Those noisome insects on eternal wing,
That hum at banquets, or in ball-rooms sting,
Which, though they cannot heart or mind o'erpow'r,
May fret the smoothness of the calmest hour.
ALL NATURE PROCLAIMS A DEITY.
THERE is a voiceless eloquence on Earth,
Telling of Him who gave her wonders birth;
And long may I remain th' adoring child
Of Nature's majesty, sublime or wild;
Hill, flood, and forest, mountain, rock, and sea,
All take their terrors, or their charms from Thee,
From Thee, whose hidden but supreme control
Moves through the world, a universal soul.
But who could trace Thine unrestricted course, Though Fancy followed with immortal force? There's not a blossom fondled by the breeze, There's not a fruit that beautifies the trees, There's not a particle in sea or air,
But Nature owns thy plastic influence there!
With fearful gaze, still be it mine to see
How all is fill'd and vivified by Thee;
Upon thy mirror, earth's majestic view,
To paint Thy Presence, and to feel it too.
A FINE MORNING IN SUMMER.
THE night hath drows'd, the revelry is o'er,
And Nature woos me. Through the orient heaven
A dawn advances, like a shining sea;
Around, in rich transcendancy of beams,
Enormous fantasies of waking light,
As foam'd from a volcano's fiery lips,-
Now welter forth, then wanton, and dissolve;
For lo! array'd in clouds of crimson bloom,
The sun-faced Morn comes gliding o'er the waves,
And veils the world with glory! Rocks and hills
Salute her with magnificence; the woods
And plains are mantled with their greenest pomp,
And night-tears glisten in her rosy beam.
But in yon valleys, where from bosom'd cots,
Like morning incense, wreathy smoke ascends,
How beautiful the flush of life! The birds
Are wing'd for heaven, and steep the air in song,
While in the gladness of the new-born breeze
The young leaves flutter, and the flow'rets shake
Their innocence and bloom. And ye, bright streams,
Ye woodland vagrants, humming to the wind,
In vine-like flexure, how ye rove along
By mead and bank, where violets love to dwell
In solitude and stillness: all is fresh,
And gaysome. Now the peasant, with an eye
Bright as the noon-ray sparkling through a shower,
Comes forth, and carols in thy warming beam,
Thou sky-god! throned in all thy wealth of light;
Sure airy painters have enrich'd thy sphere
With regal pageantry; such cloudy pomps
Adorn the heavens, a poet's eye would dream
His ancient gods had all return'd again,
And hung their palaces around the sun!
And this is England, bathed in morning glow:
The isle where Freedom bears a lion mien,
The land whose echoes thrill the Earth around,
The ocean-throned, the ancient battle-famed,
The charter'd clime of Heaven!
A THUNDER-STORM.
A thunder-storm!-the eloquence of heaven,
When every cloud is from its slumber riven,
Who hath not paused beneath its hollow groan,
And felt Omnipotence around him thrown?
With what a gloom the ush'ring scene appears!
The leaves all flutt'ring with instinctive fears,
The waters curling with a fellow dread,
A breezeless fervour round creation spread,
And, last, the heavy rain's reluctant shower,
With big drops patt'ring on the tree and bower,
While wizard shapes the bowing sky deform,-
All mark the coming of a thunder-storm!
Oh! now to be alone, on some vast height, Where heaven's black curtains terrify the sight, And watch the clouds together meet and clash, While fierce-wing'dlightnings from their conflict flash; To see the caverns of the sky disclose
The buried flames that in their wombs repose,
And mark the lurid meteors fall and rise,
In dizzy chase along the rattling skies,
How quakes the spirit while the echoes roll,
And God, in thunder, rocks from pole to pole!
List! now the cradled winds have hush'd their roar, And infant waves curl gamb'ling to the shore,
While Nature seems to wake up fresh and clear
As Hope emerging from the gloom of fear,-
And the bright dew-bead on the bramble lies,
Like liquid rapture upon beauty's eyes,-
How heavenly 'tis to take our pensive range,
And mark 'tween storm and calm the lovely change!
First comes the sun, unveiling half its face,
Like a coy virgin, with reluctant grace,
While dark clouds, skirted with a slanting ray,
Roll, one by one, in azure depths away,
Till pearly shapes, like molten billows, lie
Along the tinted bosom of the sky :
Next, breezes murmur with harmonious charm,
Panting and wild, like orphans of the storm;
Now sipping flowers, now making blossoms shake,
Or weaving ripples on the grass-green lake;
And thus the tempest dies; and soft, and still,
The rainbow drops upon the distant hill.
A SERENE EVENING.
WHEN Day hath glided to his rosy bower, And twilight comes-the Poet's witching hour; And dream-like language from the soft-toned wind With pensive cadence charms the list'ning mind, Then nature's beauty, clothed with dewy light, Melts on the heart like music through the night. And not in vain, voluptuous Eventide,
Thy dappled clouds along th' horizon glide,
For oh! while heaven and earth grow dumb with bliss In homage to an hour divine as this,
How sweet, upon yon mountain's azure brow,
While ruddy sunbeams gild the crags below,
To stand, and mark, with meditative view,
Where the far ocean faints in hazy blue,
While on the bosom of the midway deep
The emerald waves in flashing dimples leap;
Here, as we view the burning god of time,
Wrapp'd in a shroud of glory, sink sublime,
Thoughts of ethereal beauty spring to birth,
And waft the soul beyond the dreams of earth.
ELYSIAN race! while o'er their slumbering flocks
The Galilean shepherds watch'd, ye came
To sing Hosannahs to the heaven-born babe,
And shed the brightness of your beauty round:
Nor have ye left the world, but still unseen
Surround the earth, as guardians of the good,
Inspiring souls, and leading them to heaven!
And oh! when shadows of the state unknown
Advance, and Life endures the grasp of Death,
"Tis yours to hallow and illume the mind,
The starry wreath to bring, by angels worn,
And crown the Spirit for her native sphere.
A BRIDAL MORN.
BELLS on the wind!-hark! peal on peal
Comes wafted with melodious zeal,
|