One star alone, of all the train,
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! Ilark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone the Saviour speaks,
It is the star of Bethlehem.
2. Once on the raging seas I rode,
The storm was loud;-the night was dark,
The ocean yawned-and rudely blow'd
The wind that toss'd my foundering bark.
Deep horror then my vitals froze,
Death struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
When suddenly a star arose,
It was the star of Bethlehem.
3. It was my guide, my light, my all,
It bade my dark forebodings cease:
And through the storm and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.
Now, safely moor'd-my perils o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
For ever and for ever more,
The star, the star of Bethlehem!
Address to Time.-LORD BYRON.
1. Он Time! the beautifier of the dead,
Adorner of the ruin, comforter
And only healer when the heart hath bled-
Time! the corrector where our judgments err,
The test of truth, love,-sole philosopher,
For all beside are sophists, from thy thrift,
Which never loses tho' it doth defer-
Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift
My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gift.
2. Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine And temple more divinely desolate,
Among thy mightier offerings here are mine,
Ruins of years-tho' few-yet full of fate :-
If thou hast ever seen me too elate,
Hear me not; but if calmly I have borne
Good, and reserved my pride against the hate
Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn
This iron in my soul in vain-shall they not mourn?
3. And thou, who never yet of human wrong
Lost the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis !*
Here where the ancient paid thee homage long-
Thou, who didst call the Furiest from the abyss,
And round Orestes‡ bade them howl and hiss
For that unnatural retribution-just,
Had it but been from hands less near-in this
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust!
Dost thou not hear my heart?-Awake, thou shalt and must. 4. It is not, that I may not have incurr'd
For my ancestral faults, or mine, the wound
I bleed withal, and had it been conferr'd
With a just weapon, it had flowed unbound;
But now my blood shall not sink in the ground;
To thee do I devote it-thou shalt take
The vengeance which shall yet be sought and found,
Which if I have not taken for the sake-
But let that pass I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake.
5. And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now,
I shrink from what is suffered : let him speak
Who hath beheld decline upon my brow,
Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak;
But in this page a record will I seek.
Not in the air shall these my words disperse,
Tho' I be ashes; a far hour shall wreak
The deep prophetic fulness of this verse,
And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse.
6. That curse shall be forgiveness. Have I not—
Hear me, my mother Earth! behold it heaven!
*Nem'-e-sis, the goddess of justice among the Greeks and Romans, usually represented with a pair of scales in one hand, and a whip in the other. Furies, three fabulous deities, called goddesses of horror. Their office was to observe and punish the actions of bad men, and torment the consciences of secret offenders.
+ Orestes was the son of Agamemnon, a distinguished hero at the siege of Troy, who was killed, on his return to Greece, by his wife and Ægisthus, her base lover. Orestes, to avenge the death of his father, slew his mother; for which act he was pursued by the Furies, and suffered the most excruciating torments
Have I not had to wrestle with my lot?
Have I not suffered things to be forgiven?
Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven,
Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life lied away?
And only not to desperation driven,
Because not altogether of such clay
As rots into the souls of those whom I survey.
7. But I have lived, and have not lived in vain :
My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire,
And my frame perish even in conquering pain;
But there is that within me which shall tire
Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire;
Something unearthly, which they deem not of,
Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre,
Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love.
LESSON CLXX.
Absalom.*-WILLIS.
1. THE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still,
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse.
The reeds bent down the stream: the willow leaves,
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,
Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse,
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way,
And leaned, in graceful attitudes, to rest.
How strikingly the course of nature tells,
By its light heed of human suffering,
That it was fashioned for a happier world!
2. King David's limbs were weary. He had fled
From far Jerusalem; and now he stood,
With his faint people, for a little rest
Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn
The mourner's covering, and he had not felt
That he could see his people until now.
* See 2 Samuel, chap. xviii.
They gathered round him on the fresh green bank.
And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there,
And bowed his head upon his hands to pray.
3. Oh! when the heart is full-when bitter thoughts
Come crowding thickly up for utterance,
And the poor common words of courtesy
Are such a very mockery-how much
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
He prayed for Israel; and his voice went up
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those
Whose love had been his shield; and his deep tones
Grew tremulous. But, oh! for Absalom—
For his estranged, misguided Absalom-
The proud, bright being, who had burst away,
In all his princely beauty, to defy
The heart that cherished him-for him he poured,
In agony that would not be controlled,
Strong supplication, and forgave him there,
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.
4. The pall was settled. He who slept beneath,
Was straightened for the grave; and, as the folds
Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed
The matchless symmetry of Absalom.
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls
Were floating round the tassels as they swayed
To the admitted air, as glossy now,
As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls.
His helm was at his feet; his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed, beside him; and the jewelled hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow.
5. The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form
Of David entered, and he gave command,
In a low tone, to his few followers,
And left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died: then, throwing off
The sackloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of wo:-
6. "Alas! my noble boy! that thou should'st die!
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair!
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom!
7. "Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee.
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,
Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet my father' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!
8. "The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;— But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come To meet me, Absalom!
9. "And, oh! when I am stricken, and my
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,
Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom!
10 "And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee:-
And thy dark sin!-Oh! I could drink the cup,
If from this wo its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
My erring Absalom!"
11. He covered up his face and bowed himself
A moment on his child; then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
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