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For the Queen of the Spring, as she pass'd down the vale,
Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale ;
And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours,
And flush in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers.

The skies, like a banner in sunset unroll’d,
O'er the west threw their splendour of azure and gold;
But one cloud at distance rose denge, and increased,
Till its margin of black touch'd the zenith and east.

We gaz'd on the scenes, while around us they glow'd,
When a vision of beauty appear'd on the cloud ;-
'Twas not like the sun, as at mid-day we view,
Nor the moon, that rolls nightly through starlight and blue.

Like a Spirit, it came in the van of a storm!
And the eye, and the heart, bail'd its beautiful forin;
For it look'd not severe, like an Angel of Wrath,
But its garment of brightness illum'd its dark path.

In the hues of its grandeur, sublimely it stood,
O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood,
And river, field, village, and woodlands grew bright,
As conscious they gave and afforded delight.

'Twas the bow of Omnipotence; bent in His hand,
Whose grasp at Creation the Universe spann'd;
'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime;
His Vow from the Flood to the exit of Time!

Not dreadful, as when in the whirlwind he pleads,
When storms are his chariot, and lightnings his steeds ;
The black clouds his banner of vengeance unfurl'd,
And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world ;--

In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire,
And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire,
And the sword, and the plague-spot with death strew the plain,
And vultures, and wolves, are the graves of the slain.

Not such was that Rainbow, that beautiful one!
Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone the sun;
A pavilion it seem'd which the Deity graced,
And Justice and Mercy met there, and embraced.

Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom,
Like Love o'er a death-couch, or Hupe o'er the tomb;
That left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired,
As Love had just vanish'd, or Hope had expired.

I gaz'd not alone on that source of my song ;-
To all who beheld it these verses belong,

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Exulting on thy course snblime,
How bright thy yellow cresses glare,
As still, they wave uphurt by time,
High o'er the azure depths of air ;
As still thy wings unwearied go,
While earth and ocean laugh below.

When first thy ruddy pinions lave
The skies, careering round the day;
The moon sinks down the western wave,
Retreating from thy fiery ray ;
The stars are blench'd, the ghost of night
Flies sullen from thy blasting light.

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,
When angry nature weeps around,
Far, far above the ebon clouds
Thy splendours sweep the blue profound ;
Where still unshaken wheel the spheres
Beyond the reach of parting years.

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 monthsNovember, 1819.

To the solemn depths of the forest shades,
Thou art streaming on through their green

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.

the sky,

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.

cheerless night!

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.
And its pillars from twilight flash forth to day, In yon departing orb methinks I see
And its high pale tombs, with their trophies

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
Shall end in glory as it first began :

Was never felt until withdrawn;
Like Him, encircled in celestial light, And the lonely darkling earth,
Shall rise triumphant ’mid the shades of Sighs for the coming of the dawn.

Her native energies again resume,

Ab! too soon the Christian dies,
Dispel the dreary winter of the tomb, The morn serene, meridian bright;
And, bidding death with all its terrors fly, Evening calm, too rapid flies,
Shall bloom in spri through all eternity! And palls us in too early night.

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'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

And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves;
When o'er the hill is shed a paler day,
That gives to stillness and to night the groves.
Ah! let the gay, the roseate morning hail,
When, in the various blooms of light array'd,
She bids fresh beauty live along the vale,
And rapture tremble in the vocal shade :
Sweet is the lucid morning's op'ning flower,
Her choral melodies benignly rise;
Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour,
At which her blossoms close, her music dies:
For then mild Nature, while she droops her

Wakes the soft tear 'tis luxury to shed.

Mid that garniture of cloud,

And tresses of reflected fire, Glitter, as with Memphian shroud,

Consume, as laid on Indian pyre.



(Written in November.)
SUBLIME, emerging from the misty verge
Of the horizon dim, thee, Moon, I hail,

As sweeping o'er the leafless grove, the gale
Seems to repeat the year's funereal dirge.
Now Autumn sickens on the languid sight,
And leaves bestrew the wanderer's lonely


Now unto thee pale arbitress of night, I think of the future, still gazing the while,
With double joy my homage do I pay, As though thou’dst those secrets reveal;
When clouds disguise the glories of the day, But ne'er dost thou grant une encouraging
And stern November sheds her boisterous smile,

To answer the mournful appeal.
How doubly sweet to mark the moony ray
Shoot thro’ the mist from the ethereal height, Thy beams, which so bright through my
And, still unchanged, back to the memory

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!
That secret, intelligent grace ?
Or why should I gaze with such pensive

On thy fair,—but insensible face?

What gentle enchantment possesses thy

Beyond the warm sunshine of day?
Thy bosom is cold as the glittering stream,

Moon of Harvest, herald mild
Where dances thy tremulous ray!

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!

thy way.

I think of the years that for ever have fied;

Of follies,-by oihers forgot ;
Of joys that are vanished—and hopes that

are dead;
And of friendships that were—and are not!

Pleasing 'tis, oh! modest Moon !
Now the night is at her noon,
'Neath thy sway to musing lie,
While around the zephyrs sigh,

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