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334 THE BARYy.

“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 !! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line ; Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face, Attempered sweet to virgin grace. What strings symphonious tremble in the air ] What strains of vocal transport round her play ! Hear from the grave, great Taliessin,” hear ! They breathe a soul to animate thy clay ; Bright rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colored


“The verse adorn again,

Fierce war, and faithful love,
And truth severe, by fairy fiction dressed.
In buskined measures 9 move
Pale grief, and pleasing pain,
With honor, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice,” as of the cherub-choir,
Gales from blooming Eden bear ;
And distant warblings” 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.

* Queen Elizabeth.

* Taliessin, chief of the bards, flourished in the sixth contury. His works are still preserved, and his memory held in high veneration among his countrymen.

* Shakspeare.

4 Milton.

* The succession of poets after Milton's time.

Enough for me: with joy I see
The different doom our fates assign.
Be thine despair, and sceptred care :
To triumph and to die are mine.”
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.

SLEEP. — JMiss Barrett.

Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep, —
Now tell me if that any is
For gift or grace surpassing this, –
“He giveth his belovèd sleep ’’ 2

What would we give to our beloved 2
The hero’s heart, to be unmoved, –
The poet’s star-tuned harp to sweep, —
The senate’s shout to patriot vows, –
The monarch's crown, to light the brows 2
“He giveth his belovèd sleep !”

What do we give to our beloved 2
A little faith, all undisproved, –
A little dust to overweep, —
And bitter memories, to make
The whole earth blasted for our sake :
“He giveth his belovèd sleep !”

“Sleep soft, beloved l’” we sometimes say,
But have no ture to charm away

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Sad ureams, that through the eyelids creep
But never doleful dream again
Shall break the happy slumber, when
“He giveth his belovèd sleep !”

O earth, so full of dreary noises 1
O men, with wailing in your voices !
O delvéd gold, the wailer’s heap !
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall !
God makes a silence through you all,
And “giveth his belovèd sleep !”

His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still ;
Though on its slope men toil and reap,
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
“He giveth his belovèd sleep.”

Yea, men may wonder, while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man
In such a rest his heart to keep ;
But angels say, - and through the word
I ween their blessed smile is heard, –
1 22

“He giveth his belovèd sleep !

For me, my heart, that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,
That sees through tears the juggler's leap,
Would now its weary vision close, –
Would, childlike, on his love repose,
* Who giveth his belovèd sleep !”

And friends ! — dear friends ! — when it shall
That his low breath is gone from me,

And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let one, most loving of you all,
Say, “ Not a tear must o'er her fall, -
“He giveth his belovèd sleep !?”

PROVIDENCE. – Herbert.

O SACRED Providence, who, from end to end,
Strongly and sweetly movest ! shall I write,
And not of thee, through whom my fingers bend
To hold my quill 2 Shall they not do thee right?

Of all the creatures, both in sea and land,
Only to man thou hast made known thy ways,
And put the pen alone into his hand,
And made him secretary of thy praise.

Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty to their notes -
Trees would be tuning on their native lute
To thy renown: but all their hands and throats
Are brought to man, while they are lame and mute.

Man is the world's high priest; he doth present
The sacrifice for all; while they below
Unto the service mutter an assent, —
Such as springs use that fall, and winds that blow.

Tempests are calm to thee; they know thy hand,
And hold it fast, as children do their father’s,
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,
And make a twist checkered with night and day !
Which, as it lengthens, winds, and winds us in,
As bowls go on, but turning all the way.

Each creature hath a wisdom for his good :

The pigeons feed their tender offspring, crying,

When they are callow ; but withdraw their food,

When they are fledged, that need may teach 'em flying.

Bees work for man, and yet they never bruise
Their master's flower, but leave it, having done,
As fair as ever, and as fit to use :
So both the flower doth stay, and honey run.

Who hath the virtue to express the rare
And curious virtues both of herbs and stones 2
Is there an herb for that ? O, that thy care
Would show a root that gives expressions!

E’en poisons praise thee. Should a thing be lost?
Should creatures want, for want of heed, their due 2
Since where are poisons, antidotes are most;
The help stands close, and keeps the fear in view.

The sea, which seems to stop the traveller,
Is by a ship the speedier passage made;
The winds, who think they rule the mariner,
Are ruled by him, and taught to serve his trade.

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

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