nor wars are seen, unless upon the green two harmless lambs are butting one the other; which done, both bleating run, each to his mother; and wounds are never found, save what the ploughshare gives the ground. Go! let the diving Negro seek we all pearls scorn, save what the dewy morn congeals upon each little spire of grass, which careless shepherds beat down as they pass: and gold ne'er here appears, save what the yellow Ceres bears. SIR W. RALEIGH 344 ODE ON THE DEATH OF JAMES THOMSON N yonder grove a Druid lies, IN where slowly winds the stealing wave! In yon deep bed of whispering reeds to hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. to bid his gentle spirit rest! And oft as ease and health retire to breezy lawn, or forest deep, the friend shall view yon whitening spire, 345 But thou who own'st that earthly bed, that mourn beneath the gliding sail! 346 Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near? But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide And see, the fairy valleys fade; dun night has veiled the solemn view! The genial meads, assigned to bless Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay shall melt the musing Briton's eyes: O! vales, and wild woods, shall he say, in yonder grove your Druid lies! A DIRGE W. COLLINS Riet the pines murmur o'er your grave, EST on your battle-fields, ye brave! your dirge be in the moaning wave- O there was mourniug when ye fell, but that hath long been o'er. Rest with your still and solemn fame; But we on changeful days are cast when bright names from their place fall fast; we cannot mourn you now. F. HEMANS 347 THE THE HAMLET HE hinds how blest, who ne'er beguiled to quit their hamlet's hawthorn wild, nor haunt the crowd, nor tempt the main for splendid care and guilty gain! When morning's twilight-tinctur'd beam to dip the scythe in fragrant dew; 'Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear, in their lone haunts, and woodland rounds, and startle from her ashen spray, across the glen, the screaming jay: 348 For them the moon with cloudless ray the meadows incense breathe at eve. that o'er a glimmering hearth they share; duly, the darkening valleys o'er, Their humble porch with honied flowers, 349 but when their temples long have wore SURE THE TIMBER T. WARTON OURE thou didst flourish once! and many Springs, many bright mornings, much dew, many showers past o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. And still a new succession sings and flies; fresh groves grow up and their green branches shoot towards the old and still enduring skies; while the low violet thrives at their root. But thou beneath the sad and heavy line of death dost waste all senseless, cold and dark; where not so much as dreams of light may shine, nor any thought of greenness, leaf or bark. And yet, as if some deep hate and dissent, bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, were still alive, thou dost great storms resent, before they come, and know'st how near they be. Else all at rest thou lyest, and the fierce breath H. VAUGHAN 350 BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN H, deem not they are blest alone The light of smiles shall fill again 351 There is a day of sunny rest for every dark and troubled night; And thou, who o'er thy friend's low bier For God has marked each sorrowing day W. C. BRYANT ANACREONTIC BENEATH a thick and silent shade that seem'd for pure devotion made in holy rapture stretch'd along (Urania lay to aid my song) I tun'd my voice and touch'd the lyre while heav'nly themes the Muse inspire; I sung the beauties of the grove I sung th' Almighty power above, but lost alas! the sprightly sound. as sound that leaves the breaking string. 352 VITA EST BENEFACTIS EXTENDENDA Tand whitens every spray, HE snow, that crowns each mountain's brow, fom each high rock and loaded bough |