The wind flows cool; the scented ground
Is breathing odors on the gale.
Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile,
Methinks some spirit of the air
Might rest, to gaze below awhile,

Then turn to bathe and revel there.

The sun breaks forth; from off the scene
Its floating veil of mist is flung;
And all the wilderness of green

With trembling drops of light is hung.

Now gaze on Nature, —yet the same,
Glowing with life, by breezes fanned,
Luxuriant, lovely, as she came,
Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand.

Hear the rich music of that voice,

Which sounds from all below, above; She calls her children to rejoice,

And round them throws her arms oflove.

Drink in her influence; low-born care, And all the train of mean desire, Refuse to breathe this holy air,

And mid this living light expire.

CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY.

[1787-1854.]

MARINER'S HYMN.

LAUNCH thy bark, mariner!
Christian, God speed thee!
Let loose the rudder-bands,
Good angels lead thee!
Set thy sails warily,
Tempests will come;
Steer thy course steadily:
Christian, steer home!
Look to the weather-bow,

Breakers are round thee;
Let fall the plummet now,
Shallows may ground thee.
Reef in the foresail, there!
Hold the helm fast!
So let the vessel wear-
There swept the blast.

"What of the night, watchman?
What of the night?"
"Cloudy-all quiet-

No land yet all 's right."

Be wakeful, be vigilant, Danger may be

At an hour when all seemeth
Securest to thee.

How! gains the leak so fast?
Clean out the hold,
Hoist up thy merchandise,
Heave out thy gold;
There-let the ingots go-
Now the ship rights;
Hurrah! the harbor 's near-
Lo! the red lights!
Slacken not sail yet
At inlet or island;
Straight for the beacon steer,
Straight for the high land;
Crowd all thy canvas on,
Cut through the foam :
Christian! cast anchor now,
Heaven is thy home!

I said to Friendship's menaced blow,
Strike deep, my heart shall bear;
Thou canst but add one bitter woe

To those already there;
Yet still the spirit that sustains

This last severe distress
Shall smile upon its keenest pains,
And scorn redress.

I said to Death's uplifted dart,
Aim sure, 0, why delay?
Thou wilt not find a fearful heart,
A weak, reluctant prey;
For still the spirit, firm and free,
Unruffled by this last dismay,
Wrapt in its own eternity,
Shall pass away.

149

And the memory of those who have loved her and praised,

Are alike from the minds of the living erased.

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne,

The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn,

The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,

Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to

reap,

For we are the same things our fathers have been;

We see the same sights that our fathers have seen,

have run.

In and out,

Through the motley rout,

little Jackdaw kept hopping about;
Here and there,

Like a dog in a fair,
Over comfits and cates

And dishes and plates,

Cowl and cope and rochet and pall,
Mitre and crosier, he hopped upon all.
With a saucy air

He perched on the chair Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat,

In

the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat;

And he peered in the face

Of his Lordship's Grace,

With a satisfied look, as if to say, "We two are the greatest folks here today!"

And the priests with awe, As such freaks they saw, Said, "The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw!"

The feast was over, the board was cleared, The flawns and the custards had all disappeared,

And six little singing-boys, - dear little souls!

In nice clean faces and nice white stoles, Came, in order due,

Two by two,

Marching that grand refectory through! A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Embossed, and filled with water, as pure As any that flows between Rheims and Namur,

Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch

In a fine golden hand-basin made to match.
Two nice little boys, rather more grown,
Poured lavender-water and eau-de-Co-
logne ;

And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap
Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope!
One little boy more
A napkin bore

Of the best white diaper fringed with pink, And a cardinal's hat marked in permanent ink.

The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Of these nice little boys dressed all in white;

From his finger he draws
His costly turquoise:

nobody twigged it,

151

He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying;

He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying;

He cursed him living, he cursed him dying!

Never was heard such a terrible curse!
But what gave rise
To no little surprise,

Nobody seemed one penny the worse!

The day was gone,

The night came on,

The monks and the friars they searched till dawn;

When the sacristan saw,
On crumpled claw,

Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw!
No longer gay,

As on yesterday;

His feathers all seemed to be turned the

wrong way;His pinions drooped, he could hardly stand,

His head was as bald as the palm of your hand;

His eye so dim,

So wasted each limb,

That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, "THAT'S HIM!

That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing,

That's the thief that has got my Lord
Cardinal's RING!"

The poor little Jackdaw,
When the monks he saw,

Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw;

prigged it!"

say,

"Pray be so good as to walk this way!" Slower and slower

He limped on before,

Till they came to the back of the belfry door,

Where the first thing they saw, Midst the sticks and the straw, Was the RING in the nest of that little Jackdaw!

his book,

wake in a fright.

The mute expression

Served in lieu of confession,

And, being thus coupled with full resti

tution,

The Jackdaw got plenary absolution!

When those words were heard

That poor little bird

Yet on the rose's humble bed
The sweetest dews of night are shed,

really absurd:

He grew sleek and fat;

In addition to that,

A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat!

His tail waggled more

Even than before;