"Girt with many a baron bold, Sublime their stony fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old, In bearded majesty appear. In the midst a form divine! 1 Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line What strings symphonious tremble in the air! "The verse adorn again, Fierce war, and faithful love, And truth severe, by fairy fiction dressed. Pale grief, and pleasing pain, With honor, tyrant of the throbbing breast. 4 A voice, as of the cherub-choir, Gales from blooming Eden bear; And distant warblings 5 lessen on my ear, That lost in long futurity expire. Fond, impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the.golden flood, And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 1 Queen Elizabeth. 2 Taliessin, chief of the bards, flourished in the sixth century. His works are still preserved, and his memory held in high veneration among his countrymen. high Shakspeare. 4 Milton. 5 The succession of poets after Milton's time. SLEEP Enough for me with joy I see 335 He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. SLEEP. — Miss Barrett. Of all the thoughts of God that are For gift or grace surpassing this, — What would we give to our beloved? What do we give to our beloved? And bitter memories, to make The whole earth blasted for our sake! "He giveth his beloved sleep!' "Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes say, But have no ture to charm away Sad dreams, that through the eyelids creep Shall break the happy slumber, wher O earth, so full of dreary noises ! His dews drop mutely on the hill, Yea, men may wonder, while they scan But angels say, - and through the word For me, my heart, that erst did go That sees through tears the juggler's leap, Would, childlike, on his love repose, Who giveth his beloved sleep!" And friends! — dear friends! - when it shall be That his low breath is gone from me, PROVIDENCE. And round my bier ye come to weep, 337 PROVIDENCE. — Herbert. O SACRED Providence, who, from end to end, Of all the creatures, both in sea and land, And made him secretary of thy praise. Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty to their notes Man is the world's high priest; he doth present Such as springs use that fall, and winds that blow. Tempests are calm to thee; they know thy hand, Which cry and follow. Thou hast made poor sand Check the proud sea, even when it swells and gathers How finely dost thou times and seasons spin, Each creature hath a wisdom for his good : Bees work for man, and yet they never bruise So both the flower doth stay, and honey run. Who hath the virtue to express the rare E'en poisons praise thee. Should a thing be lost? The sea, which seems to stop the traveller, And as thy house is full, so I adore Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods. The hills with health abound; the vales, with store; The south, with marble; north, with furs and woods |