each dulcet string,
    Made martial bugle and bold clarion ring,
    Soft flute provoked like the lone bird of spring,
    To warble lays of love forlorn;
    Woke shrilly reed to many a pastoral note
    Thrilled witching lyre and lips melodious smote,
    Till earth, in tuneful ether, seemed to float—­
    As when first sang the stars of morn! 
    Till wondering angels were entranced to chime,
    With harp and choral tongue, thy strains sublime
    And bear thy soul beyond the reach of time,
    Heaven’s halls harmonious to adorn.

    Ah, me! could I with ken angelic, scan
    Celestial glories hid from mortal man,
    I’d deem this night a day supernal! 
    Could music, borne from some far singing sphere,
    Float sweetly down and thrill my stricken ear,
    I’d pray this hush might be eternal!

RESIGNATION.

    Pensylla, look!  With tremulous points of fire,
    The sun, red-sinking lights yon distant spire
    O’er leafy hill and blossoming meadows,
    Spreads wide and level his departing beams,
    Then sinks to rest, as one sure of sweet dreams,
    ’Mid pillowing clouds and curtaining shadows. 
    Night draws her lucid shade o’er sky and earth;
    Solemn and bright, Heaven’s starry eyes look forth;
    The evening hymn of praise and song of mirth
    Rise gratefully from man’s abode. 
    O, Night!  I love her sombre majesty! 
    ’Tis sweet, her double solitude, to me! 
    Pensylla, leave me now!  Alone I’d be
    With Darkness, Silence and my God.

    O Thou, whose shadow is but light’s excess,
    The echo of whose voice but silentness,
    Whose light and music, half expended,
    Would flood, dissolve the sphery frame; ’twixt whom
    And man no endless night can throw its gloom
    Till long Eternity is ended—­
    Which ne’er shall end—­to thee, my trust, I turn! 
    To one, for whom in vain thy lamps now burn,
    A hearing deign; nor from thy footstool spurn
    The prayer of an imprisoned mind.

    Father, thy sun is set; night veils the world,
    That orbs more beauteous be to man unfurled,
    Then in my Night, let me but find
    New realms, where thought and fancy may rejoice;
    Let its long silence ne’er displace Thy voice
    From whispering hope and peace, ’twere my choice
    To be thus smitten deaf and blind! 
    Fill me with light and music from above,
    And so inspire with truth, faith, courage, love,
    That Thou and man my work can well approve—­
    Father, to all I’m then resigned!

    Harp of the mournful voice, now fare thee well! 
    My sad song ended, ended is thy spell. 
    Perchance thine echoes, memory haunting,
    May oft awaken, shadowing forth the swell
    Of long sung monody and long