These check his fearful steps; and down he sinks Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift, nerve The deadly winter seizes; shuts up sense; blast. JAMES THOMSON. The downward point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head. He went to the windows of those who slept. And over each pane like a fairy crept; Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, By the light of the moon were seen Most beautiful things. There were flowers and trees, There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees, There were cities, thrones, temples and towers, and these All pictured in silver sheen! But he did one thing that was hardly fair,He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare,— "Now just to set them a thinking, I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he; T SPRING. (From "Ella; " spelling modernized.) HE budding floweret blushes at the light, The meads he sprinkled with the yellow hue, In daisied mantles is the mountain dight, The fresh young cowslip bendeth with the dew; The trees enleafed, into heaven straught, When gentle winds do blow, to whistling wind is brought. The evening comes, and brings the dews along, The ruddy welkin shineth to the eyne, Around the ale-stake minstrels sing the song, Young ivy round the door-post doth en twine; I lay me on the grass; yet to my will, PRELUDE. (ToThe Loves of the Angels."") WAS when the world was in its prime. When the fresh stars had just begun Their race of glory, and young Time Come with bows bent and with emptying of Oh, that man's heart were as fire, and could quivers, Maiden most perfect, lady of light, With a noise of winds and many rivers, spring to her! Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring! Invite you forth in all your gayest trim! pour The mazy-running soul of melody And try again the long-forgotten strain, Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounting sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse Superior heard, run through the sweetest length Of notes; when listening Philomela deigns The mellow bullfinch grove; answers from the Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze Poured out profusely, silent; joined to these, Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade Of new-sprung leaves, their modulations mix Aid the full concert; while the stock-dove breathes A melancholy murmur through the whole. That even to birds and beasts the tender art My panting muse! And hark, how loud the Of pleasing teaches. woods JAMES THOMSON. |