Apostrophe to Nature.

A. CUNNINGHAM.

NATURE! holy, meek, and mild,
Thou dweller on the mountain wild;
Thou haunter of the lonesome wood;
Thou wanderer by the secret flood;
Thou lover of the daisied sod,

Where Spring's white foot hath lately trod;
Finder of flowers fresh-sprung and new,
Where sunshine comes to seek the dew;
Twiner of bowers for lovers meet;

Smoother of sods for poets' feet;
Thrice-sainted matron! in whose face,
Who looks in love will light on grace;
Far-worshipped goddess! one who gives
Her love to him who wisely lives ;-
Oh! take my hand and place me on
The daisied footstool of thy throne;
And pass before my darkened sight
Thy hand which lets in charmed light;
And touch my soul, and let me see
The ways of God, fair dame, in thee.

Or lead me forth o'er dales and meads,
Even as her child the mother leads;
Where corn, yet milk in its green ears,
The dew upon its shot-blade bears;
Where blooming clover grows, and where
She licks her scented foot, the hare;
Where twin-nuts cluster thick, and springs

The thistle with ten thousand stings;
Untrodden flowers and unpruned trees,
Gladdened with songs of birds and bees;
The ring where last the fairies danced—
The place where dank Will latest glanced-
The tower round which the magic shell
Of minstrel threw its lasting spell-
The stream that steals its way along,
To glory consecrate by song:
And while we saunter, let thy speech
God's glory and His goodness preach.

Or, when the sun sinks, and the bright
Round moon sheds down her lustrous light;
When larks leave song, and men leave toiling;
And hearths burn clear, and maids are smiling;
When hoary hinds, with rustic saws,
Lay down to youth thy golden laws;
And beauty is her wet cheek laying
To her sweet child, and silent praying;
With thee in hallowed mood I'll go,
Through scenes of gladness or of woe:
Thy looks inspired, thy chastened speech,
Me more than man hath taught shall teach;
And much that's gross, and more that's vain,
As chaff from corn, shall leave my strain.

I feel thy presence and thy power,
As feels the rain yon parched flower;
It lifts its head, spreads forth its bloom,
Smiles to the sky, and sheds perfume.
A child of woe, sprung from the clod,
Through thee seeks to ascend to God.