Of soft green light, as by the glow-worm shed, Came pouring thro' the woven beech-boughs down, And steep'd the magic page wherein I read Of royal chivalry and old renown, A tale of Palestine.*-Meanwhile the bee Swept past me with a tone of summer hours, A drowsy bugle, wafting thoughts of flowers, Blue skies and amber sunshine: brightly free, On filmy wings the purple dragon-fly Shot glancing like a fairy javelin by ; And a sweet voice of sorrow told the dell Where sat the lone wood-pigeon: But ere long, All sense of these things faded, as the spell Breathing from that high gorgeous tale grew strong On my chain'd soul :-'twas not the leaves I heardA Syrian wind the Lion-banner stirr❜d, * The Talisman-Tales of the Crusaders. Thro' its proud floating folds :-'twas not the brook, Singing in secret thro' its grassy glen A wild shrill trumpet of the Saracen Peal'd from the desert's lonely heart, and shook The burning air. Like clouds when winds are high, O'er glittering sands flew steeds of Araby, And tents rose up, and sudden lance and spear Sent thro' an Eastern heaven, whose glorious hue A VOYAGER'S DREAM OF LAND. His very heart athirst To gaze at nature in her green array, Fair fields appear below, such as he left Far distant, such as he would die to find He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. CowPER. THE hollow dash of waves !-the ceaseless roar !— Silence, ye billows!- -vex my soul no more. There's a spring in the woods by my sunny home, Afar from the dark sea's tossing foam; Oh! the fall of that fountain is sweet to hear, As a song from the shore to the sailor's ear! And the sparkle which up to the sun it throws, Thro' the feathery fern and the olive boughs, Their pearly leaves to the soft light spread, They haunt me! I dream of that bright spring's flow, I thirst for its rills, like a wounded roe! Be still thou sea-bird, with thy clanging cry! Know ye my home, with the lulling sound Of leaves from the lime and the chestnut round? Under the purple of southern skies? With the streamy gold of the sun that shines In thro' the cloud of its clustering vines, And the summer-breath of the myrtle-flowers; Borne from the mountains in dewy hours, And the fire-fly's glance thro' the darkening shades, Like shooting stars in the forest-glades, And the scent of the citron at eve's dim fall Speak! have ye known, have ye felt them all? The heavy rolling surge! the rocking mast! Hush! give my dream's deep music way, thou blast! Oh! the glad sounds of the joyous earth! The notes of the singing cicala's mirth, The murmurs that live in the mountain pines, The wings flitting home thro' the crimson glow The voice of the night-bird that sends a thrill To the heart of the leaves when the winds are still I hear them!-around me they rise, they swell, They call back my spirit with Hope to dwell, They come with a breath from the fresh spring-time, And waken my youth in its hour of prime. |