Spirit of Beauty! thou dost touch the mountains, Of light, when snows are there, and stars are high. And the rich sunset clouds, at day's declining, Grow glorious as bright dreams beneath thy power; And thou art surely in the pale moon's shining, In the lone grandeur of the midnight hour. Spirit of Beauty! on the maiden's forehead, And in the autumn groves our steps thou meetest, The saddest music often is the sweetest, And earth's most mournful things are full of thee. Therefore, when fadeth some sweet lip, and paleth We say, we scarce know why, "How beautiful!” Cold, cold must be the lip that hath not spoken Spirit of Beauty! now I know thy dwelling"Tis not in the cold earth, or sea, or air; The human heart is thy abode, and swelling Its throbbing pulses, thou art shrined there. From thence thou shinest out, and fling'st thy lightning, Making even beautiful this world of strife; Touchest the poets' songs, and fling'st thy brightening And circling glory o'er the paths of life. SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN WARRIORS. Up, on the ancient hills, Send your voices far and wide, With the shout of hope and pride. Up, up, with spear and shield, Like the reaper to the corn. Our feet again shall stand Where our valiant fathers trod, And we'll send this shout o'er our native land"For our country and our God !," Oh little dreams the foe Of the wild hill's hidden powers, And little doth he know The strength of hearts like ours. That shuts us from his sight, New born from the heathery sod; And shout, while spears and lances gleam, "For our country and our God!" Onward the foeman keeps His watch and ward in vain ; The spirit that never sleeps A spirit that never tires, Oh Liberty! thou art; And thou hast lit thine altar fires By the tyrant's burning rod, For our hearths, and halls, and hearts disgraced, "For our country and our God!" Lo! yonder spreads the plain, With our dwellings scattered o'er! But, though our path be o'er the slain, For the red gold's tinsel shine, By the tyrant they've been sold; But we'll pay their price from a richer mine, We must make you tall spears bow, And yon crested helmets nod Farewell to caves and crags,—and now, 'For our country and our God!" MARY HOWITT. THE POET AND HER POETRY. [MARY HOWITT is a Member of the Society of Friends, and published jointly with her husband, two volumes of poems. The "Forest Minstrel," in 1823, and the "Desolation of Eyam," and other poems in 1827. In 1834, she published the "Seven Temptations," a series of dramatic poems containing much sterling poetry. Her principal forte, however, is in the "Old Ballad," in which she surpasses all modern writers. Mrs. Howitt is favourably known to the public by her "Sketches of Natural History," "Tales in Verse," and the "Christmas Book," all of which abound in passages of great poetical beauty.] EXTRACTS FROM MARY HOWITT'S POEMS. BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. Buttercups and Daisies Oh the pretty flowers, Coming ere the spring-time To tell of sunny hours. While the fields are bare, Buttercups and Daisies Spring up here and there. Ere the snow-drop peepeth ; Ere the early primrose Opes its paly gold, Somewhere 'mong the frozen grass Peeps the Daisy white. Little hardy flowers Like to children poor, Playing in their sturdy health What to them is weather! Buttercups and daisies Are these human flowers! He who gave them hardship And a life of care, Gave them likewise hardy strength, Welcome yellow buttercups, Ye are in my spirit Visioned, a delight! Coming ere the spring-time Of sunny hours to tell- Who doeth all things well. MARIEN LEE. Not a care hath Marien Lee, Like the summer-billows wild Half a league she hears the lay, Look! she sitteth laughing there, Marien, some are rich in gold, Go, thou sweet one, all day long, THE USE OF FLOWERS. God might have bade the earth bring forth The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, |