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Yes: fierce looks thy nature, e'en hushed in re
In the depths of thy desert regardless of foes,
In feet that draw power from the touch of the heath,
In the wide raging torrent that lends thee its roar, In the cliff that once trod must be trodden no
Thy trust-'mid the dangers that threaten thy
But what if the stag on the mountain be slain? On the brink of the rock-lo! he standeth at bay, Like a victor that falls at the close of the dayWhile the hunter and hound in their terror retreat From the death that is spurned from his furious
And his last cry of anger comes back from the
As Nature's fierce son in the wilderness dies.
AN ITALIAN SUMMER EVENING.
THE moon is up, and yet it is not night-
Where the day joins the past eternity;
While on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest!
A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains Rolled o'er the peak of the far Rheatian hill As day and night contending were, until Nature reclaimed her order :-gently flows The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil The odorous purple of a new-born rose, Which streams upon her stream, and glassed within it glows.
Filled with the face of heaven, which, from afar
Comes down upon the waters; all its hues,
From the rich sunset to the rising star,
Their magical variety diffuse :
And now they change; a paler shadow shows Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day Dies like the Dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,
The last still loveliest till-'tis gone-and all is
FLORIZEL'S PRAISE OF PERDITA.
WHAT you do
Still betters what is done. When you speak
I'd have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
To sing them too: When you do dance, I wish
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own No other function: Each your doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds That all your acts are queens.
BY L. H. SIGOURNEY.
FLOW en for ever, in thy glorious robe
Keep silence and upon thy rocky altar pour
Ah! who can dare
To lift the insect-trump of earthly hope,
This solid earth, shall find Jehovah's name
That lifts itself within thy wide domain,
Thou dost make the soul
A wondering witness of thy majesty ;
But as it presses with delirious joy
To pierce thy vestibule, dost chain its step,
In the dread presence of the Invisible,