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NATURE

LAND. — SEA. — SKY.

“ Nature the vicar of the Almightie Lord.” - CHAUCER.

NATURE.

ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK. | And all that echoes to the song of

even, I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, All that the mountain's sheltering and bowers,

bosom shields, Of April, May, of June, and July | And all the dread magnificence of flowers;

heaven, I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, was O how canst thou renounce, and sails, wakes,

hope to be forgiven! Of bride-grooms, brides, and of their

JAMES BEATTIE. bridal-cakes, I write of youth, of love, and have

NIGHT. access By these, to sing of cleanly wantonness;

'Tis night, and the landscape is

lovely no more; I sing of dews, of rains, and, piece

I mourn, büt, ve woodlands, I mourn by piece,

not for you; Of balm, of oil, of spice, and amber

For morn is approaching, your grece. I sing of times trans-shifting; and I

charms to restore, write

Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and How roses first came red, and lilies

glittering with dew:

Nor yet for the ravage of winter I white.

mourn ; I write of groves, of twilights, and I

Kind Nature the embryo blossom will sing The court of Mab, and of the fairie

save, king.

But when shall spring visit the I write of Hell; I sing, and ever

mondering urn!

O when shall day dawn on the night shall, Of Heaven, and hope to have it after

of the grave!

JAMES BEATTIE. HERRICK.

NATURE.

all.

NATURE.

O how canst thou renounce the

boundless store Of charms which Nature to her

votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resound

ing shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture

of fields; All that the genial ray of morning

How young and fresh am I to-night,
To see't kept day by so much light,
And twelve of my sons stand in their

Maker's sight!
Help, wise Prometheus, something

must be done,
To show they are the creatures of

the sun.

That each to other

Is a brother,
And Nature here no stepdame, but a

gilds,

mother.

tion.

Come forth, come forth, prove all | Quips, and Cranks, and wanton the numbers then,

Wiles, That make perfection up, and may Nods, and Becks, and wreathed absolve you men.

Smiles, But show thy winding ways and arts, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, Thy risings, and thy timely starts And love to live in dimple sleek; Of stealing fire from ladies' eyes and Sport that wrinkled Care derides, hearts.

And Laughter holding both his sides. Those softer circles are the young Come, and trip it as ye go, man's heaven,

On the light fantastic toe; And there more orbs and planets are And in thy right hand lead with thee than seven.

The mountain nymph, sweet LibTo know whose motion

erty; Were a notion

And if I give thee lionor due, As worthy of youth's study, as devo Mirth, admit me of thy crew,

To live with her, and live with thee, Come forth, come forth! prove all In unreproved pleasures free; the time will gain,

To hear the lark begin his flight, For Nature bids the best, and never And singing startle the dull night bade in vain.

From liis watch-tower in the skies, Ben Jonson. Till the dappled dawn doth rise;

Then to come in spite of sorrow,

And at my window bid good morrow, L'ALLEGRO.

Through the sweetbrier, or the vine,

Or the twisted eglantine: HENCE, loathed Melancholy.

While the cock with lively din Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight Scatters the rear of Darkness thin, born!

And to the stack, or the barn-door, In Stygian cave forlorn,

Stoutly struts his dames before: Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, Oft listening how the hounds and and sights unholy,

horn Find out some uncouth cell,

Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, Where brooding Darkness spreads From the side of some loar hill, his jealous wings,

Through the high wood echoing And the night-raven sings;

shrill: There under ebon shades, and low Some time walking, not unseen, brow'd rocks,

By hedge-rowelms, on hillocks green, As ragged as thy locks,

Right against the eastern gate, In dark Cimmerian desert ever Where the great sun begins his state, dwell.

Robed in flames, and amber light, But come, thou Goddess fair and free, The clouds in thousand liveries In heav'n y-clep'd Euphrosyne,

dight; And by men, heart-easing Mirth, While the ploughman near at hand Whom lovely Venus at a birth, Whistles o'er the furrowed land, With two sister Graces more,

And the milkmaid singeth blithe, To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;

And the mower whets his scythe, Or whether (as some sager sing) And every shepherd tells his tale The frolic wind that breathes the | Under the hawthorn in the dale. spring,

Straight mine eye hath caught new Zephyr with Aurora playing,

pleasures As he inet her once a-Maving;

Whilst the landscape round it There on beds of violets blue,

measures ; And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair, Where the nibbling tlocks do stray; So buxom, blithe, and debonair. Mountains, on whose barren breast Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with The laboring clouds do often rest; thee

Meadows trim with daisies pied, Jest, and youthful Jollity,

| Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;

Towers and battlements it sees | Of wit, or arms, while both contend Bosomed high in tufted trees, . To win her grace whom all comWhere perhaps some beauty lies,

mend. The cynosure of neighboring eyes; There let Hymen oft appear Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes, In saffron robe, with taper clear, From betwixt two aged oaks,

And pomp, and feast, and revelry, Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, With mask, and antique pageantry, Are at their savory dinner set

Such sights as youthful poets dream Of herbs, and other country messes, On summer eves by haunted stream. Which the neat-handed Phillis Then to the well-trod stage anon, dresses;

If Jonson's learned sock be on, And then in haste her bow'r she Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's leaves,

child, With Thestvlis to bind the sheaves; Warble his native wood-notes wild. Or, if the earlier season lead,

And ever against eating cares, To the tanud haycock in the mead. Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Sometimes with secure delight

Married to immortal verse, The upland hamlets will invite,

Such as the meeting soul may pierce, When the merry bells ring round, In notes, with many a winding bout And the jocund rebecs sound

Of linked sweetness long drawn out, To many a youth, and many a maid, With wanton heed, and giddy cunDancing in the checker'l shade;

ning, And young and old come forth to The melting voice through mazes plav

running, On a swishine holiday,

Untwisting all the chains that tie Till the livelong daylight fail.

The hidden soul of harmony; Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, That Orpheus' self may leave his With stories told of many a feat,

head How fairy Mab the junkets eat; From golden slumber on a bed She was pincht and pul'd, she said, Of heapt Elysian flowers, and hear And he by friar's lanthorn led,

Such strains as would have won the Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat,

ear To earn his cream-bowl duly set, Of Pluto, to bave quite set free When in one night, ere glimpse of His half regain’d Euryilice. morn,

These delights if thou canst give, His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the Mirth, with thee I mean to live. corn

MILTON. That ten day-laborers could not

end; Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,

DAWN. And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,

Juliet. – Wilt thou be gone? It Basks at the fire his hairy strength,

is not yet near day, And crop-full out of doors he flings, It was the nightingale, and not the Ere the first cock his matin'ings.

lark, Thus done the tales, to bed they That pierced the fearful hollow of creep,

thine ear: By whispering winds soon lullid | Nightly she sings on yon pomegranasleep.

ate tree: Tower'il cities please us then,

Believe me, love, it was the nightinAnd the busy hum of men,

gale. Where throngs of knights and barons bold

Romeo. — It was the lark, the herIn weeds of peace high triumphs ald of the morn, hold,

No nightingale: look, love, what With store of ladies, whose bright envious streaks eves

Do lace the severing clouds in yonRain influence, and judge the prize

der east:

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