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160 AN INVITATION TO PRAISE GOD.

That pavement damp and cold
No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands,
Lifting with meagre hands
A dying head.

No mingling voices sound,—

An infant wail alone; —
A sob suppressed, — again
That short, deep gasp, and then
The parting groan.

O change! — O wondrous change!

Burst are the prison-bars; —
This moment there, so low,
So agonized, and now

Beyond the stars!

O change, stupendous change!
There lies the soulless clod;
The sun eternal breaks, —
The new immortal wakes,—
Wakes with his God.

AN INVITATION TO PRAISE GOD.— Watts,

Sweet flocks, whose soft, enamelled wing
Swift and gently cleaves the sky,
Whose charming notes address the spring With an artless harmony;Lovely minstrels of the field,

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

Proclaims your 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.

TO THE EVENING WIND. Bryant.

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,

162 TO THE EVENING WIND.

Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,

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!

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 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 '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 th * 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.

THE ERL KING.

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.

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."

"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 '11 sing, and they '11 dance, and they '11 rock
thee to sleep."

184 LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

"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
'Tis 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!

LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. — Bums,

Now nature hangs her mantle green

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

Out o'er the grassy lea;
Now Phoebus 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,

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

Makes woodland-echoes ring;

* Gleams with an uncertain light,

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