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*purposely left to the human mind, that man may be †induced to follow it from the charms which *novelty *confers; and the sentiments which it awakens are not expressly enjoined, that they may be enjoyed as the spontaneous growth of our own imagination. While they seem, however, to spring up unbidden in the mind, they are, in fact, produced by the spirit of religion; and those who imagine that they are not the fit subject of Christian instruction, are ignorant of the secret workings, and finer analogies, of the faith which they profess.

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1. I COME, I come! ye have call'd me long;
I come o'er the mountains with light and song;
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

2. I have breath'd on the south, and the chestnut flowers
By thousands have burst from the forest bowers,
And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes,
Are vail'd with wreaths on Italia's plains;
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb.

3. I have look'd o'er the hills of the stormy north,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth;
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,

And the reindeer bounds o'er the pasture free,
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,

And the moss looks bright where no foot hath been.

4. I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh,
And call'd out each voice of the deep blue sky,
From the night-bird's lay, in the starry time,
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note, by the Iceland lakes,
Where the dark fir-branch into +verdure breaks.

5. From the streams and founts I have loos'd the chain,
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,

They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging +spray o'er the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth +resounds with the joy of waves.

6. Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie, may be now your home.
Ye of the rose-lip, and dew-bright eye,

And the bounding footstep, to meet me, fly!
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous +lay,
Come forth to the sunshine; I may not stay.

7. Away from the dwellings of care-worn men!
The waters are sparkling in grove and glen;
Away from the chamber and silent hearth!
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth;
Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains,
And youth is abroad in my green +domains.

8. But ye! ye are chang'd since ye met me last!
There is something bright from your features pass'd!
There is that come over your brow and eye,

Which speaks of the world, where the flowers must die!
Ye smile! but your smile hath a +dimness set;
Oh! what have ye look'd on, since last we met?

9. Ye are chang'd, ye are chang'd! and I see not here
All whom I saw in the vanish'd
year:

There were graceful heads, with their ringlets bright,
Which toss'd in the breeze, with a play of light,
There were eyes, in whose glistening laughter lay
No faint remembrance of dull decay.

10. There were steps that flew o'er the cowslip's head,
As if for a banquet all earth were spread;

There were voices that rung through the sapphire-sky,
And had not a sound of mortality!

Are they gone? Is their mirth from the mountains pass'd?
Ye have looked on death, since ye met me last!

11. I know whence the shadow comes o'er you now,
Ye have strewn the dust on the sunny brow!
Ye have given the lovely to earth's embrace,
She hath taken the fairest of beauty's race;
With their laughing eyes, and their +festal crown,
They have gone from among you, in silence, down!

12. They are gone from among you, the young and fair; Ye have lost the gleam of their shining hair!

But I know of a land, where there falls no blight,

I shall find them there, with their eyes of light!
Where Death, 'mid the bloom of the morn may dwell,
I tarry no longer; farewell, farewell!

13. The summer is coming, on soft winds borne ;
Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn!
For me, I depart to a brighter shore;

Ye are mark'd by care, ye are mine no more.

I go where the lov'd who have left you dwell,

And the flowers are not death's; fare-ye-well, farewell!

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1. THE summer day has clos'd; the sun is set: Well have they done their office, those bright hours, The latest of whose train goes softly out

2.

3.

In the red west. The green blade of the ground
Has risen, and herds have cropp'd it; the young twig
Has spread its plaited +tissues to the sun;

Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown,
And wither'd; seeds have fallen upon the soil
From bursting +cells, and, in their graves, await
Their resurrection.

Insects from the pools

Have fill'd the air awhile with humming wings,
That now are still'd forever; painted moths
Have wander'd the blue sky, and died again;

The mother-bird hath broken for her brood

Their prison-shells, or shov'd them from their nest,
Plum'd for their earliest flight.

In bright alcoves,

In woodland cottages with earthly walls,

In noisome cells of the tumultous town,

Mothers have clasp'd with joy the new-born babe.
Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore

Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways

Of the throng'd city, have been hollow'd out,

And fill'd, and clos'd. This day hath parted friends,

That ne'er before were parted; it hath knit
New friendships; it hath seen the maiden *plight
Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long

Hath wooed; and it hath heard, from lips which late
Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word,

That told the wedded one her peace was flown.

4. Farewell to the sweet sunshine! one glad day
Is added now to childhood's merry days,
And one calm day to those of quiet age;
Still the fleet hours run on; and, as I lean
Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit
By those who watch the dead, and those who twine
Flowers for the bride. The mother from the eyes
Of her sick infant shades the painful light,
And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath.

CXLI.

THE CRUSADER AND THE SARACEN.

FROM WALTER SCOTT.

CAFTAN; a kind of loose vest.

1. As the Knight of the Leopard fixed his eyes attentively on the distant cluster of palm-trees, which arose beside the well, assigned for his mid-day station, it seemed to him as if some object was moving among them. The distant form separated itself from the trees which partly hid its motions, and advanced toward the knight with a speed which soon showed a mounted horseman, whom his turban, long spear, and green caftan floating in the wind, on his nearer approach, showed to be a +Saracen *cavalier. "In the desert," saith an Eastern proverb, no man meets a friend." The crusader was totally indifferent whether the infidel, who now approached on his gallant barb, as if borne on the wings of an eagle, came as friend or foe: perhaps, as a vowed champion of the Cross, he might rather have preferred the latter. He disengaged his lance from his saddle, seized it with the right. hand, placed it in rest, with its point half elevated, gathered up the reins in the left, waked his horse's mettle with the spur, and prepared to encounter the stranger with the calm self-confidence belonging to the victor in many contests.

2. The Saracen came on at the speedy gallop of an Arab horseman, managing his steed more by his limbs and the +inflection of his body, than by any use of the reins, which hung loose in his left hand; so that he was enabled to wield the light, round buckler of the skin of the rhinoceros, ornamented with silver loops, which he wore on his arm, swinging it, as if he meant to oppose its slender circle to the formidable thrust of the western lance.

3. His own long spear was not couched, or leveled like that of his antagonist, but grasped by the middle with his right hand, and brandished at arm's length, above his head. As the cavalier approached his enemy, at full career, he seemed to expect that the Knight of the Leopard should put his horse to the gallop, to encounter him. But the Christian knight, well acquainted with the customs of eastern warriors, did not mean to exhaust his good horse by any unnecessary exertion; and, on the contrary, made a dead halt, confident that if the enemy advanced to the actual shock, his own weight and that of his powerful charger would give him sufficient advantage, without the momentum gained by rapid motion.

4. Equally sensible and tapprehensive of such a probable result, the Saracen cavalier, when he had approached toward the Christian within twice the length of his lance, wheeled his steed to the left, with inimitable dexterity, and rode twice around his antagonist, who, turning without quitting his ground, and presenting his front constantly to his enemy, frustrated his attempts to attack him on an unguarded point; so that the Saracen, wheeling his horse, was fain to retreat to the distance of a hundred yards. A second time, like a hawk attacking a heron, the heathen renewed the charge, and, a second time, was fain to retreat without coming to a close struggle.

5. A third time, he approached in the same manner, when the Christian knight, desirous to terminate this illusory warfare, in which he might, at length, have been worn out by the activity of his foeman, suddenly seized the *mace which hung at his saddle-bow, and with a strong hand and unerring aim, hurled it against the head of his assailant. The Saracen was just aware of the formidable missile, in time to interpose his light buckler betwixt the mace and his

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