ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE STARS.

A POETIC MEDITATION.

FROM DE LA MARTINE.

It is the hour for thought—a sacred hour,
When lingering twilight yet prolongs its power;
And, cheering heaven for day's departing hue,
Bids to the mountain-steeps a late adieu.
Along their verge its fitful gleams remain,
Like some imperial vesture's floating train;
And slowly sweep the vault o'ercast with gloom,
Where the dim stars their pallid fires relume.

Those globes of gold,—those isles that ever shine,
To which the thoughtful eyelids still incline,
Shoot forth their myriads in the fading light,
Sprinkling with golden dust the path of night.
The breath of evening, on its track that flies,
Sows their bright clusters o'er the sparkling skies;
Each quivering flame eludes the dazzled gaze,
Mingling and fading in the brilliant maze;
O'er the fringed wood-tops hovering these appear,
Scattering their splendors from each crystal sphere,
Like some fair bird of heaven, that from its wings
Unfolding, founts of living lustre flings;
These stretch their fleecy ridges o'er the dome,
Like cliffs far glistening, hoar with ocean's foam;
These, like some steed that scours the desert plain,
Unroll in lengthening folds their floating mane;
These, o'er the horizon's verge that seem to peep,
Look forth like eyes upon a world asleep;

These twinkle through the welkin's far descent,
Like snowy canvass o'er the waters bent,
That from some distant shore returning gleams,
O'er ocean's bosom, in the morning beams.

God of his noblest works, those shining spheres, Alone the number knows, the distance, and the years; Some, dim with age, grow pale to mortal eyes, Some vanish from their orbits in the skies;

Others, like flowers his spirit woos to blow,

Radiant with grace and youth their foreheads show;
And in the east their new effulgence pour,

Startling the eye that counts their numbers o'er;
Through space they shoot, and man, with glad acclaim,
The new-born world salutes, and gives its name.

Oh, who, enraptured with their glances chaste,
As o'er their hosts his wandering looks were cast,
That has not learned the purest orb to call
By that dear name love hallows over all;
For me, one isolated, lonely light..

Has cheered the hours of many a tedious night;
Its beams, through mystic shadows round it thrown,
Recalled a glance on earth that brightly shone;
May we, ah! may we to those lamps of heaven,
Transfer the name, at least, that love has given?

Now night moves on-through ether's boundless deep
Those floating worlds their course in silence keep;
And we with them, in whirl unceasing rolled,
Still to a port unknown our progress hold.
Oft, at still night, if sighs the passing breeze,
Earth seems to float, like barks on buoyant seas;
We mark the foamy crests the mountains bear,
Cut, in their measured course, the surge of air ;
As rolls our planet through the azure wave,
Against the prow we hear the tempests rave;
Through the strained cords the north-wind shrilly moans,
While the lashed sides respond with sullen groans;

Man, o'er the abyss, where floats his dwelling, flies,
And on the pilot's faith assured relies.

Suns! wandering worlds! borne with us by the tide,
Tell, if 't is told ye, whither do we glide?
Say, to what port celestial blows the gale?
What bound assigns He to the rapid sail?
Speed we where gloom and silence only wake,
On shoals immense at midnight doomed to break,
O'er everlasting space scattering the mighty wreck?
Or, by his hand, led near some pleasant shore,
There, by the eternal anchor fast, no more

To hang suspended o'er the unmeasured deep,
In some blest gulf of heaven shall we arrive in sleep?

O ye, who nearer to yon vault are rolled,
Ye sparkling worlds! the truths ye know unfold!
That purer sea, that heaven wherein ye wheel,
To you must clearer, quicker sense reveal;
More ye must know, as ye are far more bright,
Because of truth the eternal type is light.
Yes-may we trust your cresset's silver floods
That paint the trellised summits of the woods;
Or, breaking glorious o'er the ocean vexed,
Calm, as they spread, its foamy waves perplexed;
Yes-may we trust those rays, whose pregnant fire
Can virtue, love, devotion pure inspire,—
And, while the eye, half oped, beholds each sphere,
Draw from each fringed lid the unconscious tear;—
If faith to those sweet promptings may be due,
Those hopes that draw the lover's sighs to you,
And beauty's eyes and vows remembered long,
The eagle's fiery wings, and those of song,

Ye
camps of heaven, ye Edens of the sky,
Shrines, palaces of holier realms on high,

The sojourn ye must prove of peace and purity!

Through the long tract, at midnight's solemn hour, Your distant influence o'er us holds its power;

All that we sigh for-fruits, that from above
To earth, rich waifs, have fallen-truth and love,
In your bright climes, for which in vain we sigh,
The heirs of life with heavenly food supply;
And man, perchance, restored his right of birth,
May one day find with you all he has lost on earth.

How oft, when musing on some lonely hill,
Where the free soul sublimer promptings fill,
Beautiful stars! empyreal flowers, whose hue
The drooping lily marks with jealous view,
I've murmured low, Would I were one of you!
Were wafted from this earthly sphere away
To yon bright cope where rapt my glances stray,
With one more fire to strew the heavenly road,
Kindling at once beneath the steps of God;
Or, on his awful brow, to shine a gem,
One pale, fair brilliant in his diadem!

Floating in that clear azure's limpid wave,
I'd still recall the globe my life that gave,
And steal each night, with lonely steps and slow,
To shine on mountains, loved so well below;
Beneath the thick boughs' waving gloom to glide,
Sleep o'er the meads, or float above the tide ;
Some filmy cloud, with gentlest gleam pervade,
Like young love's glances through their modest shade.
Man I would visit, might I here descry

Some deeply pensive brow-some sleepless eye-
Some soul in weeds, or some o'erburthened breast,
Its pious sadness that to God confest-

Some wretch from day that veiled his secret grief,
And in night's bosom sought from tears relief—
Some restless genius, some o'er-active mind,
By too strong impulse urged the infinite to find-
My beam with friendship's holiest tint imbued,
Pitying the woes here too well understood,
Like a soft secret to some genial heart,

To those sad downcast eyes would love to dart ;

There my fond glimmering should repose awhile,
Sleep on their breasts or o'er their eyelids smile;
A word I would reveal in heavenly tone,

Of a deep mystery well to sorrow known;
Would dry their tears, and when the morning's eye
Found my disk paling in the bending sky,
Deserting their soothed brows, my parting beam
Should leave them yet a sweet unearthly dream,
And peace and hope; that, over-tired to weep,
At least they might enjoy the boon of balmy sleep.

And you, bright sisters, stars, my kindred train,
Whose amel decks the blue empyreal plain,

That, in due cadence to the heavenly lyre,

Twine and untwine the links of your harmonious quire
Joined to your band, your measures free to tread,
The impulse following that your courses led,
In yon bright maze I would pursue your host,
'Mid shining labyrinths where sight is lost;
Taught to adore and know the Power, whom here
We seek, and haply seeing ye revere ;
Of the quick splendors of his quivering beams,
There might my soul drink in the eternal streams;
Filled by that presence, in whose sphere ye wheel,
There I might feel in Him all that yourselves can feel,
S.