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The thunder-riven cloud, the lightning's Oh, then, while hums the earliest bee, leap
Where verdure fires the plain, The stirring of the chambers of the deep-Walk thou with me, and stoop to see Earth's emerald green, and many-tinted The glories of the lane ! dyes
For, oh, I love these banks of rock, The fleecy whiteness of the upper skies This roof of sky and tree, The tread of armies thickening as they These tufts, where sleeps the gloaming come
clock, The boom of cannon, and the beat of And wakes the earliest bee! drum
| As spirits from eternal day The brow of beauty, and the form of Look down on earth secure; grace
Gaze thou, and wonder, and survey The passion, and the prowess of our A world in miniature; race
A world not scorn'd by Him who made The song of Homer in its loftiest hour-| Even weakness by his might ; The unresisted sweep of Roman power- But solemn in his depth of shade, Britannia's trident on the azure sea
And splendid in his light. America's young shout of Liberty! Light ! not alone on clouds afar Oh! may the wars that madden in thy O'er storm-loved mountains spread, deeps
| Or widely-teaching sun and star There spend their rage, nor climb tl' en- Thy glorious thoughts are read; circling steeps,
Oh, no! thou art a wond'rous book,
Which insects understand !
Divinely plain and clear,
Like splinters of a crystal hair, (EBENEZER ELLIOTT. 1981—1849.)
Thy bright small hand is here. THE WONDERS OF THE LANE. | Yon drop-fed lake, six inches wide,
Is Huron, girt with wood; STRONG climber of the mountain side,
'This driplet feeds Missouri's tideThough thou the vale disdain,
And that Niagara's flood. Yet walk with me where hawthorns hide
What tidings from the Andes brings The wonders of the lane.
Yon line of liquid light, High o'er the rushy springs of Don
That down from heav'n in madness flings The stormy gloom is rollid;
The blind foam of its might? The moorland hath not yet put on
Do I not hear his thunder rollHis purple, green, and gold.
The roar that ne'er is still ? But here the titling* spreads his wing,
'Tis mute as death !-but in my soul Where dewy daisies gleam ;
It roars, and ever will. And here the sun-flowert of the spring
What forests tall of tiniest moss Burns bright in morning's beam.
Clothe every little stone ! To mountain winds the famish'd fox
What pigmy oaks their foliage toss Complains that Sol is slow,
O'er pigmy valleys lone ! [ledge, O'er headlong steeps and gushing rocks
With shade o'er shade, from ledge to His royal robe to throw.
Ambitious of the sky, But here the lizard seeks the sun,
They feather o'er the steepest edge Here coils in light the snake ;
Of mountains mushroom high. And here the fire-tuft I hath begun
Oh, God of marvels! who can tell Its beauteous nest to make.
What myriad living things * The Hedge Sparrow. The Dandelion.
On these grey stones unseen may dwell! The Golden-Crested Wren,
What nations with their kings !
I feel no shock, I hear no groan
While fate perchance o'erwhelms
A hundred ruin'd realms !
Impell’d by woe or whim,
A tiny world to him!
The work of nature's might,
And all to him is night!
Poor insects, spark'd with thought ! Thy whisper, Lord, a word from thee,
Could smite us into nought ! But shouldst thou wreck our father-land,
And mix it with the deep, Safe in the hollow of thy hand
Thy little ones would sleep.
And dear to care and thought che usual Theirs be no flower that withers on the
stalk, But roses cropp'd, that shall not bloom in
vain ; And hope's bless'd sun, that sets to rise
again. Be chaste their nuptial bed, their home
be sweet, Their floor resound the tread of little
feet; Bless'd beyond fear and fate, if bless'd by
thee, And heirs, O Love ! of thine Eternity.
LOVE STRONG IN DEATH. We watch'd him, while the moonlight,
Beneath the shadow'd hill, Seem'd dreaming of good angels,
And all the woods were still.
Drew painfully his breath :
For love was strong in death.
Burn'd darkly on his cheek, And often to his mother
He spoke, or tried to speak : “I felt, as if from slumber
I never could awake :
To cherish for your sake!
A heavy weight, like lead :
Quite through my little bed :
With weariness I ache :
To cherish for your sake!
Which I may kiss in sleepTo make me feel I'm near you,
And bless you though I weep. My sisters say I'm better
But, then, their heads they shake : Oh, Mother, give me something
To cherish for your sake!
THE HAPPY LOT. BLESS'D is the hearth where daughters
gird the fire, And sons that shall be happier than their
sire, Who sees them crowd around his evening
chair, While love and hope inspire his wordless
prayer. O from their home paternal may they go, With little to unlearn, though much to
know! Them, may no poison'd tongue, no evil Curse for the virtues that refuse to die; L The generous heart, the indepeаdent
mind, Till truth, like falsehood, leaves a sting!
behind! May temperance crown their feast, and
friendship share ! May Pity come, Love's sister-spirit, there! May they shun baseness as they shuu the
grave! May they be frugal, pious, humble,
brave ! Sweet peace be theirs—the moonlight of
the breastAnd occupation, and alternate rest ;
Why can't I see the poplar,
While many a sparkling star, in quiet glee, The moonlit stream and hill,
Far down within the watery sky reposes. Where, Fanny says, good angels | As if the Ocean's heart were stirr'd
Dream, when the woods are still ? | With inward life, a sound is heard, Why can't I see you, Mother? Like that of dreamer murmuring in his I surely am awake :
sleep; Oh, haste ! and give me something 'Tis partly the billow, and partly the air, To cherish for your sake!”
That lies like a garment floating fair
Above the happy deep.
The sea, I ween, cannot be fann'd
By evening freshness from the land,
But God hath will'd that the sky-born
breeze A mother and two sisters
In the centre of the loneliest seas
Should ever sport and play.
