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The stream lifts its voice,
And yon lily's begun
To open its lips
And drink dew in the sun:
The sky laughs in light,
Earth rejoices in green-
Oh, come, and I'll crown thee
With flowers like a queen!
Oh, haste! for the shepherd
Hath waken'd his pipe,
And led out his lambs
Where the blackberry's ripe :
The bright sun is tasting
The dew on the thyme;
The gay maiden's lilting
An old bridal-rhyme:
There is joy in the heaven
And gladness on earth .
So, come to the sunshine,
And mix in the mirth!
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. '
THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. BRIGHT rose the sun o'er Jordan's plain,
And on her cities seem'd to bend, His last fond looks—the tuneful strain
Of myriad birds, sang of their end; Yet they, unconscious, met the while, With sinful rites, that morning's smile. Far off, the walls of Sodom gleam'd
Soft through the rosy-tinted air,
Distant and noiseless, as she dream'd
Of pageants new, and pleasures rare;
And nearer still, Gomorrah stood,
Bathed in the morning's golden flood.
Her priests were out the lengthen'd line
Of soldiers, chariots, pagans proud, Were moving to the Idol's shrine,
'Neath which their haughty souls had bow'd, And as they march'd, the timbrels rang, And loud and louder grew their clang. "T was their last march—the morning light
Shone on Gomorrah's proudest then,
On Priest, on altar, heathen rite,
And the assembled host of men;
But ere the sacrifice was made,
Altar and priest in dust were laid.
The wrathful sky was rent in twain,
Then leap'd the pent-up lightning down,
It quiver'd round the unholy fane,
And dash'd its altar to the ground; When all was wrapp'd in darker night, Than chaos ere creation's light.
And in the blackness fell a shower,
Where one might think that Sodom lay, Far off it fell, and lit each tower
And battlement with light of day; While from Gomorrah's loftiest spires, Watch'd many a one the “sea of fires." The storm rolld on o'er Jordan's plain,
Despair then seized the pagan host,
When fast the drops of molten rain
Were on their sacred temples tost;
They'd seen dread Sodom's fate: their own
To other watchers soon was known.
The earth grown weary of its load,
These awful pyres shook as a brand,
Then sank, that Asphaltites flood
Might hide them from the quaking land And as they sank, her poison'd waves, Were covering for the cities' graves.
When rose the moon on that drear night,
It shone not on the cities, flush'd With pleasure and with sin—its light
Fell on the Dead Sea dark and hush'd; Heaven's awful vengeance then was o'er; And Jordan's Cities were no more.
We come! we come! and ye feel our might,
As we're hastening on in our boundless flight,
And over the mountains, and over the deep,
Our broad, invisible pinions sweep
Like the spirit of liberty, wild and free!
And ye look on our works, and own 'tis we;
Ye call us the Winds; but can ye tell
Whither we go, or where we dwell?
Ye mark, as we vary our forms of power,
And fell the forest, or fan the flower;
When the harebell moves, and the rush is bent,
When the tower's o'erthrown, and the oak is rent;
As we waft the bark o'er the slumbering wave,
Or hurry its crew to a watery grave;
And ye say it is we; but can ye trace
The wandering Winds to their secret place?
And, whether our breath be loud and high,
Or come in a soft and balmy sigh-
Our threatenings fill the soul with fear,
Or our gentle whisperings woo the ear
With music aërial-still, 't is we.
And ye list, and ye look ; but what do ye see?
Can ye hush one sound of our voice to peace,
Or waken one note, when our numbers cease?
Our dwelling is in the Almighty's hand;
We come and we go at his command.
Though joy or sorrow may mark our track,
His will is our guide, and we look not back:
And if, in our wrath, ye would turn us away,
Or win us in gentlest airs to play,
Then lift up your hearts to him who binds
Or frees, as he will, the obedient Winds!
ALAS! how light a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love?
Hearts that the world in vain had tried,
And sorrow but more closely tied;
That stood the storm, when waves were rough,
Yet in a sunny hour fall off,
Like ships, that have gone down at sea,
When heaven was all tranquillity!
A something, light as air-a look,
A word unkind or wrongly taken-
Oh! love, that tempests never shook.
A breath, a touch like this hath shaken.
And ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin;
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship's smiling day;
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said,
Till fast declining, one by one,
The sweetnesses of love are gone,
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem
Like broken clouds—or like the stream,
That smiling left the mountain's brow,
As though its waters ne'er could sever,
Yet, ere it reach the plain below,
Breaks into floods, that part for ever.
"T is not the loud, obstreperous grief,
That rudely clamours for relief
"T is not the querulous lament,
In which impatience seeks a vent:
"T is not the soft pathetic style,
Which aims our pity to beguile;
That can to truth's keen eye impart
The real sorrows' of the heart!
No!-'t is the tear in secret shed
Upon the starving infant's head;
The sigh that will not be repress'd,
Breathed on the faithful partner's breast:
The bursting heart, the imploring eye,
To heaven upraised in agony,
With starts of desultory prayer,
While hope is quenched in despair;
The throbbing temple's burning pain,
While frenzy's fiend usurps the brain;
These are traits no art can borrow,
Of genuine suffering and of sorrow!
DREAMS Our life is twofold ; sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy: They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts. They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being; they become A portion of ourselves as of our time, And look like heralds of eternity; They pass like spirits of the past, they speak