'Tis well-but what are helps of time and place, When wisdom stands in need of nature's grace;

Why do good thoughts, invoked or not, descend,

Like Angels from their bowers, our virtues to befriend;

If yet To-morrow, unbelied, may say,
"I come to open out, for fresh display,
The elastic vanities of yesterday?"
1834.

VII.

THE leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill,

And sky that danced among those leaves, are still;

Rest smooths the way for sleep; in field and bower

[power

Soft shades and dews have shed their blended On drooping eyelid and the closing flower; Sound is there none at which the faintest heart

Might leap, the weakest nerve of superstition start;

Save when the Owlet's unexpected scream Pierces the ethereal vault; and (mid the gleam

Of unsubstantial imagery, the dream,
From the hushed vale's realities, transferred
To the still lake) the imaginative Bird
Seems, 'mid inverted mountains, not un-
heard.

Grave Creature! whether, while the mocn shines bright

On thy wings opened wide for smoothest flight,

Thou art discovered in a roofless tower, Rising from what may once have been a lady's bower:

Or spied where thou sitt'st moping in thy

mew

At the dim centre of a churchyard yew;
Or, from a rifted crag or ivy tod
Deep in a forest, thy secure abode
Thou giv'st, for pastime's sake, by shriek or
shout,

A puzzling notice of thy whereabout-
May the night never come, nor day be seen,
When I shall scorn thy voice, or mock thy
mien !

In classic ages men perceived a soul
Of sapience in thy aspect, headless Owl!
Thee Athens reverenced in the studious
grove;

And, near the golden sceptre grasped by Jove,

His Eagle's favorite perch, while round him

sate

The Gods revolving the decrees of Fate, Thou, too, wert present at Minerva's side:Hark to that second larum !-far and wide, The elements have heard, and rock and cave replied. 1834.

VIII.

[This Impromptu appeared, many years ago, among the Author's poems, from which, in subsequent editions, it was excluded. It is reprinted, at the request of the Friend in whose presence the lines were thrown off.] THE sun has long been set,

The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet

Among the bushes and trees;
There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes,
And a far-off wind that rushes,
And a sound of water that gushes,
And the cockoo's sovereign cry
Fills all the hollow of the sky.

Who would "go parading"
In London, "and masquerading,"
On such a night of June

With that beautiful soft half-moon,
On all these innocent blisses?
On such a night as this is!
1804.

IX.

COMPOSED UPON AN EVENING CF EXTRAORDINARY SPLENDOR AND BEAUTY.

I.

HAD this effulgence disappeared
With flying haste, I might have sent,
Among the speechless clouds, a look
Of blank astonishment;

But 'tis endued with power to stay,
And sanctify one closing day,
That frail Mortality may see-
What is ?-ah no, but what can be!
Time was when field and watery cove
With modulated echoes rang,
While choirs of fervent Angels sang
Their vespers in the grove;

Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height,

Warbled, for heaven above and earth below, Strains suitable to both.-Such holy rite,

Methinks, if audibly repeated now
From hill or valley, could not move
Sublimer transport, purer love,

Than doth this silent spectacle-the gleam-
The shadow-and the peace supreme!

II.

No sound is uttered,-but a deep
And solemn harmony prevades

The hollow vale from steep to steep,
And penetrates the glades.
Far-distant images draw nigh,
Called forth by wondrous potency
Of beamy radiance, that imbues
Whate'er it strikes with gem-like hues!
In vision exquisitely clear,

Herds range along the mountain side;
And glistening antlers are descried ;
And gilded flocks appear.

Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve!
But long as god-like wish, or hope divine,
Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe
That this magnificence is wholly thine!
-From worlds not quickened by the sun
A portion of the gift is won;

An intermingling of Heaven's pomp is spread

On ground which British shepherds tread!

Is crossed by knowledge, or by dread, of change,

And if not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep

A thing too bright for breathing man to keep.

Hail to the virtues which that perilous life Extracts from Nature's elemental strife; And welcome glory won in attles fought As bravely as the foe was ke nly sought. But to each gallant Captain and his crew A less imperious sympathy is due,

Such as my verse now yields, while moonbeams play

On the mute sea in this unruffled bay; Such as will promptly flow from every breast,

Where good men, disappointed in the quest

Of wealth and power and honors, long for rest;

Or, having known the splendors of success, Sigh for the obscurities of happiness.

Sole-sitting, only can to thoughts attend' That bid me hail thee as the SAILOR'S FRIEND;

So call thee for heaven's grace through thee made known

By confidence supplied and mercy shown,
When not a twinkiing star or beacon's light
Abates the perils of a stormy night;
And for less obvious benefits, that find
Their way, with thy pure help, to heart and
mind;

Both for the adventurer starting in life's prime;

And veteran ranging round from clime to clime,

Long-baffled hope's slow fever in his veins, And wounds and weakness oft his labor's sole remains.

Welcome, though silent and intangible!— And lives there one, of all that come and go On the great waters toiling to and fro,

One, who has watched thee at some quiet hour

Enthroned aloft in undisputed power,

that move

Catching the lustre they in part reprove-
Nor sometimes felt a fitness in thy sway
To call up thoughts that shun the glare of
day,

And make the serious happier than the gay?

Yes, lovely Moon! if thou so mildly bright

Dest rouse, yet surely in thy own despite, To fiercer mood the phrenzy-stricken brain, Let me a compensating faith maintain; That there's a sensitive, a tender, part Which thou canst touch in every human heart,

For healing and composure.-But, as least And mightiest billows ever have confessed Thy domination; as the whole vast Sea

Furrowing its way right onward. The most rude,

Cut off from home and country, may have stood

Even till long gazing hath bedimmed his eye,

Or the mute rapture ended in a sigh-
Touched by accordance of thy placid cheer,
With some internal lights to memory dear,
Or fancies stealing forth to soothe the
breast

Tired with its daily share of earth's unrest,
Gentle awakenings, visitations meek;
A kindly influence whereof few will speak,
Though it can wet with tears the hardiest
cheek.

And when thy beauty in the shadowy

cave

Glory of night, conspicuous yet serene,
Nor less attractive when by glimpses seen
Through cloudy umbrage, well might that
fair face,

And all those attributes of modest grace,
In days when Fancy wrought unchecked by
fear,

Down to the green earth fetched thee from thy sphere,

To sit in leafy woods by fountains clear!

O still belov'd (for thine, meek Power, are charms

That fascinate the very Babe in arms While he, uplifted towards thee, laughs outright,

Spreading his little palms in his glad Mother's sight)

O still belov'd, once worshipped! Time, that frowns

In his destructive flight on earthly crowns, Spares thy mild splendor; still those farshot beams

Tremble on dancing waves and rippling

streams