Chasing the shadows of the vanished night,
And silvering all the darkly gushing rills,
Giving each waking blossom, gemmed with dew,
Its bright and proper hue)—

He suddenly beholds the checkered face
Of this old world in its young Eden grace!
Disease, and want, and sin, and pain, are not-
Nor homely and familiar things:-man's lot
Is like his aspirations-bright and high;

And even in the haunting thought that man must die,
His dream so changes from its fearful strife,
Death seems but fainting into purer life!

6 Nor only these thy presence woo,
The less inspirèd own thee too!
Thou hast thy tranquil source

In the deep well-springs of the human heart,
And gushest with sweet fōrce

When most imprisoned; causing tears to start
In the worn citizen's o'erwearied eye,

As, with a sigh,

At the bright close of some rare holiday,

He sees the branches wave, the waters play-
And hears the clock's far distant měllow chime
Warn him a busier world reclaims his time!

7. Thee, childhood's heart confessès-when he sees
The heavy rose-bud crimson in the breeze,
When the red coral wins his eager gaze,
Or the warm sunbeam dazzles with its rays,
Thee, through his varied hours of rapid joy,
The eager boy-.

Who wild across the grassy meadow springs,
And still with sparkling eyes

Pursues the uncertain prize,

Lured by the velvet glōry of its wings!

8. And so from youth to age-yeā, till the end— An unforsaking, unforgetting friend,

Thou hoverest round us! And when all is ō'er,

And earth's most loved illusions1 please no mōre,

Thou stealèst gently to the couch of death;

There, while the lagging breath

Comes faint and fitfully, to usher nigh

Consoling visions from thy native sky,
Making it sweet to die!

The sick man's ears are faint-his eyes are dim-
But his heart listens to the heavenward hymn,
And his soul sees-in lieu of that sad band,
Who come with mournful tread

To kneel about his bed

God's white-robed angels, who around him stand,
And wave his spirit to the "Better Land!"

9. So, living-dying, still our hearts pursue
That loveliness which never met our view;
Still to the last the ruling thought will reign,
Nor deem one feeling given—was given in vain!
For it may be, our banished souls recall

In this, their earthly thrall

(With the sick dreams of exiles), that far world
Whence angels once were hurled;

Or it may be, a faint and trembling sense,
Vague, as permitted by Omnipotence,
Foreshows the immortal radiance round us shed,
When the imperfect shall be perfected!
Like the chained eagle in his fettered might,
Straining upon the heavens his wistful sight,
Who toward the upward glory fondly springs,
With all the vain strength of his shivering wings-
So chained to earth, and baffled-yet so fond
Of the pure sky which lies so far beyond,
We make the attempt to soar in many a thought
Of beauty born, and into beauty wrought;
Dimly we struggle onwards :—who shall say
Which glimmering light leads nearèst to the day?

MRS. NORTON.

CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH NORTON, an English poetess, was born in 1808. Her father, who died when she was nine years old, was a son of Richard Brinsley Sheridan.

1 Illusion (il lū' zăn), a deceptive appearance; a false show.

The family of Sheridan has been prolific of genius, and she has well sustained the family honors. In her seventeenth year, this lady had composed her poem, "The Sorrows of Rosalie." She termed her next poem, founded on the ancient legend of the Wandering Jew, The Undying One." Her third volume, entitled "The Dream, and other Poems," appeared in 1840; and "The Child of the Island," in 1845. She has written novels of great power, the last of which, "Stuart of Dunleith, a Story of Modern Times," first appeared in 1847. "Tales and Sketches in Prose and Verse," a collection of miscellaneous contributions to periodicals, was published in 1850. "This lady," says a writer in the Quarterly Review, "is the Byron of our modern poetesses. She has very much of that intense personal passion by which Byron's poetry is distinguished from the larger grasp and deeper communion with man and nature of Wordsworth. She has also Byron's beautiful intervals of tenderness, his strong practical thought, and his forcible expression. It is not an artificial imitation, but a natural parallel." She was married at the age of nineteen to the Hon. George Chapple Norton, brother to Lord Grantley, and himself a police magistrate in London. After being the object of suspicion and persecution of the most painful description, the union was dissolved in 1840.

II.

BEAUTY

The colors,

in nature has a double function.' green and blue, and the neutral tints,' scarcely less common, are naturally agreeable to the eye; and if red and yellow were the pervading hues, the organ of sight would be dazzled and blinded by them. Then again' variety, both in color and form, is naturally grateful; and if all the objects in nature were of one shape and of one hue, no prison could be so dreadful. To our constitution, therefore, nature's garniture' is almost as necessary as her substantial supplies of food.

