night

Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, Vaulted with all thy congregated might Of vapors, from whose solid atmosphere Black rain and fire and hail will burst: oh hear!

III.

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams

The blue Mediterranean, where he lay
Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams

Beside a pumice isle in Baia's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them!
Thou

bow'd

One too like thee: tameless and swift and proud.

V.

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce,

My spirit! be thou me, impetuous one!

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth;

And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!

need.

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

Where a little headstone stood; How the flakes were folding it gently,

As did robins the babes in the wood.

friend,

And a new face at the door, my friend,

A new face at the door.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

MORNING.

HARK-hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies:

That slowly wakes while all the fields

are still!

A soothing calm on every breeze is borne; A graver murmur gurgles from the rill; And Echo answers softer from the hill; And softer sings the linnet from the thorn;

The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. Hail, light serene! hail, sacred Sabbath morn!

The rooks float silent by in airy drove; The sun a placid yellow lustre throws; The gales that lately sigh'd along the

grove,

skirts,

With brede ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed:

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak

eyed bat,

oft he wont,

And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest

Eve!

While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light;

wing,

Or where the beetle winds

His small but sullen horn,

As oft he rises midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in needless hum:

Now teach me, maid composed,
To breathe some soften'd strain,

Whose numbers stealing through thy darkening vale

May not unseemly with its stillness suit; As musing slow I hail

Thy genial loved return!

For when thy folding star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours and Elves
Who slept in buds the day,

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge,

And sheds the freshening dew, and, love

lier still,

The pensive Pleasures sweet, Prepare thy shadowy car.

leaves;

Or Winter, yelling through the troublous

air,

Affrights thy shrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling
Peace

Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favorite name.

WILLIAM COLLINS.

THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE
BURN.

THE midges dance aboon the burn;
The dews begin to fa';

The pairtricks down the rushy holm

Set up their e'ening ca'.

Now loud and clear the blackbird's sang

Rings through the briery shaw,
While, flitting gay, the swallows play
Around the castle-wa'.

Beneath the golden gloamin' sky
The mavis mends her lay;

The redbreast pours his sweetest strains
To charm the lingering day;
While weary yeldrins seem to wail

Their little nestlings torn,
The merry wren, frae den to den,
Gaes jinking through the thorn.

The roses fauld their silken leaves,
The foxglove shuts its bell;
The honeysuckle and the birk

Spread fragrance through the dell.
Let others crowd the giddy court
Of mirth and revelry,
The simple joys that Nature yields
Are dearer far to me.

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

SONNET.

It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free;
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea :
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder-everlastingly.

Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,

Like saints at evening bow'd in prayer Around their holy shrine;

And through their leaves the night-winds blow,

So calm and still, their music low
Seems the mysterious voice of prayer,
Soft echo'd on the evening air.

And yonder western throng of clouds,
Retiring from the sky,

So calmly move, so softly glow,
They seem to Fancy's eye
Bright creatures of a better sphere,
Come down at noon to worship here,
And, from their sacrifice of love,
Returning to their home above.

The blue isles of the golden sea,

The night-arch floating high,
The flowers that gaze upon the heavens,
The bright streams leaping by,
Are living with religion-deep
On earth and sea its glories sleep,
And mingle with the starlight rays,
Like the soft light of parted days.

thought,

Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the

year;

So passing fair, we almost dream That we can rise and wander through Their open paths of trackless blue.

WILLIAM WOrdsworth.

SABBATH EVENING.

How calmly sinks the parting sun!
Yet twilight lingers still;

And beautiful as dream of heaven

It slumbers on the hill;

Earth sleeps, with all her glorious things,
Beneath the Holy Spirit's wings,
And, rendering back the hues above,
Seems resting in a trance of love.
Round yonder rocks the forest trees
In shadowy groups recline,

Of glory undefiled!

And holy aspirations start,

Like blessed angels, from the heart,
And bind-for earth's dark ties are riven-
Our spirits to the gates of heaven.

GEORGE DENISON PRENTICE.

TO NIGHT.

MYSTERIOUS Night! when our first parent knew

Thee from report divine, and heard thy

name,

Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, This glorious canopy of light and blue?