New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1855-08-07


For the meeting OF the morrow
The deligh, OF happy laughter
The deli BIZ Of low replies.
'Tis morning pure and sweet,
And dewy spendcr falls
On tie little flower that clugs
To the turrets AID the walls;
It's morning pure and sweet
And the light and shadow feet
She is walking in the meadow,
And the woodland echo rings;
In a moment shall meet
She ia singing in the meadow,
And the rivulet az her feet
Ripples OF in Light and shadow
To the ballad that she sings.
Do | hear her as OF old,
Nv bird with the shining head,
NJ Y own dove with the tender eye!
But there rings sudden passionate cry,
There is some one dying or dead,
And snllen thunder is roildi
For a tumult shakes the city,
And wake my dream il fled
In the shuddering dawn behold,
Without knowledge, without pity,
py the curtains of my bed
That abiding phantom cold.
&c, thee hence, nor come again.
Mix not memory with doubt
Pass thou deGthlike type OF pain,
Pass and cease 70 move absui
lis the blot upon the brain
That rW show itself without.
Then rise, the eavedIops fall
And the yellow vapors choke
The great city sounding vide;
. The day comes, q duh red ball
Wrapt in drifts of llrid smoke
On the misty ryer-tide.
Ttro' the hubbub of the market
steal wasted frame,
II crosses here, it crosses there
Through al that crowd confused and loud,
The shadow still the same
And on my heavy eyelids
My anguish hangs like shame
Alas for her that met me-
That heard me softly call,
Came glimmering thro' the laurels
Al the quiet cveniall,
In the garden by the turrets
OF the old immortal han.
Would the happy spiri, descend,
From the realms OF light and song,
Iu the chamber or the street,
As she looks among the best,
should fear 10 greet my friend
Or 10 saw forgive the wrong,
OR 10 as k her, - take me- sweet
To the regions OF thy rest
Butfhe broad light gares aud beats,
And the shadow fits and fleets
And will not let me be-
And Ioethe the squares and streets
And the faces that one meets
Hearts with no love for me:
Always long TO creep
Into some still cavern deep
There 10 weep, and weep, and weep
Nv whole roul Out 10 t1ee.
The despair of the lover subsidies into moody
crsze. fIon which he is finally aroused By the
prospect Of war, when
No more shall commerce be all in all, and Peace.
Pine on her pastoral hillock laDguid note
And watch her harvest ripen, her herd increase,
Nor the capnon-buet rust on a slOthiul shore,
And the cobweb woven across the cannons throat,
Shall shake it's threaded tears in the wind no more
The rooted sorrow is thus plucked from the
beart-the old hysterical mOck-dsease dies out
and he stands on British deck, finding joy in the
battle cry, when
hy the side of the Black and the Baltic deep,
And deathfugrinnng mouths OF the fortress, hames
The blood-red blossom Of war with a heart OF nre
The conclusion, in which the Laureate renders
his official tribute TO the justice OF British arms,
is better poetry than either politics or morality
Rut we are too much content with the return OF
Tennyson 10 bis ancient sources Of inspiration, IN
the general conception of this poem, to break a
lance with him on the subject of British agsres-
sion Tie volume contains several smaller pieces,
some of which are already familiar to most read
ers. A charming domestic picture is presented IN
the lines addressed to the Rev. T. ID. Maurice,
which, we are sorry to say, our space forbids us
to copy.