Deem not such thoughts abstruse unknown to youth : Sense of Infinitude is to the mind

Innate, essential, fixed, though undefined, Its fountain nature, and its issues truth.

Man is not wholly flesh; but deep enshrined Lie powers illimitable, thoughts that dwell Native in man, and indestructible,

The thoughts of boundless wisdom, goodness, power : Rays are they of divinity, a flame,

That to the heavens aspiring, whence it came,

New strength acquires with each revolving hour:
Centre and source alike of worth and fame,
Of all that, rising into good or great,

Transcends the narrow bounds of mortal date.

WALK IN WINTER.

I.

Mother severe of infinite delights. THOMPSON.

Tis winter, and the mid-day's dazzling light
Is flashing from the pure incrusted snow :
Though cold, yet bracing, are the winds that blow,
Grateful to youth, exulting in its might.

Fanned by the boreal blasts, in healthful glow Of ruddy cheeks, we climb the sylvan height,

Wild joys to share, which winter can bestow, Plenteous on those, who shrink not, with affright, From scenes which awe, yet rouse, the daring soul. A voice as of the mighty deep is here;

The winds are busy mid the branches sere,
Their huge tops swaying, onward as they roll,
Prelusive of the swelling clouds that bear
Heaven's stormy music on the troubled air.

II.

Wandering, at eve, with finely frenzied eye,
Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood!

COLERIDGE.

:

Power rouses kindred power the soul within
No tamer pleasures can with his compare
Who sends his soaring thoughts abroad, to dare
The turbulence of nature, and to win,

Mid tumult of the tempest's angry din,

Enjoyment, in the consciousness of power,

Self-held; to highest might then most akin,

When worst assailed, in danger's darkest hour. Weak minds, beneath the coming storm, may cower;

But bolder spirits rise to keener life,

And feel, with each assault, fresh vigour spring;
Self-poised, like yonder eagle, mid the strife
Of warring winds, that rush, in vain, to wring
One feather from his broad imperial wing!

THE OCEAN.

I.

Calm, or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or, in the torid clime,

Dark-heaving-boundless, endless, and sublime.

BYRON.

Bred inland, I had reached my fifteenth year, Ere yet the waves of ocean on my sight Rolled in their glory. My intense delight, When first I saw those living waves uprear Their crested heads, lives in my memory clear,

As seen but yesterday. Along the shore, The storm had wrecked its fury; and the day, New risen, looked wildly on the angry roar Of ocean, thundering on that rock girt bay. My spirit was not by the scene subdued, But kindled rather; as dilating wide

It rose, o'er ocean's boundless amplitude, In might of mind, with power, as if to ride, Triumphant, master-like, above the tide.

II.

I could have fancied that the mighty deep
Was e'en the gentlest of all gentle things.

WORDSWORTH.

Again I sought that headland's rocky crest
O'erlooking ocean, silent and alone,.

Where human habitation there was none,

Nor work of man. The sun was in the west;

The waves lay slumbering on the parent breast;

The winds, that late had swept the deep, were flown, Each to his cave: all nature seemed at rest.

Thoughtful I watched the steady ebb and flow, That, far as eye could reach, or thought extend, Rolled on, in calmness, and in power below, Power without effort, motion without end;

Which, as I gazed, seemed, God-like, still to grow On my awed thoughts, — till ocean's mildest mood, Serene in grandeur, all my soul subdued.

THE WHITE HILLS.

I.

Rugged she is, but fruitful nurse of sons
Magnanimous; nor shall these eyes behold,
Elsewhere, an object dear, and sweet as she.
COWPER'S ODYSSEY.

Thy varied scenes blend grace, my native land!
With grandeur; here the tranquil lake,

And there the roaring torrent,- streams that break, Impetuous rushing, from thy mountain strand,

With headlong force, that scoops the yielding sand,
And wears down granite. Lo! where towering nigh,
His shoulders mantled with yon swelling cloud,
Whence lightnings flash, and thunders roar aloud,
Mount Washington ascends his native sky!
Armed with the avalanche, he sweeps afar

Man and his works, his caverns stored with snow, Coeval with the rock. Like some lone star,

Above the storm, he looks on earth below, Serene in silence, from his throne on high.

Serene, sublime, in silence, from thy throne,

Thou look'st, dread monarch! wide o'er earth around, Deep awe inspiring, awe till now unknown,

Dark, undefined, that humbles to the ground
Aspiring pride. Man's spirit bows before
Such majesty of might, nor labours more
To measure strength with heaven.
The Titan monsters, on their beds of fire,
Pressed by thy stern rebuke, in vain aspire

Earth's giant brood,

To shake thee from thy seat: the lava flood, Deep heaving from the centre, unsubdued, Moves not thy steadfast base; nor tempests dire, Tornade, and torrent, thundering at thy side, Change thy stern brow, severe in lordly pride.

III.

My joy is in the wilderness to breathe

The difficult air of the iced mountain's top. BYRON.

What are thy thoughts, proud mount! as with a frown, Darkening with dread the distant vales below,

Thou lower'st, thus sternly, on our march, while slow We climb the steep ascent? Would'st thou send down