craigengow'r,
I mark its hanging woods, its winding stream, And haughty hills, on either side that lower! Oh! how I loved to catch day's dying gleam
From that calm spot, in youth's unboding hour:— Now, I could see it, all unheeding, sink,
For the last time, beneath the world's dark brink!
Before me Carrick spreads her richest stores, And Coila's plains are smiling from afar; Clyde, with her ample Firth engirds their shores; While Arran's lofty peaks the distance bar; Crowned with rich purple, as the great sun pours His latest glory forth,-then sinks to war With sleep and shadow in some happier land, And drives their legions to our sheltering strand.
Behind me blackening, hill o'er hill impends, With glowing lakes spilled heedlessly around,— Monarch of all, the soaring Shalloch sends His hoary head aloft, by vapours crowned, And o'er his crouching subjects frowning bends. Hark to the distant Linn's unceasing sound! The rising night-breeze, that with fitful gush, Breaks with its sob the universal hush!
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