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Jeans, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some dirine despoir Rise in the heart & gather to the eyes
on the happy autumn fields,
In looking And thinking
are no more.
CHILD MEMORIAL LIBRARY
INVOCATION TO LIGHT.
The World is too much with us; late and soon, Hall, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born!
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Or of the Eternal coeternal beam
May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light,
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate. The winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers, whose fountain who shall tell ? before the sun,
Or hear’st thou rather pure ethereal stream, For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice It moves us not. -Great God! I'd rather be Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn,
The rising world of waters dark and deep, So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Won from the void and formless infinite.
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Thee I revisit now with bolder wing,
Through utterand through middle darkness borne,
Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to reascend, A WIND came up out of the sea,
Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe, And said, “O mists, make room for me!”
And feel thy sovereign vital lamp ; but thou
Revisitest not these eyes, that roll in vain It hailed the ships, and cried, “Sail on, To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; Ye mariners, the night is gone."
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, And hurried landward far away,
Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more Crying, “Awake! it is the day.”
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, It said unto the forest, “Shout!
Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief Hang all your leafy banners out!”
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, It touched the wood-bird's folded wing,
That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, And said, “O bird, awake and sing!”
Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget
Those other two equalled with me in fate,
And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old : “Bow down, and hail the coming morn!”
Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move
Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird It shouted through the belfry-tower, Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid “Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour." Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ;
The whistling ploughman stalks afield ; and, But cloud, instead, and ever-during dark,
hark ! Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
rings ; Presented with a universal blank
Through rustling corn the hare astonished Of nature's works, to me expunged and rased,
springs ; And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour; So much the rather thou, celestial Light,
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings ; Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower, Irradiate ; there plant eyes, all mist from thence And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tower. Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
JAMES BEATTIE. Of things invisible to mortal sight.
THE SABBATH MORNING.
PACK CLOUDS AWAY.
Pack clouds away, and welcome day,
With night we banish sorrow;
To give my love good morrow.
Notes from the lark I 'll borrow :
To give my love good morrow.
With silent awe I hail the sacred morn,
DR. JOHN LEYDEN.
Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast,
Sing, birds, in every furrow ; And from each hill let music shrill
Give my fair love good morrow. Blackbird and thrush in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow,
Sing my fair love good morrow.
REVE DU MIDI.
WHEN o'er the mountain steeps
And the idle winds go by,
Then, when the silent stream
When the moth forgets to play,
The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark ;
Then, from the noise of war
The chime of bells remote, the murmuring sea,
The song of birds in whispering copse and wood, The distant voice of children's thoughtless glee,
And maiden's song, are all one voice of good. Amid the leaves' green mass a sunny play
Of flash and shadow stirs like inward life ; The ship’s white sail glides onward far away, Unhaunted by a dream of storm or strife.
All voices sad and clear,
Banished to silence drear,
Some melancholy gale
Glories that faded fast,
As poised on vibrant wings,
I linger in delight,
THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BURN.
The midges dance aboon the burn;
The dews begin to fa';
Set up their e'ening ca'.
Rings through the briery shaw,
Around the castle wa'.
Beneath the golden gloamin' sky
The mavis mends her lay ;
The redbreast pours his sweetest strains BENEATH a shivering canopy reclined,
To charm the lingering day; Of aspen-leaves that wave without a wind,
While weary yeldrins seem to wail I love to lie, when lulling breezes stir
Their little nestlings torn, The spiry cones that tremble on the fir;
The merry wren, frae den to den,
Gaes jinking through the thorn.
The roses fauld their silken leaves,
The foxglove shuts its bell; And pittering grasshoppers, confus’dly shrill,
The honeysuckle and the birk Pipe giddily along the glowing hill :
Spread fragrance through the dell. Sweet grasshopper, who lov'st at noon to lie
Let others crowd the giddy court Serenely in the green-ribbed clover's eye,
Of mirth and revelry, To sun thy filmy wings and emerald vest,
The simple joys that nature yields
Are dearer far to me.
THE EVENING WIND.
Spirit that breathest through my lattice , thou
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day! ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY.
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow;
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, O UNSEEN Spirit ! now a calm divine
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Comes forth from thee, rejoicing earth and air ! Roughening their crests, and scattering high Trees, hills, and houses, all distinctly shine, And thy great ocean slumbers everywhere. And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea ! The mountain ridge against the purple sky Stands clear and strong, with darkened rocks Nor I alone, a thousand bosoms round and dells,
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ; And cloudless brightness opens wide and high And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound
A home aerial, where thy presence dwells. Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;