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SILENCE, all! ye winged choir;
Let not yon Right Reverend sire
Hear your happy symphony:
'Tis too good for such as he.

On the day of rest divine,
He poor townsfolk would confine
In their crowded streets and lanes,
Where they cannot hear your strains.

All the week they drudge away,
Having but one holiday—
No more time for you, than that-
Unlike bishops, rich and fat.

Utter not your cheerful sounds,
Therefore, in the bishop's grounds;
Make him melody no more,
Who denies you to the poor.

Linnet, hist! and blackbird, hush! Throstle, be a songless thrush; Nightingale and lark, be mute; Never sing to such a brute.

Robin, at the twilight dim,
Never let thine evening hymn—
Bird of red and ruthful breast-
Lend the bishop's port a zest.

Soothe not, birds, his lonesome hours,
Keeping us from fields and flowers,
Who to pen us tries, instead,
'Mong the intramural dead.

ARETHUSA.

ARETHUSA arose

From her couch of snows

In the Acroceraunian mountains,-
From cloud and from crag
With many a jag,

Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks
With her rainbow locks
Streaming among the streams ;-

Her steps paved with green
The downward ravine
Which slopes to the western gleams:
And, gliding and springing,

She went, ever singing

In murmurs as soft as sleep;

The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep.

Then Alpheus bold,

On his glacier cold,

With his trident the mountains strook; And opened a chasm

In the rocks;—with the spasm

All Erymanthus shook.

And the black south wind,

It concealed behind

The urns of the silent snow;

And earthquake and thunder
Did rend in sunder
The bars of the springs below:
The beard and the hair
Of the river-god were
Seen through the torrent's sweep,
As he followed the light

Of the fleet nymph's flight To the brink of the Dorian deep.

"Oh, save me! Oh, guide me! And bid the deep hide me,

For he grasps me now by the hair!" The loud Ocean heard,

To its blue depth stirred, And divided at her prayer;

And under the water

The Earth's white daughter

Fled like a sunny beam;

Behind her descended

Her billows, unblended

With the brackish Dorian stream.

Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main,

Alpheus rushed behind,-
As an eagle pursuing

A dove to its ruin

Down the streams of the cloudy wind.

Under the bowers

Where the Ocean powers
Sit on their pearled thrones;
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods,
Over heaps of unvalued stones;
Through the dim beams
Which amid the streams
Weave a net-work of colored light;

And under the caves,
Where the shadowy waves

Are as green as the forest's night-
Outspeeding the shark,
And the sword-fish dark,

Under the ocean foam;

And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts

They passed to their Dorian home.

And now from their fountains
In Enna's mountains,

Down one vale where the morning basks,
Like friends once parted,

Grown single-hearted,

They ply their watery tasks.

At sunrise they leap
From their cradles steep

In the cave of the shelving hill;

At noon-tide they flow
Through the woods below,
And the meadows of Asphodel;
And at night they sleep
In the rocking deep
Beneath the Ortygian shore;-

Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky,

When they love but live no more.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

THE FOUNTAIN.

INTO the sunshine,

Full of light,
Leaping and flashing
From morn till night;

Into the moonlight,

Whiter than snow,
Waving so flower-like,
When the winds blow!

Into the starlight,
Rushing in spray,
Happy at midnight-
Happy by day!

Ever in motion,
Blithesome and cheery,
Still climbing heavenward,
Never aweary;

Glad of all weathers,
Still seeming best,
Upward or downward,
Motion thy rest;

Full of a nature

Nothing can tame, Changed every momentEver the same;

Ceaseless aspiring,

Ceaseless content,
Darkness or sunshine
Thy element;

Glorious fountain!
Let my heart be
Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward, like thee!

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

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