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E'en as the sacred memory of the past
The golden clouds
Like low-breathed strains
Calm and pale-
As insect-myriads in the sunset air.
In such a scene
[LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.)
Now on the vessel's deck,
Too richly on some regal garment wrought.-
Behold that bridge of clouds !
That scene is o'er-
[SEA-FOAM.] The breeze is gentle, yet the gliding ship Wins not her tranquil way without a trace, But softly stirs the surface of the sea. 'Tis pleasant now,
with vacant mind, to watch The light foam at her side. Awhile it seems Most like a tattered robe of stainless white, Whose rents disclose a verdant vest beneath. Then, suddenly, wild Fancy wanders home For wintry images of snow-patched plains That prove a partial thaw. E'en school-days dear Return, if haply on the idle brain Remembrance of the pictured map presents The world's irregular bounds of land and wave ! Nor less beguilement for the lingering hours Of life at sea, the backward track may yield. How beautiful the far seen wake appears ! Resplendent as the comet's fiery tail In Heaven's blue realms! Beneath the proud ship’s stern A thousand mimic whirlpools chafe and boil, While fitfully up-sent from lucid depths Thick throngs of silver bubbles sparkle bright, Like diamonds in the pale beam of the moon.
Ah! that once more I were a careless child.
Coleridge. He plays yet like a young prentice the first day, and is not come to bis task of melancholy.
Every thing new or young has a charm for human eyes.
The rosy light of dawn—the spring of the year—the haunts of our childhood-our earliest companions and our first amusements, are connected with associations infinitely more enchanting than all later scenes and objects. It is partly owing to this law of our nature, that the sight of children thrills and softens the heart in maturer life with such indescribable sensations of sadness and delight. They remind us of our sweetest hours, revive our most hallowed affections, and bring into our eyes those tears of luxurious tenderness that are more precious than springs in a sandy desert. At the pure smile of childhood the baser impulses and more sordid cares of life suddenly betray their genuine aspects of deformity, and vanish from the heart. "A change comes over the spirit of our dreams.”
All men of sensibility and imagination, occasionally travel back through the mist of dreams to the scenes of their own happy childhood. The fondly reverted eye is charmed with images of peace and beauty. When contrasted with these delightful retrospections, how dreary and barren seems our onward path! Every step that we take but increases our distance from the regions of enchantment. 'Tis a melancholy journey into unknown landsan eternal exile from the home of innocence and joy. The atmosphere of existence thickens as we advance, and all things assume a sombre aspect, till at last we reach the dread goal of our