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How learn ye, while the cold waves boom

Your deep and cozy couch above,
The time when flowers of promise bloom,
And call you from your transient tomb,

To light and life and love ?
Alas! how little can be known

Her sacred veil where Nature draws !
Let baffled Science humbly own
Her mysteries, understood alone
By Him who gives her laws.

CHARLOTTE SMITH.

ODE TO EVENING.
IF aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear

Like thy own modest springs,

Thy springs, and dying gales ; O nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd sun Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,

With brede ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed : Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat, With short shrill shriek flits by on leather wing,

Or where the beetle winds

His small but sullen horn,
As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum:

Now teach me, maid composed,

To breathe some softened strain,
Whose numbers stealing through thy dark'ning vale,
May not unseemly with its stillness suit;

As, musing slow, I hail
Thy genial loved return!

For when thy folding star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp

The fragrant hours and elves

Who slept in buds the day; And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with

sedge, And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,

The pensive pleasures sweet,

Prepare thy shadowy car.
Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene,
Or find some ruin ʼmidst its dreary dells,

Whose walls more awful nod

By thy religious gleams.
Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut,

That from the mountain's side

Views wild and swelling floods, -
And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er ali

Thy dewy fingers drew
The gradual dusky veil.

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!

While Summer loves to sport

Beneath thy lingering light;
While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves;
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,

Affrights thy shrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes ;
So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,

Thy gentle influence own,
And love thy favourite name!

COLLINS.

EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRL'S SCHOOL

Hush! 'tis a holy hour; the quiet room

Seems like a temple, while von soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom And the sweet stillness, down on bright young

heads, With all their clustering locks, untouch'd by care, And bow'd, as flowers are bow'd with night, in

prayer. Gaze on,-'tis lovely! childhood's lip and cheek

Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought; Gaze-yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,

And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought? Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky, What death must fashion for eternity.

Te with slumbarà leaves, at se rrow lies

Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest,

Lightly, when those pure orisons are done, As birds, with slumber's honey-dew oppress'd,

'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun,Lift up your hearts! though yet no sorrow lies Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes;Though fresh within your breasts the untroubled

springs Of hope make melody where'er ye tread; And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings

Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread; Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low, Is woman's tenderness-how soon her woe!

Her lottient smiles to We Affection's deerower!.

Her lot is on you—silent tears to weep,

And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, And sumless riches, from Affection's deep,

To pour on broken reedsa wasted shower!. And to make idols, and to find them clay, And to bewail that worship—therefore pray.

Her lot is on you—to be found, untired,

Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,

And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain; Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay, And, oh! to love through all things—therefore pray.

And take the thought of this calm vesper time,

With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light, On through the dark days fading from their prime,

As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight. Earth will forsake-oh! happy to have given The unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven!

MRS. HEMANS.

MESSIAH.
Ye nymphs of Solyma! begin the song :
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong.
The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades,
The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian maids,
Delight no more. O Thou my voice inspire,
Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire!

Rapt into future times, the bard begun;
A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a son!
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies:
The ethereal Spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic dove.
Ye heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly shower!
The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient frauds shall fail;
Returning Justice lift aloft her scale:
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-robed Innocence from Heaven descend.

Swift fly the years, and rise the expected morn;
Oh, spring to light, auspicious Babe, be born!
See, Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring
With all the incense of the breathing Spring;
See lofty Lebanon his head advance,
See nodding forests on the mountains dance:
See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise,
And Carmel's flowery top perfumes the skies!
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers ;
Prepare the way! A God, a God appears!
A God, a God! the vocal hills reply;
The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity.
Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies!
Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys, rise!
With heads reclined, ye cedars, homage pay;
Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way!
The Saviour comes! by ancient bards foretold;
Hear him, ye deaf; and all ye blind, behold.
He from thick film shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day :
"Tis he the obstructed paths of sound shall clear,
And bid new music charm the unfolding ear:
The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego,
And leap exulting, like the bounding roe.
No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear;
From every face he wipes off every tear.
In adamantine chains shall death be bound,
And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound.
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air;
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs,
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects;
The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms :
Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage,
The promised father of the future age.
No more shall nation against nation rise
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more ; :

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