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PARRY.

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 it 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 ihy 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. old

Emblem of man! when life's declining sun Are bath'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 bad shone!" grave,

Yet not for ever is man's glory fied, Where a flower to the sighing winds may

His name for ever “ number'd with the wave;

dead ,”

L

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Was never felt until withdrawn;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.

night,
Her native energies again resume,

Ah! 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 fies,
Shall bloom in spring 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.

MISS WILLIAMS.

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 poon; Lovelier tints yet still adorn

The scene where thou shalt vanish soon.

MEEK Twilight ! baste to shroud the solar

ray,
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

head,
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.

MOON.

TO THE MOON.

H. K. WHITE.
(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

way,

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,
blight,

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 The smiles Favonian of life's earliest spring. Illumine the dwellings of those that are dear,

To far distant regions extend ;
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 thiee 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

delight
On thy fair,—but insensible face?

TO THE HARVEST MOON.
What gentle enchantment possesses thy
beam,

H. K. WHITE.
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 heart 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 I Promptest the tripping dance, the exhila

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 inodest 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 thin vapour intercepts thy ray, A moonlight composare steal over my mind, Bat in unclouded majesty thou walkest on Poetical--pensive, and sweet!

thy way.

I think of the years that for ever have fed;

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,

Fanning soft the sun-tann'd wheat,

MOONLIGHT SCENE IN ITALY.
Ripen'd by the summer's heat;
Pictoring all the rustic's joy

BYRON.
When boundless plenty meets his eye,
And thinking soon,

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Oh, modest moon!

Of the snow-shining mountains-Beautiful! How many a female eye will roam

I linger yet with Nature, for the night

Hath been to me a more familiar face Along the road, To see the load,

Than that of man; and in her starry sbade The last dear load of harvest-home.

Of dim and solitary loveliness,
I learn’d the language of another world.

I do remember me, that in my youth, Storms and tempests, floods and rains, When I was wandering-upon such a night Stern despojlers of the plains,

I stood within the Coliseum's wall, Hence away, the season flee,

Midst the chief relics of once mighty Rome; Foes to light-heart jollity :

The trees which grew along the broken May no winds careering high,

arches Drive the clouds along the sky,

Way'd dark in the blue midnight, and the But may all nature smile with aspect boon, stars When in the heavens thou shew'st thy face, Shone thro' the rents of ruin; from afar Oh, Harvest Moon !

The watch-dog bay'd beyond the Tiber; and

More near from out the Cæsars' palace came Neath yon lowly roof he lies,

The owl's long cry, and interruptedly,

Of distant sentinels the fitful song
The husbandman, with sleep-sealed eyes;
He dreams of crowded barns, and round

Begun and died upon the gentle wind. The yard, he hears the flail resound;

Some cypresses beyond the time-worn

breach Oh! may no hurricane destroy His visionary views of joy!

Appear'd to skirt the horizon, yet they stood

Within a bowshot-where the Cæsars dwelt, God of the winds! Oh, hear his humble

And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst prayer, And while the moon of harvest shines, thy

A grove which springs thro' leveli'd battle.

ments, blustering whirlwind spare.

And twines its roots with the imperial

hearths, Sons of luxury, to you

Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth;Leave I Sleep's dull power to woo : But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, Press ye still the downy bed,

A noble wreck in ruinous perfection! While feverish dreams surround your head; While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan I will seek the woodland glade,

halls, Penetrate the thickest shade,

Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. Wrapp'd in Contemplation's dreams, And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, Musing high on holy themes,

upon While on the gale

All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Shall softly sail

Which soften'd down the hoar austerity The nightingale's enchanting tune, Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up, And oft my eyes,

As 'twere, anew, the gaps of centuries; Shall grateful rise

Leaving that beautiful which still was so, To thee, the modest Harvest Moon.

And making that which was not.

STARS.

sign?

THE STARS.

Your incense to the THRONE. The Hea

vens shall burn ! CROLY.

For all your pomps are dust, and shall to

dust return. Ye stars ! bright legions that, before all

time, Camped on yon plain of sapphire, what

Yet look ye living intellects. The trine shall tell

Of waning planets, speaks it not decay?

Does Schedir's staff of diamond wave no Your burning myriads, but the eye of Him Who bade thro' heaven your golden chariots wheel?

Monarch of midnight, Sirius, shoots thy Yet who earthborn can see your hosts, nor

ray

Undimm'd, when thrones sublunar pass feel Immortal impulses-Eternity?

Dreams!—yet if e'er was graved in vigil What wonder if the o'erwrought soul should reel

Your spell or gem or imaged alchemy, With its own weight of thought, and the

The sign when empires' hour-glass downmild eye

wards ran, See fate within your tracks of sleepless glory Twas on that arch, graved on that brazen lies-

talisman.

away?

wan

For ye behold the MIGHTIEST. From that steep

THE EVENING STAR.
What ages have ye worshipp'd round your

ANON.
King!
Ye heard bis trumpet sounded o'er the

STAR of the Evening! How I love to mark sleep

Thy beam thus gleaming, tremulously bright, Of Earth ;-ye heard the morning-angels Upon the ocean-wave! How brightly dark, sing.

Shines thy lone ray, thou herald of the night. Upon that orb, now o'er me quivering, The gaze of Adam fix'd from Paradise ;

Thou lovely star! I've sometimes gazed at The wonders of the Deluge saw it spring thee Above the mountain surge, and bailed its Till I have almost wept, I knew not why ; rise,

Tell me, my heart, what can that feeling be Lighting their lonely track with Hope's ce- Which makes thee at those moments throb lestial dyes.

so high?

()n calvary shot down that purple eye, It is a joy where sadness bath a part, When, but the soldier and the sacrifice A melancholy, worth whole days of mirth ; All were departed.—Mount of Agony ! The eye in tears, indeed, but with a heart But Time's broad pinion, ere the giant dies, Which bounds as if 'twould break the bonds Shall cloud your dome.—Ye fruitage of

of earth. the skies, Your vineyard shall be shaken ! From your Thou lovely star! merbinks thy herald-ray

Speaketh of rest beyond our hour of time; Censers of Heaven! no more shall glory And seemeth to invite the soul away

To seek for refuge in a happier clime.

urn

rise,

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