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Night's candles are burnt ont, and

jocuind day Stands tiptoe on the misty moun

tain-tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

SHAKSPEARE.

Yet him for this my love no whit

disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth.

SHAKSPEARE.

THE MOUNTAIN.

MORNING. Tuis castle hath a pleasant seat; the

air Nimbly and sweetly recommends it

self Unto our gentle senses.

This guiest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does

approve, By his lov'il mansionry, that the

heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty,

frieze, buttress, Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird

hath made His pendent bed, and procreant cra

dle: Where they Most breed and haut, I have ob

serv'd the air Is delicate.

SILAKSPEARE: Macbeth.

... ONCE we built our fortress

where you see Yon group of spruce-trees sidewise

on the line Where the horizon to the eastward

bounds, A point selected by sagacious art, Where all at once we viewed the

Vermont hills, And the long outlines of the moun

tain-ridge, Ever-renewing, changeful every

hour. Strange, a few cubits raised above

the plain, And a few tables of resistless stone Spread round us, with that rich de

lightful air, Draping high altars in cerulean

space, Could thus enchant the being that

we are! Those altars, where the airy element Flows o’er in new perfection, and re

veals Its constant lapsing (never stillness

all), As a mother's kiss, touching the

bright spruce-foliage; And in her wise distilment the soft

rain, Trickling below the sphagnum that

o'erlays The plateau's slope, is led to the ra

vine, And so electrified by her pure

breathi, As if in truth the living water famed Recorded in John's mythus, who

first dashed Ideal baptism on Jordan's shore.

SONNET. Full many a glorious morning have

I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sove

reign eye, Kissing with golden face the mead

ows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly

alchemy. Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ngly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his vis

age lide, Stealing unseen to west with this

disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did

shine With all triumphant splendor on my

brow; But out! alack! he was but one hour

mine, The region cloud hath mask'd him

from me now.

In this sweet solitude, the Moun

tain's life, At morn and eve, at rise and hush of

day, I heard the wood-thrush sing in the

white spruce. The living water, the enchanted air

fade.

So mingling in its crystal clearness | Nor wearied yet when generations

there A sweet, peculiar grace from both, - | The crystal air, the hurrying light, this song,

the night, Voice of the lonely mountain's fa Always the day that never seems to vorite bird !

end, These steeps inviolate by human Always the night whose day does art,

never set; Centre of awe, raised over all that One harvest and one reaper, ne'er man

too ripe, Would fain enjoy, and consecrate to Sown by the self-preserver, free from one,

mould, Lord of the desert and of all be And builded in these granaries of side,

heaven, Consorting with the cloud, the echo This ever-living purity of air, ing storm,

In these perpetual centres of repose When like a myriad bowls the moun Still softly rocked. tain wakes

W. E. CHANNING. In all its alleys one responsive roar; And sheeted down the precipice, all light

THE HILLSIDE COT. Tumble the momentary cataracts, The sudden laughter of the moun And here the hermit sat, and told tain-child.

his beads, And stroked his flowing locks, red

as the fire, On the mountain-peak Summed up his tale of moon and I marked the sage at sunset, where

sun and star: he mused,

“ How blest are we,” he deemed, Forth looking on the continent of

"who so comprise hills;

The essence of the whole, and of While from his feet the five long

ourselves, granite spurs

As in a Venice flask of lucent shape, That bind the centre to the valley's Ornate of gilt Arabic, and inscribed

With Suras from Time's Koran, live (The spokes from this strange mid

and prav, dle to the wheel)

More than half grateful for the glitStretched in the fitful torrent of the

tering prize, gale,

Human existence! If I note my Bleached on the terraces of leaden

powers, cloud

So poor and frail a toy, the insect's And passages of light, - Sierras long

prey, In archipelagoes of mountain sky, Itched by a berry, festered by a Where it went wandering all the

plum, livelong year.

The very 'air infecting my thin He spoke not, yet methought I

frame heard him say,

With its malarial trick, whom every "All day and night the same; in sun or shade,

Rushes upon and hustles to the In summer flames, and the jagged,

grave, biting knife

Yet raised by the great love that That hardy winter splits upon the

broods o’er all cliff,

Responsive, to a height beyond all From earliest time the same.

thought." One mother and one father brought He ended as the nightly prayer and us forth

fast Thus gazing on the summits of the Summoned him inward. But I sat days,

and heard

side,

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The night-hawks rip the air above | Unutterable love. Sound needed my head,

none, Till midnight, o'er the warm, dry, Nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank dewless rocks;

The spectacle; sensation, soul, and And saw the blazing dog-star droop

form his fire,

All melted into him; they swallowed And the low comet, trailing to the up south,

Hisanimal being; in them did he live, Bend his reverted gaze, and leave And by them did he live; they were us free.

his life. CHANNING. In such access of mind, in such

high hour

Of visitation from the living God, “ HERE let us live and spend away Thought was not; in enjoyment it our lives,"

expired. Said once Fortunio, 6 while below, No thanks he breathed, he proffered absorbed,

no request; The riotous careering race of man, Rapt into still communion that tranIntent on gain or war, pour out

scends their news.

The imperfect offices of prayer and Let us bring in a chosen company,

praise, Like that the noblest of our beaute His mind was a thanksgiving to the ous maids

power Might leau, — unequalled Margaret, That made him; it was blessedness herself

and love. The summary of good for all our state;

WORDSWORTH. Composedly thoughtful, genial, yet

reserved, Pure as the wells that dot the ra

DOVER CLIFFS. vine's bed, And lofty as the stars that pierce COME on, sir; here's the place: her skies.

stand still. - How fearful Here shall she reign triumphant, And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eye so and preside

low! With gentle prudence o'er the camp's The crows and choughs, that wing wild mood,

the midway air, Summoning forth much order from Show scarce so gross as beetles: what else

half way down Surely must prove unsound.”

