THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. The autumn winds, rushing, Waft the leaves that are serest, Fleet foot on the corei,* Sage counsel in cumber, How sound is thy slumber! 159 THE PAUPER'S DEATHBED.-Mrs. Southey. TREAD Softly,bow the head, In reverent silence bow, No passing bell doth toll, Stranger! however great, Greater than thou. Beneath that beggar's roof, Lo! Death doth keep his state; Enter! no crowds attend Enter! no guards defend This palace-gate. * The hollow side of the hill, where game usually lies. 160 AN INVITATION TO PRAISE GOD. That pavement damp and cold No mingling voices sound, O change! O wondrous change!- This moment there, so low, O change, stupendous change' The new immortal wakes, Wakes with his God. AN INVITATION TO PRAISE GOD. Watts. SWEET flocks, whose soft, enamelled wing Lovely minstrels of the field, TO THE EVENING WIND. Who in leafy shadows sit, And your wondrous structures build, 161 Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light; "T is He calls up the sun, and gives him every ray. Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide, Which thousand mingling colors make ; In harmless play, twist and unfold Insects and mites of mean degree, Praise Him that wears the ethereal crown, TO THE EVENING WIND. — Bryant. SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou 162 TO THE EVENING WIND. Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee Nor I alone; a thousand bosoms round 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 'twixt the o'ershadowing branches and the grass. 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 softly part his curtains to allow Go, but the circle of eternal change, With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, THE ERL KING. Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, 163 THE ERL KING. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. WHO rideth so late through the night-wind wild? It is the father with his child; He has the little one well in his arm ; He holds him safe, and he folds him warm. "My son, why hidest thy face so shy?" "Come, lovely boy, come, go with me; Such merry plays I will play with thee; Many a bright flower grows on the strand, And my mother has many a gay garment at hand.” My father, my father, and dost thou not hear What the Erl King whispers in my ear "Be quiet, my darling, be quiet, my child; Through withered leaves the wind howls wild." Come, lovely boy, wilt thou go with me? My daughters fair shall wait on thee; My daughters their nightly revels keep; They'll sing, and they'll dance, and they'll rock thee to sleep." M |