BENEATH a shivering canopy reclined, DR. JOHN LEYDEN. ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY. O UNSEEN Spirit! now a calm divine The mountain ridge against the purple sky Stands clear and strong, with darkened rocks | Nor I alone, - a thousand bosoms round and dells, And cloudless brightness opens wide and high A home aerial, where thy presence dwells. Inhale thee in the fulness of delight; And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound Livelier, at coming of the wind of night; And languishing to hear thy welcome sound, Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the sight. Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth, God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth! Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest; Curl the still waters, bright with stars; and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning, from the innumerable boughs, The strange deep harmonies that haunt his breast. Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone That they who near the churchyard willows stray, And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, May think of gentle souls that passed away, Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, Sent forth from heaven among the sons of men, And gone into the boundless heaven again. The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And they who stand about the sick man's bed Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, And softly part his curtains to allow Star of love's soft interviews, THOMAS CAMPBELL CAPE-COTTAGE AT SUNSET. WE stood upon the ragged rocks, When the long day was nearly done; The waves had ceased their sullen shocks, And lapped our feet with murmuring tone, And o'er the bay in streaming locks Blew the red tresses of the sun. Along the west the golden bars Still to a deeper glory grew; Above our heads the faint, few stars Looked out from the unfathomed blue; And the fair city's clamorous jars Seemed melted in that evening hue. O sunset sky! O purple tide! O friends to friends that closer pressed! Those glories have in darkness died, And ye have left my longing breast. I could not keep you by my side, Nor fix that radiance in the west. SUNSET. W. B. GLAZIER. IF solitude hath ever led thy steps Of purple gold, that motionless Hung o'er the sinking sphere : Crowned with a diamond wreath. Peeps like a star o'er ocean's western edge, Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark-blue sea; Then has thy fancy soared above the earth, And furled its wearied wing Within the Fairy's fane. Yet not the golden islands Nor the feathery curtains Paving that gorgeous dome, Whilst suns their mingling beamings darted And vesper bells that rose the boughs along; The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line, His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng Which learned from this example not to fly From a true lover, - shadowed my mind's eye. O Hesperus! thou bringest all good things, Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart Of those who sail the seas, on the first day When they from their sweet friends are torn apart; Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way, As the far bell of vesper makes him start, Seeming to weep the dying day's decay : Is this a fancy which our reason scorns? Ah! surely nothing dies but something mourns. EVENING IN PARADISE. BYRON. Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Of night, and all things now retired to rest, Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown, God is thy law, thou mine; to know no more On to their blissful bower. MYSTERIOUS Night! when our first parent knew And lo! creation widened in man's view. Within thy beams, O Sun! or who could find, Whilst fly and leaf and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind! Why do we then shun death with anxious strife? If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life? NIGHT. BLANCO WHITE. How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear Were discord to the speaking quietude That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault, Studded with stars unutterably bright, rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spread Her soul above this sphere of earthliness; Where silence undisturbed might watch alone, So cold, so bright, so still. The orb of day In southern climes o'er ocean's waveless field Sinks sweetly smiling: not the faintest breath Steals o'er the unruffled deep; the clouds of eve Reflect unmoved the lingering beam of day; And vesper's image on the western main Is beautifully still. To-morrow comes : Cloud upon cloud, in dark and deepening mass, Rolls o'er the blackened waters; the deep roar Of distant thunder mutters awfully; Tempest unfolds its pinion o'er the gloom That shrouds the boiling surge; the pitiless fiend, With all his winds and lightnings, tracks his prey; The torn deep yawns, the vessel finds a grave Beneath its jagged gulf. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. NIGHT. FROM CHILDE HAROLD." 'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel We once have loved, though love is at an end: The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal, Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend. Who with the weight of years would wish to bend, When Youth itself survives young Love and joy! Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, Death hath but little left him to destroy! Ah happy years! once more who would not be a boy? Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, To gaze on Dian's wave-reflected sphere, The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride, And flies unconscious o'er each backward year. None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possessed A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; A flashing pang! of which the weary breast Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest. To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been; |