That owned the virtuous ring and glass,
And of the wondrous horse of brass,
On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if aught else great bards beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of turneys and of trophies hung,
Of forests, and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear!
Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career,
Till civil-suited Morn appear,
Not tricked and frounced as she was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kerchiefed in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ushered with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe, with heavèd stroke,
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt :
There, in close covert, by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honeyed thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring
With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feathered sleep;
And let some strange, mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in aëry stream
Of lively portraiture displayed,
Softly on my eyelids laid;
And as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or the unseen Genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloisters pale,
And love the high embowèd roof,
With antic pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim, religious light:
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced choir below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth show,
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
WHY THUS LONGING? - Miss Wins.ow.
WHY thus longing, thus for ever sighing
For the far-off, unattained, and dim ;
While the beautiful, all round thee lying,
Offers up its low, perpetual hymn ?
Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching,
All thy restless yearnings it would still;
Leaf, and flower, and laden bee are preaching,
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill.
Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw; If no silken cord of love hath bound thee
To some little world through weal and woe;
If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten,
No fond voices answer to thine own;
If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten
By daily sympathy and gentle tone.
Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses. Not by works that give thee world-renown, Not by martyrdom, or vaunted crosses,
Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown.
Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely,
Every day a rich reward will give ;
Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only,
And truly loving, thou canst truly live.
Dost thou revel in the rosy morning,
When all nature hails the Lord of light,
And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning,
Robes yon fragrant fields in radiance bright?
Other hands may grasp the field and forest,
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine;
But with fervent love if thou adorest,
Thou art wealthier, all the world is thine!
Yet if through earth's wide domains thou rovest,
Sighing that they are not thine alone,
Not those fair fields, but thyself, thou lovest,
And their beauty and thy wealth is gone.
Nature wears the colors of the spirit,
Sweetly to her worshipper she sings,All the glow, the grace, she doth inherit, Round her trusting child she fondly flings.
THE fleet astronomer can bore
And thread the spheres with his quick-piercing mind. He views their stations; walks from door to door; Surveys, as if he had designed
To make a purchase there. He sees their dances; And knoweth, long before,
Both their full-eyed aspects and secret glances.
The nimble diver with his side
Cuts through the working waves, that he may fetch His dearly earnèd pearl, which God did hide
On purpose from the venturous wretch,
That he might save his life,
Who, with excessive pride,
Her own destruction and his danger wears.
The subtle chymic can divest
And strip the creature naked, till he find
The callow principles within their nest.
There he imparts to them his mind,
Admitted to their bed-chamber, before
They appear trim and dressed
To ordinary suitors at the door.
What hath not man sought out and found, But his dear God? who yet his glorious law Embosoms in us, mellowing the ground
With showers and frosts, with love and awe; So that we need not say, "Where's this command?' Poor man! thou searchest round To find out death, but missest life at hand.
As I stood thus, a neighbouring wood of elms
Was moved, and stirred, and whispered loftily,
Much like a pomp of warriors with plumed helms,
When some great general, whom they long to see,
Is heard behind them, coming in swift dignity;
And then there fled by me a rush of air,
That stirred up all the other foliage there,
Filling the solitude with panting tongues;
At which the pines woke up into their songs,
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