Encircled with a zone of love,
That makes her wakeful eye more bright:
She seems to shine with a sunny ray, A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting And the night looks like a mellow'd day! sun,
The gracious Mistress of the Main A gleam of crimson tinged its braided Hath now an undisturbed reign, snow :
And from her silent throne looks down, Long had I watch'd the glory moving on As upon children of her own, O'er the still radiance of the lake below. On the waves that lend their gentle breast Tranquil its spirit seem'd, and floated In gladness for her couch of rest!
slow! Even in its very motion there was rest : While every breath of eve that chanced to MAGDALENE'S HYMN.
blow Wafted the traveller to the beauteous
The City of the Plague. West.
| The air of death breathes through our Emblem, methought, of the departed souls, soul !
The dead all round us lie; To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is By day and night the death-bell tolls, given;
And says, “Prepare to die."
We thought so wond'rous fair, Where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful | Hath faded, ere his course was run, lies,
Beneath its golden hair. And tells to man his glorious destinies.
I see the old man in his grave,
With thin locks silvery-grey;
In the cold breath of clay.
Like music all are gone! Calm as the cloudless heaven, the heaven And the wan moonlight bathes in rest discloses,
1 Their monumental stone.
But not when the death-prayer is said
The life of life departs ;
Its beauty in our hearts.
And holy midnight voices sweet
Like fragrance fill the room,
Come bright'ning from the tomb.
We know who sends the visions bright,
From whose dear side they came ! -We veil our eyes before thy light, We bless our Saviour's name !
| Why therefore are ye silent, ye who know
The trance of adoration, and behold
dread On regions where the sky forever lies Bright as the sun himself, and trembling
all With ravishing music, or where darkness
broods O'er ghastly shapes, and sounds not to be
This frame of dust, this feeble breath
The Plague may soon destroy ; We think on Thee, and feel in death
A deep and awful joy.
Dim is the light of vanish'd years
In the glory yet to come ;
When Jesus calls us home.
Like children for some bauble fair THE THREE SEASONS OF LOVE.
That weep themselves to rest ;
That told youth's heartfelt revelry;
Of swallow waken'd by the spring ;
With accents blithe as voice of May,
Chanting glad Nature's roundelay; How beautiful is genius when combined | Circled by joy, like planet bright, With holiness! Oh, how divinely sweet
| That smiles 'mid wreaths of dewy light, The tones of earthly harp, whose chords | Thy image such, in former time, are touch'd
When thou, just entering on thy prime, By the soft hand of Piety, and hung And woman's sense in thee combined Upon Religion's shrine, there vibrating Gently with childhood's simplest mind, With solemn music in the ear of God.
First taught'st my sighing soul to move And must the Bard from sacred themes
| With hope towards the heaven of love! refrain ? Sweet were the hymns in patriarchal Now years have given my Mary's face days,
| A thoughtful and a quiet grace ; That, kneeling in the silence of his tent, Though happy still, yet chance distress Or on some moonlit hill, the shepherd Hath left a pensive loveliness ; pour'd
Fancy hath tamed her fairy gleams, Unto his heavenly Father. Strains sur. And thy heart broods o'er home-born vive
dreams! Erst chanted to the lyre of Israel,
| Thy smiles, slow-kindling now and mild, More touching far than ever poet breathed Shower blessings on a darling child; Amid the Grecian isles, or ater times | Thy motion slow, and soft thy tread, Have heard in Albion, land of every lay. As if round thy hush'd infant's bed!
And when thou speak'st, thy melting tone, Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer? That tells thy heart is all my own,
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Sounds sweeter from the lapse of years, Homer? With the wife's love, the mother's fears!
Perhaps thou wert a mason, and forbidden By tny glad youth and tranquil prime By oath to tell the secrets of thy tradeAssured, I smile at hoary time;
Then say, what secret melody was hidden For thou art doom'd in age to know, In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise The calm that wisdom steals from woe; played ? The holy pride of high intent,
Perhaps thou wert a Priest—if so, my The glory of a life well spent.
struggles When, earth's affections nearly o'er, Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its With Peace behind and Faith before,
juggles. Thou render'st up again to God, Untarnish'd by its frail abode,
| Perchance that very hand, now pinioned Thy lustrous soul; then harp ancl hymn, flat,
[to glass; From bands of sister seraphim,
Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass Asleep will lay thee, till thine eye Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer's hat, Open in Immortality.
Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, (HORACE SMITH. 1779-1849.)
A torch at the great Temple's dedication. ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY IN I need not ask thee if that hand, when BELZONI'S EXHIBITION,
Has any Roman soldier mauled and AND thou hast walked about (how strange knuckled, a story!)
For thou wert dead, and buried, and In Thebes's street three thousand years embalmed ago,
[glory, Ere Romulus and Remus had been When the Memnonium was in all its suckled :
And time had not begun to overthrow Antiquity appears to have begun Those temples, palaces, and piles | Long after thy primeval race was run.
stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous! Thou couldst develop, if that withered
tongue Speak! for thou long enough hast acted Might tell us what those sightless orbs dumby;
have seen, Thou hast a tongue, come, let us hear How the world looked when it was fresh its tune;
(green; Thou'rt standing on thy legs above ground, And the great deluge still had left it mummy!
Or was it then so old, that history's pages Revisiting the glimpses of the moon. Contained no record of its early ages? Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,
Still silent, incommunicative elf! But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs! Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy and features.
But prythee tell us something of thyself, Tell us—for doubtless thou canst re- 1 Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; collect
(same? Since in the world of spirits thou hast To whom we should assign the Sphinx's slumbered, Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect What hast thou seen — what strange
Of either Pyramid that bears his name? adventures numbered ?