THE HOPE OF THE AZTECS. Thus, powerless, on the tide of Time, That hopeless, tearless agony That sea without a wave! 143 E. L. MONTAGU. THE HOPE OF THE AZTECS. SUGGESTED BY A PASSAGE FROM PRESCOTT'S Ir was a glorious dream that hung By kings believed, by poets sung, The monarch in his hall, And the weary peasant waited for That promised hope of all- The children of the golden West. His coming brightened childhood's hour, And eyes, upon whose light had fallen At Death's dark portals lingered on, But children grew to toiling men, And youths' bright locks grew grey, And many an early shrine grew cold, And woods grew dense, and cities old, But never breeze or billow bore At last, when, o'er the deep, unfurled And welcome from the sea, Her wandering deity! THE HOPE OF THE AZTECS. But knew not that she hailed, with joy, The mighty only to destroy. But who was he that mingled thus With all a nation's dreams, And on the monarch's memory rose, Was it the child of some far land, Who shed upon that distant strand Or wanderer from some brighter sphere, Was it some shadow, vainly bright, For her Messiah pines; For ages, as they went and came, Have brought no dimness to that dream? And even amid our fainter faith, How long, and oh, how far, A thousand weary hearts look forth 145 But all these vainly yearning dreams FRANCES BROWN. THE GUELDER ROSE. THOU full-blown comely creature, Wert thou but of human fashion, "I may have no heart within me, Yet joy would a cheek-flush win me, "To Earth, my fond mother, I'm fleeting, And Death is to lead the way; I think of his yesternight's greeting, ANON. THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN. "HIGH thoughts! They come and go, Like the soft breathings of a list'ning maiden, While round me flow The winds, from woods and fields with gladness laden: When the corn's rustle on the ear doth comeWhen the eve's beetle sounds its drowsy humWhen the stars, dew-drops of the summer sky, Watch over all with soft and loving eyeWhile the leaves quiver By the lone river, And the quiet heart From depths doth call And garners all— And Heaven lives In the blessed soul! High thoughts! They are with me When, deep within the bosom of the forest, Thy morning melody Abroad into the sky, thou, throstle, pourest, |