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Wild is thy lay, and loud,
Far in the downy cloud,
Where, on the dewy wing,
Where art thou journeying ?
O'er fell and fountain sheen,
O'er moor and mountain green,
Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing away!
Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather-blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be !
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place, — 0, to abide in the desert with thee !
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
Will go with you along!
We have short time to stay, as you;
Ne’er to be found again.
THE HERMIT.- Beattie.
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And naught but the nightingale's song in the grove ; 'T was then, by the cave of the mountain reclined,
A hermit his nightly complaint thus began; Though mournful his numbers, his soul was resigned;
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
" Ah! why, thus abandoned to darkness and woe,
Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain ? For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain. Yet, if pity inspire thee, O, cease not thy lay ! Mourn, sweetest companion! man calls thee to
mourn; O, soothe him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away,
Full quickly they pass, but they never return !
“Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky,
The moon, half extinct, a dim cresent displays; But lately I marked when majestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, then, fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendor again; But man's faded glory no change shall renew;
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain !
“'T is night, and the landscape is lovely no more ;
I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I'mourn not for you ; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with
dew. Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind Nature the embryo-blossom shall save; But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn ?
0, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave ? ”
'T was thus, by the glare of false science betrayed,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind; My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to
shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. “O, pity, great Father of light ! ” then I cried, “ Thy creature, who fain would not wander from
thee; Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride ; From doubt and from darkness thou only canst
And darkness and doubt are now flying away ;
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn ; So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn;
See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending,
And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are
blending, And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
SONG OF THE SILENT. LAND.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS, BY LONGFELLOW.
Into the Silent Land !
Into the Silent Land !
O Land ! O Land!
TO OUR ELDEST HEIR.
ODE. — Collins.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
TO OUR ELDEST HEIR. – Mrs. Henry Coleridge.
DEEM not that our eldest heir
Who can measure truly ?
Ever springing newly.
Which the heavens are shedding.
High and richly spreading.