1830-40.] CHARLES A. JONES. 207 Peace to the honest blacksmith, no cares disturb his bi'east, And till the day of doom shall come, light be his lonely rest ; His ashes lie beneath the shade of yonder spreading tree, And o'er the sod above him wave its branches mournfully; Hard by his lowly resting-place his vacant home is seen. But never more for him will be the things which once have been ; And sounds which were to him more sweet tlian music's soothing strain. Upon the ear that loved to hear, will never fall again. THE CLOUDS. The clouds ! the clouds ! how beautiful They move upon the air, "With golden wings dyed in the springs Of light the planets bear ; Now onward singly sailing. Like eagles, in the breeze, Then like a gallant gathering Of ships upon the seas. How glorious are their changes ! Now in pyramids they rise. And, masses piled on masses. They tower to the skies : Now rising like the glaciers. Their summits white as snow. While in the sun's bright blushings They beautifully glow. How terrible ! how terrible. When, gloomy, thick and dark. They form their squadrons o'er the sea. Above a gallant bark. And hurl their lightning arrows Deep in the hissing waves, While 'mid the mountain-barrows The howling tempest raves: When from their thronged battalions The thunders wildly sweep. And from the summits of the waves The shrieking echoes leap ; And mounting on the tempest's wings. The billows lash the sky. As if the fiends of stoi-m and wave Their battles waged on high. How beautiful their changes, Like visions in a dream. When on their rugged surfaces The moon's bi'ight glories gleam ; When wooed by gentle zephyrs. In silver flakes they glide. Like flocks of sea-gulls sporting Upon the wave in pride. Now forming into castles. With battlements and moats. While from the towering turrets A crimson banner floats ; Then as the gentle breeze comes by, The fabric melts away. And takes the form of legions In battle's stern array. I love those storm-girt wanderers, In darkness and in gloom. When, curtained o'er the vaulted sky. Their thunders shake its dome ; I love them, when their brightness Is borrowed of the sun, When, as the day departeth, The twilight blush comes on. But still more do I love them For the gentle rains they bring. That summon into life and bloom The buds and flowers of spring ; And clothe the vales and mountains With robes of living green ; And bid the sparkling fountains Whisper joy to every scene.
