Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily mingle they,
“Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming :
And foresters have busy been,
To track the buck in thicket green ;
Now we come to chant our lay,
“Waken, lords and ladies gay.”

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the green-wood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot, and tall of size ;
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antiers fray'd ;
You shall see him brought to bay,
" Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee
Run a course as well as we;
Time, stern huntsman) who can balk,
Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ;
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay.

THE WRECK.

MRS. HEMANS.

All night the booming minute-gun

Had peal'd along the deep, And mournfully the rising sun

Look'd o'er the tide-worn steep.
A bark from India's coral strand,

Before the rushing blast,
Had vail'd her topsails to the sand,

And bow'd her noble mast.

The queenly ship! brave hearts had striven,

And true ones died with her!
We saw her mighty cable riven,

Like floating gossamer ;
We saw her proud flag struck that morn,

A star once o'er the seas,
Her helm beat down, her deck uptorn,

And sadder things than these.

We saw her treasures cast away;

The rocks with pearl were sown :
And, strangely sad, the ruby's ray

Flash'd out o'er fretted stone;
And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er,

Like ashes by a breeze,
And gorgeous robes--but, oh! that shore

Had sadder sights than these !

We saw the strong man, still and low,

A crush'd reed thrown aside!
Yet, by that rigid lip and brow,

Not without strife he died !
And near him on the sea-weed lay,

Till then we had not wept,
But well our gushing hearts might say,

That there a mother slept !

For her pale arms a babe had press'd

With such a wreathing grasp,
Billows had dash'd o'er that fond breast,

Yet not undone the clasp.
Her very tresses had been flung

To wrap the fair child's form, Where still their wet, long streamers clung,

All tangled by the storm.

And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene,

Gleam'd up the boy's dead face,
Like slumbers, trustingly serene,

In melancholy grace,
Deep in her bosom lay his head,

With half-shut violet eye ;
He had known little of her dread,

Nought of her agony !

Oh, human love! whose yearning heart,

Through all things vainly true, So stamps upon thy mortal part

Its passionate adieu !

Surely thou hast another lot,

There is some home for thee,
Where thou shalt rest, remembering not

The moaning of the sea !

SUNSET

BYRON.
The moon is up, and yet it is not night-
Sunset divides the sky with her-a sea
Of glory streams along the Alpine height
Of blue Friuli's mountains; heaven is free
From clouds, but of all colours seems to be
Melted to one vast iris of the west,
Where the day joins the past eternity;

While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest !

A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but still
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains
Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rbætian hill,
As day and night contending were, until
Nature reclaim'd her order :-gently flows
The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil

The odorous purple of a new-born rose,
Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within

it glows,

Fil!'d with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues,

From the rich sunset to the rising star,
Their magical variety diffuse:
And now they change ; a paler shadow strews
Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues

With a new colour as it gasps away
The last still loveliest, till—'tis gone, and-all is gray.

A STILL WINTER'S NIGHT.

SHELLEY.

How beautiful this Night! The balmiest sigh Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear, Were discord to the speaking quietude That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault, Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which Love had spread To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills, Robed in a garment of untrodden snow; Yon darksome walls, whence icicles depend, So stainless, that their white and glittering spears Tinge not the moon's pure beam ; yon castled steep, Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower So idly, that wrapt Fancy deemeth it A metaphor of Peace,--all form a scene Where musing SOLITUDE might love to lift Her soul above this sphere of earthliness ; Where SILENCE undisturbed might watch alone, So cold, so bright, so still !