Hangs one that gathers samphire; CILANNING.

dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than

his head: MORNING IN THE MOUNTAINS. The fishermen, that walk upon the

beach, O THEN what soul was his, when, on Appear like mice; and yond' tall the tops

anchoring bark Of the high mountains, he beheld Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a

the sun Rise up, and bathe the world in Almost too small for sight: the light! He looked

murmuring surge, Ocean and earth, the solid frame of That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles earth

chafes, And ocean's liquid mass, beneath Cannot be heard so high:- I'll look him lay

no more; In gladness and deep joy. The Lest my brain turn, and the deficient clouds were touched,

sight And in their silent faces did he Topple dowu headlong.

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SHAKSPEARE.

read

LANDSCAPE.

| And created lark, doth his division

ru. CALM and still light on yon great The yellow bees the air with murplain

mur till, That sweeps with all its autumn The finches carol and the turtles bowers,

bill; And crowiled farms and lessening Whiose power is this? What god ? towers,

Behold a King, To mingle with the bounding main. Whose presence maketh this perpet

TEXNYSON.

ual spring, The glories of which spring grow in

that bower, MAY.

And are the marks and beauties of

his power. WHENCE is it that the air so sudden

BEN Joxson. clears, And all things in a moment turn so mild?

FIRST OF MAY. Whose breath or beams have got proud Ertl with chill

Wuile from the purpling east deOf all the treasure that great Na

parts ture's worth,

The star that led the dawn, And makes her every minute to bring Blithe Flora from her couch upforth?

starts, How comes it winter is so quite For Mar is on the lawi. forced hence

A quickening hope, a freshening glee, And lockel up under ground? That Foreran the expected power, every sense

Whose first-rawn breathi, from bush Hath several objects, trees have got

and tree, their heads,

Shakes off that pearly shower. The fields their coats, that now the shining meads

All Nature welcomes her whose Do boast the paunce, the lily, and

sway the rose, And every flower doth laugh as

Tempers the year's extremes;

Who scattereth lustres o'er noonday, Zeplivr blows?

Like morning's dewy gleams; That seas are now more even than

While mellow warble, sprightly trill, the land;

The tremulous heart excite; The rivers run as smoothed by his

And hims the balmy air to still handl; Only their heads are crisped by his

The balance of delight. stroke. How plays the yearling, with his Time was, blest Power! when youths brow scarce broke,

and maids Now in the open grass, and frisking

At peep of dawn would rise, lambs

And wander forth, in forest glades Make wanton salts about their dry

Thv birth to solemuize. sucked dais,

Though mute the song — to grace Who to repair their bags do rob the

the rite fields.

Untouched the hawthorn bough, How is't each bough a several inu

Thy spirit triumphs o'er the slight; sic vields?

Man changes, but not thou ! The lustý throstle, early nightin

Thy feathered lieges bill and wings Accord in tune thoughı vary in their In love's disport employ. tale.

Warmed by thy influence, creeping The chirping swallow, called forth

things by the sun,

Awake to silent joy:

day

Queen art thou still for each gay | Nar! not so much as out of bed; plant

When all the birds have matins Where the slim wild deer roves;

said, And served in depthis where fishes And sung their thankful hymns; haunt

'tis sin, Their own mysterious groves.

Nay, profanation to keep in,
When as a thousand virgins on this
Spring, sooner than the lark, to

fetch in May. And if, on this thy natal morn,

The pole, from which thy name Hath not departeil, stands forlorn

Rise, and put on your foliage, and

be seen Of song and dance and game,

To come forth, like the spring-time Still from the village-green a vow

fresh and green, Aspires to thee addrest, Wherever peace is on the brow,

And sweet as Flora. Take no

care Or love within the breast.

For jewels for your gowne or Yes! where love nestles thou canst

haire;

Feare not, the leaves will strew teach The soul to love the more;

Gems in abundance upon you; Ilearts also shall thy lessons reach

Besides, the childhood of the day That never loved before.

has kept, Stript is the hanglity one of pride,

Against you come, some orient pearls The bashful freed from fear,

uwept.

Come, and receive them while the While rising, like the ocean-tide,

light In llows the joyous year.

Hangs on the dew-locks of the Ilush, feeble lyre! weak words, re- |

night;

And Titani on the eastern hill fuise The service to prolong!

Retires himself, or else stands

stiil To von exuting ilirush tie Muse Intrusts the imperfect song;

Till you come forth. Wasli, dresse,

be briefe in praying; IIis voice shall chant, in accents

Few beads are best, when once we clear, Throughout the livelong day,

go a-Maying. Till the first silver star appear, The sovereignty of May.

Come, my Corinna, come; and comWORDSWORTH.

ing, mark Ilow each field turns a street, each

street a park CORINYA'S GOING A-MAYING. Made green, and trimm'd with

trees; see how GET up, get up, for shame; the Devotion gives each house a blooming Mori

bough, Upon her wings presents the god Or branch; each porch, each doore, inshorn.

ere this, See how Aurora throws her fair An ark, a tabernacle is, Fresh-quilted colors through the Made up of white-thorn neatly air;

interwove; Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see As if here were those cooler shades The dew bespangling herb and

of love. tree.

And sin no more, as we have done, Each flower has wept, and bow'd

by staving; toward the east,

But, my Corinna, come, let's go Above an hour since, yet you not

a-Maying. drest,

HERRICK,

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