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'Twas eve. The lengthening shadows of the oak
And sweeping birch, crept far adown the vale ; And nought upon the hush and stillness broke,
Save the light whispering of the spring-tide gale, At distance dying; and the measured stroke
Of woodmen at their toil; the feeble wail Of some lone stock dove ; soothing as it sank
On the lull'd ear, its melody that drank.
The sun had set; but his expiring beams
Yet linger'd in the west, and shed around Beauty and softness o'er the wood and streams,
With coming night's first tinge of shade embrown'd The light clouds mingled, brightend with such gleams
Of glory, as the seraph-shapes surround,
That in the vision of the good descend,
And o'er their couch of sorrow seem to bend.
The western waves of ebbing day
Rolld o'er the glen their level way :
Each purple peak, each flinty spire,
Was bathed in floods of living fire.
But not a setting beam could glow
Within the dark ravine below,
Where twined the path, in shadow hid,
Round many a rocky pyramid,
Shooting abruptly from the dell
Its thunder-splinter'd pinnacle ;
Round many an insulated mass,
The native bulwarks of the Pass;
Huge as the tower which builders vain,
Presumptuous, piled on Shinar's plain,
The rocky summits, split and rent,
Formed turret, dome, or battlement,
Or seem'd fantastically set
With cupola or minaret,
Crests—wild as pagod ever deck'd,
Or mosque of eastern architect.
Nor were those earth-born castles bare,
Nor lack'd they many a banner fair,
For, from their shiver'd brows display'd
Far o'er th' unfathomable glade,
All twinkling with the dew-drops sheen,
The brier-rose fell in streamers green.
And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes,
Waved in the west wind's summer sighs.
Boon Nature scatter'd, free and wild,
Each plant or flower, the mountain's child.
Here eglantine embalm’d the air,
Hawthorn and hazel mingled there;
The primrose pale and violet flower
Found in each cliff a narrow bower ;
Night-shade and fox-glove, side by side,
Emblems of punishment and pride,
Group'd their dark hues with
The weather-beaten crags retain.
With boughs that quaked at every breath,
Gray birch and aspen wept beneath.
Aloft, the ash and warrior oak
Cast anchor in the rifted rock;
And higher yet the pine-tree hung
His scatter'd trunk, and frequent flung,
Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high,
His boughs athwart the narrow sky.
THE EMIGRANT'S SACRED SONG.
WHERE the remote Bermudas ride
In th' ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat that row'd along,
The list'ning winds received their song.
“ What should we do, but sing His praise
That led us through the wat’ry maze,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own!
“ Where He the huge sea-monsters racks,
That lift the deep upon their backs;
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms and prelates' rage.
He gave us this eternal spring
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care,
On daily visits through the air.
“ He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound His name.
“Oh! let our voice His praise exalt
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps, rebounding, may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay."
Thus sang they in the English boat
A holy and a cheerful note,
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the tinie.
Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or calls an icy cream
Upon the silver lake, or crystal stream ;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbèd earth,
And makes it tender ; gives a second birth
To the dead swallow ; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful spring.
The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array,
Welcome the coming of the long’d-for May.
Now all things smile.