2. But the beauty of her works ministers to purposes far beyond convenience, far beyond utility. It is connected with higher laws in us; it touches a finer sense than of good, than of advantage. Beauty, to all who truly know it, is a thing divine. Its treasures are poured with lavish abundance through the world, its banners are spread upon the boundless air and sky, to entrance the eye and soul with visions of mōre than earthly loveliness.

3. The whole influence of nature's beauty, and of all that is

1 Function (fŭngk' shun), office; performance.

? Neu' tral, not decided or pronounced; neutral tint, an artificial gray pigment, used in water colors,

composed of blue, red, and yellow
in various proportions.

3 Again (ă gen').

* Gar' ni tūre, that which serves for ornament; embellishment.

akin to its beauty-how manifestly is it divine! It holds no compact with anything base or low. Man may mar and desecrate its fairèst scenes; but he can never say to the majesty or loveliness of nature, "Thou hast tempted me!" Wicked and hateful passions may break out-jarring upon her sublime symphonies,' disturbing her holy quiet; but nature has no part with them.

4. Did ever the grandeur of the midnight heaven, or the thunder in the sky, or the answering thunder of the ocean beach, make any man proud? Did the murmurings of the everlasting sea, or the solemn dirge of the winter's wind, or the voice of birds in spring, or the flashing light of summer streams, or the mountain's awful brow, or the vales "stretching in pensive quietness between," did ever these make any man rude or ungentle ?

5. Did ever the fulness and loveliness of the creation, weighing upon the human sense and soul almost with an oppression of joy, make any man selfish and grasping? No; the true lovers of nature are never ignoble nor mean. She would unnerve the oppressor's hand, or melt the miser's ice, or cool the voluptuary's' fever, this hour, if he would open his heart to her transforming companionship.

6. Nor are the treasures of her beauty half explored. What unfolding wonders shall yět burst upon us; what pictures shall be unrolled to the vision of purer natures; what seals shall be taken from the great deeps of beauty-it may not be for us to know in this world. Our sense is dim, our power feeble; the present revelation, I suppose, is all that we can bear.

7. But the time may come, when there shall visit us melodies, such as were never drank in by the ravished ear; sights, such as never entranced mortal eye; when perpetual raptures may be felt without exhaustion; when lofty states of mind, such as noble genius and heroism inspire, may become the habit of the soul, and ecstasy may crowd on ecstasy forever.

4

3

Sym' pho ný, a harmony or agreement of sounds, pleasant to the ear, either vocal or instrumental; an instrumental composition for a band of music.

bodily enjoyment his chief object. 3 Exhaustion (ĕgz hâst' yŭn), the state of being deprived of strength or spirits.

4 Eċ' sta sy, excessive or over

"Vo lupt'u a ry, one who makes powering delight.

8. Full of moral influence, full of prophecy, full of religion, is the true sense of beauty. When I sit down in a summer's day, with the shade of trees around me, and the wind rustling in their leaves; when I look upon a fair landscape-upon meadows and streams, stealing away through and behind the clustering groves; when the sun goes down behind the dark mountains or beyond the glorious sea, and fills and flushès the deeps of the western sky with purple and gold; when, through the gates of parting day, other worlds, other heavens come to view-spheres so distant that it takes the light thousands of years to reach us; then only one word is great enough to embrace all the wonder-GOD!

THE

III.

3. THE SENSE OF BEAUTY.

PART SECOND.

HE sense of beauty is innate,' as much so as reason or conscience. Outward sights and sounds do but wake it up-do but nurture and cultivate the inward power-do but answer to it. A fair landscape does not create the sense of beauty. That already existed within-made ready by the hand of its Creator, to receive the outward impression.

2. The soul demands beauty and harmony, just as it demands truth and right, to satisfy it. It can no more admire deformity and discord, than it can admire falsehood and injustice. It is not education that creates these finer instincts. If a human being were brought up amidst ugly forms and jarring dissonances,2 the moment that lovely sights and sweet melodies broke upon his eye and ear, he would turn to them delighted. 3. Nay more, this inner sense is never satisfied. All that fills the eye and ear, does but awaken the desire of things more beautiful, of sounds more melodious. The realm of cultivated taste and imagination is forever widening, and forever leading the soul onward and upward.

4. I say distinctly, upward; from things seen to things unseen; from things earthly to things heavenly. It is possible indeed,

1 In nate', inborn; native; natural; not gained from experience.

2 Dĭs' so nance, a mingling of discordant sounds; want of agreement.