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Who in leafy shadows sit,

And your wondrous structures build, Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light,

To nature's God your first devotions pay,

Ere you salute the rising day; 'T is He calls up the sun, and gives him every ray.

Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide,
And wear upon your shining back
Numerous ranks of gaudy pride,
Which thousand mingling colors make;

Let the fierce glances of your eyes

Rebate their baleful fire ;
In harmless play, twist and unfold

The volumes of your scaly gold;
That rich embroidery of your gay attire


Maker kind and wise.

Insects and mites of mean degree,
That swarm in myriads o'er the land,

Moulded by Wisdom's artful hand,
And curled and painted with a various dye;

In your innumerable forms
Praise Him that wears the ethereal crown,
And bends his lofty counsels down

To despicable worms.


Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou

That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day, Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow;

Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,

Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,
Roughening their crests, and scattering high their

And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!
Nor I alone; - a thousand bosoms round

Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound

Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,

Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.
Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,

Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rou. e 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 'twixt the o'ershadowing branches and the grass. 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,
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 birthplace of the deep once more;



Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange,

Shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore ;
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.



Who rideth so late through the night-wind wild ?
It is the father with his child ;
He has the little one well in his arm;
He holds him safe, and he folds him warm.
“My son, why hidest thy face so shy?”

Seest thou not, father, the Erl King nigh?
The Erlen King, with train and crown?
It is a wreath of mist, my son.”

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Come, lovely boy, come, go with me; Such merry plays I will play with thee; Many a bright flower grows on the strand, And my mother has many a gay garment at hand.”

My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
What the Erl King whispers in my ear?”.
“ Be quiet, my darling, – be quiet, my child;
Through withered leaves the wind howls wild.”

“Come, lovely boy, wilt thou go with me?
My daughters fair shall wait on thee;
My daughters their nightly revels keep;
They 'll sing, and they ’li dance, and they'll rock

thee to sleep."


“My father, my father, and seest thou not
The Erl King's daughters in yon dim spot?”
“My son, my son, I see and I know
'T is the old gray willow that shimmers* so."

“I love thee; thy beauty has ravished my sense; And, willing or not, I will carry thee hence.” “O father, the Erl King now puts forth his arm! O father, the Erl King has done me harm !"

The father shudders; he hurries on ;
And faster he holds his moaning son;
He reaches his home with fear and dread,
And lo! in his arms the child was dead!


Now nature hangs her mantle green

On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white

Out o'er the grassy lea ;
Now Phæbus cheers the crystal streams,

And glads the azure skies;
But nought can glad the weary wight

That fast in durance lies.

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,

Aloit on dewy wing;
The merle, in his noontide bower,

Makes woodland-echoes ring;

*Gleams with an uncertain light.



The mavis wild, wi' many a note,

Sings drowsy day to rest;
In love and freedom they rejoice,

Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,

The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn 's budding in the glen,

And milk-white is the slae;
The meanest hind in fair Scotland

May rove their sweets among;
But I, the queen of a' Scotland,

Maun lie in prison strong.

I was the queen o' bonnie France,

Where happy I hae been;
Full lightly rose I in the morn,

As blithe lay down at e’en ;
And I'm the sovereign of Scotland,

And mony a traitor there;
Yet here I lie, in foreign bands,

And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,*

My sister and my foe!
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword

That through thy soul shall go;
The weeping blood in woman's breast

Was never known to thee;
Nor the balm that drops on wounds of woe

Frae woman's pitying e'e.

* Elizabeth, Queen of England, who unjustly detained her in prison.

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