THE HAMLET. 'Tis thus the busy beat the air, Now, even now, my joys run high. Be full, ye courts; be great who will; Search for Peace with all your skill; Open wide the lofty door, Seek her on the marble floor. In vain you search; she is not here! 79 John Dyder. THE HAMLET. THE hinds how blest, who, ne'er beguiled When morning's twilight-cinctured beam To dip the scythe in fragrant dew; Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear, In their lone haunts, and woodland rounds, For them the moon with cloudless ray The meadows incense breathe at eve. No riot mars the simple fare, That o'er a glimmering hearth they share: But when the curfew's measured roar Duly, the darkening valleys o'er, Their little sons, who spread the bloom 81 THE EVENING WIND. Or through the primrosed coppice stray, Or hasten from the sultry hill, Or climb the tall pine's gloomy crest, Their humble porch with honeyed flowers Hastes to consume life's golden prime: Joseph Warton. 1 THE EVENING WIND. SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice! thou Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea! 6 Nor I alone-a thousand bosoms round Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest; Curl the still waters, bright with stars; and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning, from the innumerable boughs, The strange deep harmonies that haunt his breast. Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone; That they who near the churchyard willows stray, And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, May think of gentle souls that passed away, Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, Sent forth from heaven among the sons of men, And gone into the boundless heaven again. The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And they who stand about the sick man's bed Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, THE ECHOING GREEN. And softly part his curtains to allow Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. Go-but the circle of eternal change, Which is the life of Nature, shall restore, With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, Thee to thy birth-place of the deep once more. Sweet odors in the sea air, sweet and strange, Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore; And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 83 William Cullen Bryant. THE ECHOING GREEN. THE sun does arise, And make happy the skies: The merry bells ring To make happy the spring: Sing louder around To the bell's cheerful sound, While our sports shall be seen On the echoing green. Old John, with white hair, Does laugh away care, Sitting under the oak, |