146 ADORATION OF DEITY IN THE MIDST OF HIS WORKS. But, O, of all delightful sounds, Of evening or of morn, ADORATION OF THE DEITY IN THE MIDST OF HIS THE turf shall be my fragrant shrine, My choir shall be the moonlit waves, Even more than music, breathes of Thee. I'll seek by day some glade unknown, Thy heaven, on which 't is bliss to look, I'll read thy anger in the rock Of sunny brightness breaking through! CHARADE. There's nothing bright, above, below, There's nothing dark, below, above, 147 COME from my First, ay, come! And the screaming trump and thundering drum Are calling thee to die! Fight, as thy father fought! Fall, as thy father fell! Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought; Toll ye my Second, toll! Fling wide the flambeau's light, And sing the hymn for a parted soul Beneath the silent night. With the wreath upon his head, And the cross upon his breast, Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed; So take him to his rest! Call ye my Whole, ay,-call And let him greet the sable pall L Ay, call him by his name! To light the flame of a soldier's fame On the turf of a soldier's grave! ANSWER.-Campbell. WINTER.- Burns. THE wintry west extends his blast, Or the stormy north sends driving forth While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, And roars from bank to brae; And bird and beast in covert rest, And pass the heartless day. The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast, Let others fear, -to me more dear Than all the pride of May; The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine. Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme Because they are Thy will! Then all I want, (O, do Thou grant This one request of mine!) Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, ON A LEAF FROM THE TOMB OF VIRGIL. 149 LAUNCHING INTO ETERNITY.-Watts. Ir was a brave attempt! adventurous he I see the surging brine; the tempest raves; Such is the soul that leaves this mortal land, The waves roll gentler, and the tempest dies; She floats on the broad deep with infinite delight, ON A LEAF FROM THE TOMB OF VIRGIL. — Mrs. Hemans. AND was thy home, pale, withered thing, Wert thou a nursling of the spring, The winds and suns of glorious Italy? 150 THE MAY QUEEN. Those suns, in golden light, e'en now Answering their whisper, there no more shalt wave. The flowers o'er Posilippo's* brow May cluster in their purple bloom, But on the o'ershadowing ilex-bough Thy breezy place is void, by Virgil's tomb. Thy place is void, -O, none on earth, Leave when they part, their brighter home to gain! Another leaf ere now hath sprung On the green stem which once was thine; When shall another strain be sung Like his whose dust hath made that spot a shrine? THE MAY QUEEN.- Tennyson. You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the blithe New Year; *A mountain skirting the shores of the Bay of Naples, on one of the most beautiful heights of which stands the tomb of Virgil. |