Lynchburg Virginian. [volume] (Lynchburg [Va.]) 1829-185?, 1850-04-15


u. DUNN.
IT'S said hat the skies oil son Italy wrap
The world IN glory Of smiles,
And the twilight OF Greece bicahs Joy o'sr the lap
ol her ocean of temple crow ed isles;
nut heresto the sky ot my own native West
'sthe widest oil ALL and love 1T the bet,
mo the tames ot heauty may gladden. heart
which the earth hath ne'er darkened with wrong,
And the hn's o an orient eve breath art
Like an angel o'ergushng with song,
Yet they ,tir not my soul from its sorIo,vful rest,
Like the glores which flash the skie. OF the West
The heavens canvas OF aHute unfold,
Aud an angelic artist, is he
Who,'rets in the outline with crimson and gold
Aud shadows OF purple and grey;
with pencil OF sunlight the brightest and best,
lie dashes the wild craggy clouds In the We,,
Now from his quick fingers drop scencrics bright,
Stretching iar th,o' the heavens away,
And he breaths forth glory oil rose. .coorod light,
Which he stole from the dying day;
f"r he k''ssd he soft lips OF the aud then prcs,d
lie' bosom ol love to his white breast,
But the sweet coiors ned from her lip and h., eye,
And quick to his palette they flew,
Ana now with wild rapture he paints IN the sky
An ocean OF rystalinc dew,
With her eyclght he tinge. the vapory crest,
OF the billows which rise in the gloriou. West
The lake OF her lips he Is penc,ing now
oet an isle rising up from that sea-
And the tnts Of her bosom like silver streams aow
Down the valleys in wild harmony
And all the sweet hucs with which cy ening ble.t
lie piles on his scanvas uniurod in the West,
bn Ter Nnw land,
As the day god steal, slowly away,
And fields of vast shadow with hncs like the storm
Spread their wings o'e, the vanishing day,
Whilst mountains, and monsters IN fiery ,obcs drcst
Glare out from the shadows which hang in the West
How gladly How wildly The eye follows down
The vista ol chaotic clouds
Tothe golden point here the sun ha. gone
To his home of eternal noad4
And fingers with joy ON the images bright
Which float in his last red hood,ngs ollght
oh, could hni dwell IN that wild paradise
And my sprt on pcaly wings pass
From mountain 10 vale, IN glory they rise,
From the breast OF the shado,yy mass;
How Idnec the dark world and wings should
Till they CLEANED in that iayshng flood OF the Yves,
But OH my sad soul, thou art bound to the earth
Lake an eagle who long ior the shy
Oh, give me thy pninns strong bird and forth
To you goldcn-pavcd heaven I'll ny,
And I'll draw each sad tho in the sunbeams tina, Light
With their diamond clad fingers verge Of the Night
But vainy All vanly M sad spin, seeks
To dwell in region gays
And the molten SORROWS start out ON nv checks
AS the bnglh dies slowly away;
Aud the thots IN my bosom wax darker and fast
As the shadows up their hugh forms in the West
For old Night with his palette Of black creeping up
While the Artist, nicn, on his work,
Filings his last hnge ofred on wild mountainto
Dreaming not Of his Majesty DARK,
With pencil idarltness i'll infinite zcst
lie backens the painting hung out IN the West
Thus hathit been ever, since Memory's voice
Hath sung song of my youth,
Not young, loved Joy hadc rejoice,
Or an image came tender and soft
To my soul, but they 1cd like the eoors which bie.t
The brush Of that Angel who paints in the West
For here have lovcd-but my love hath flown
To her spirit home lar IN the sky,
And left me 10 weep in the valley alone,
And gaze with a sorrow dlmm'd,yc
On the which we loved, when together so bsst
We wandered amid the wild hills Of The West.
A. we gazcd on the heaven, in -peechess joy,
claspcd her iai form 10 my hesrt,
And my young spirit dreamed not that Death could de
love so angclic-or that he strange art
Ofthat Angel could pencil wild scencsin the West,
As bright as the pure thos which dwet IN her breast
That Angel hath flown; vet again he'll return,
Topain, the sky on the morrow;
But oh, for the Love that early was torn
From my soul, may tarry IN sorrow,
For she'll come not again to sonth my sad breast,
Withthe heavenly words which she breabcdi in tho
For Night blotted out that Angels bright work,
So Death with his iron clutch came,
And he folded her arms in his pinipns all dark
Then flew to his black home again;
But oh, he'll not loosen his terrible grasp,
Like the shadows that flee, when the long night past
MISCELLANEOUS.