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For the Queen of the Spring, as she pass'd down the vale,
The skies, like a banner in sunset unroll’d,
We gaz'd on the scenes, while around us they glow'd,
Like a Spirit, it came in the van of a storm!
In the hues of its grandeur, sublimely it stood,
'Twas the bow of Omnipotence; bent in His hand,
Not dreadful, as when in the whirlwind he pleads,
In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire,
Not such was that Rainbow, that beautiful one!
Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom,
I gaz'd not alone on that source of my song ;-
Exulting on thy course snblime,
When first thy ruddy pinions lave
See, yonder comes the powerful King of
Day, Rejoicing in the east. The less'ning cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow Illam'd with fluid gold, his near approach Betoken glad. Lo; now, apparent all, Aslant the dew-bright earth, and colour'd air, He looks in boundless majesty abroad; And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd
plays On rocks, and bills, and tow'rs, and wan
dering streams, High-gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer
light! Of all material beings first, and best ! Efflux divine ! Nature's resplendent robe ! Without whose vesting beauty all were
wrapt In unessential gloom; and thou, O Sun! Soul of surrounding worlds ! in whom best
seen Shines out thy Maker! may I sing of thee!
Unchang'd art thou when darkness shrouds,
The mountain-oak, with age shall fall, The everlasting hills decay ;
Thou scalierest its gloon like the dreams of
rest, MRS. HEMANS.
Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast. Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall, A joy thou art and a wealth to all !
Sunbeam of summer! oh! what is like thee, A bearer of hope unto land and sea
Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea ? Sun-beam! what gift hath the world like One thing is like thee to mortals giventhee?
The Faith touching all things with hues of
heaven! Thou art walking the billows, and ocean
smiles, Thou hast touched with glory his thousand
Thou hast lit up the ships and the feathery
foam, And gladden'd the sailor, like words from
On seeing the Sun set for a period of
three months—November, 1819.
Behold yon glorious orb, whose feeble ray arcades;
Mocks the proud glare of summer's livelier And the quivering leaves that have caught
day! thy glow,
His noon-tide beam, shot upward through Like fire-flies glance to the pools below.
Scarce gilds the vault of Heaven's blue I louk'd on the mountains—a vapour lay
canopyFolding their heights in its dark array :
A fainter yet, and yet a fainter light; Thou brakest forth-and the mist became
And lo! he leaves us now to one, long, A crown and a mantle of living flame.
And is his glorious course for ever o'er ? I look'd on the peasant's lowly cot
And has he set indeed, to rise no more? Something of sadness had wrapt the spot;
To us no more shall spring's enlivening beam But a gleam of thee on its lattice fell,
Unlock the fountains of the fetter'd stream: And laugh'd into beauty at that bright
No more the wild bird carol through the sky, spell.
And cheer yon mountains with rude melody?
Once more shall Spring her energy resunie, To the earth's wild places a guest thou art,
And chase the horrors of this wintry gloom; Flushing the waste like the rose's heart;
Once more shall Summer's animating ray And thou scornest not from thy pomp to shed
Enliven nature with perpetual day: A tender smile on the ruin's head.
Yon radiant orb, with self-inherent light,
Shall rise and dissipate the shades of night, Thou tak'st thro' the dim church-aisle thy
In peerless splendor repossess the sky, way,
And shine in renovated majesty.
A counterpart of frail mortality.
Emblem of man! when life's declining sun Are batb'd in a flood as of molten gold.
Proclaims this awful truth,“ Thy race is run
His sun once set, its bright effulgence gone, And thou turnest not from the humblest
All, all is darkness, as it ne'er had shone!” grave,
Yet not for ever is man's glory fied, Where a fuwer to the sighing winds may
His name for ever “number'd with the wave;
Like yon brightorb, th' immortal part of man | Linger! sure thy glorious worth
Was never felt until withdrawn;
Ab! too soon the Christian dies,
'Twas but now thy earliest streak
Racked the veil of midnight gloom; And thy peering disk so meek,
Emerged from morning's dewy womb.
Quick, too quick, thy tow'ring prime
Declined adown the heavenly steep! And even now the western clime
Beholds thee sinking in the deep.
Fair the presage of thy morn,
And rich the splendor of thy noon; Lovelier tints yet still adorn
The scene where thou shalt vanish soon.
Meek Twilight ! baste to shroud the solar
Mid that garniture of cloud,
And tresses of reflected fire, Glitter, as with Memphian shroud,
Consume, as laid on Indian pyre.
TO THE MOON.
H. K. WHITE.
As sweeping o'er the leafless grove, the gale
Now unto thee pale arbitress of night, I think of the future, still gazing the while,
To answer the mournful appeal.
casement appear, bring
To far distant regions extend ; The smiles Favonian of life's earliest spring. Illamine the dwellings of those that are dear,
And sleep on the grave of a friend.
Then still must I love thee mild Queen of
the Night! J. TAYLOR,
Since feeling and fancy agree, What is it that gives thee, mild Queen of To make thee a source of unfailing delight, the Night,
A friend and a solace to me!
TO THE HARVEST MOON.
H. K. WHITE.
Moon of Harvest, herald mild
Of plenty, rustic labour's child,
Hail! oh hail! I greet thy beam, Canst thou the sad lieart of its sorrows be- As soft it trembles o'er the stream, guile?
And gilds the straw-thatched hamlet wide, Or grief's fond indulgence suspend ? Where Innocence and Peace reside; Yet, where is the mourner but welcomes 'Tis thou that glad'st with joy the rustic thy smile,
throng, And loves thee--almost as a friend ! Promptest the tripping dance, the exbila
rating song. The tear that looks bright, in the beam, as it flows,
Moon of Harvest, I do love Unmoved dost thou ever behold ;
O'er the uplands now to rove, The sorrow that loves in thy light to repose,
While thy modest ray serene To thee oft in vain hath been told!
Gilds the wild surrounding scene;
And to watch thee riding high Yet soothing thou art, and for ever I find,
In the blue vault of the sky, Whilst watching thy gentle retreat, Where no tbin vapour intercepts thy ray, A moonlight composure steal over my mind, But in unclouded majesty tbou walkest on Poetical-pensive, and sweet!
I think of the years that for ever have fied;
Of follies,-by oihers forgot ;
Pleasing 'tis, oh! modest Moon !