Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/89

88

! heaven wakes earth. There is an answering sigh From the soft winds, as they unfurl their wings Impalpable,—and touch the dimpling streams Which the lithe willows kiss, and through the groves Make whispering melody. Methinks the sea Murmureth in tone subdued,—and nature smiles As if within her raptured breast she caught The breath of Deity. Hail! hallowed Morn That binds a yoke on Vice. Drooping her head, She by her quaint hypocrisy doth show How beautiful is Virtue. Eve will light Her orgies up again—but at this hour She trembleth and is still. Humility From the cleft rock where she hath hid, doth mark The girded majesty of God go by, And kneeling, wins a blessing. Grief forgoes Her bitterness—and round the tear-wet urn Twines sweet and simple flowers. But most firm faith Enjoys this holy season. She doth lift Her brow and talk with seraphs,—till the soul That by the thraldom of the week was bowed, And crushed, and spent,—like the enfranchised slave Doth leap to put its glorious garments on.