« ForrigeFortsæt »
Of lively portraiture displayed,
There let the pealing organ blow,
These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
WHY THUS LONGING ?
WHY THUS LONGING? - Miss Winslow.
Why thus longing, thus for ever sighing,
For the far-off, unattained, and dim; While the beautiful, all round thee lying,
Offers up its low, perpetual hymn ?
Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching,
All thy restless yearnings it would still ; Leaf, and flower, and laden bee are preaching,
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill.
Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw ; If no silken cord of love hath bound thee
To some little world through weal and woe ;
If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten,
No fond voices answer to thine own; If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten
By daily sympathy and gentle tone.
Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses,
Not by works that give thee world-renown, Not by martyrdom, or vaunted crosses,
Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown.
Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely,
Every day a rich reward will give; Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only,
And truly loving, thou canst truly live.
Dost thou revel in the rosy morning,
When all nature hails the Lord of light, And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning,
Robes yon fragrant fields in radiance bright?
Other hands may grasp the field and forest,
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine; But with fervent love if thou adorest,
Thou art wealthier, — all the world is thine !
Yet if through earth's wide domains thou rovest,
Sighing that they are not thine alone,Not those fair fields, but thyself, thou lovest,
And their beauty and thy wealth is gone.
Nature wears the colors of the spirit,
Sweetly to her worshipper she sings, All the glow, the grace, she doth inherit
, Round her trusting child she fondly flings.
VANITY. - Herbert.
The fleet astronomer can bore And thread the spheres with his quick-piercing mind. He views their stations ; walks from door to door ;
Surveys, as if he had designed
And knoweth, long before,
The nimble diver with his side Cuts through the working waves, that he may fetch His dearly earnèd pearl, which God did hide
On purpose from the venturous wretch,
That he might save his life, and also her's
Who, with excessive pride,
The subtle chymic can divest
There he imparts to them his mind,
They appear trim and dressed To ordinary suitors at the door.
What hath not man sought out and sound, But his dear God? who yet his glorious law Embosoms in us, mellowing the ground
With showers and frosts, with love and awe ,
Poor man! thou searchest round
THE CLOUD. — Leigh Hunt
As I stood thus, a neighbouring wood of elms
Shaking their choral locks; and on the place
It passed with its slow shadow ; and I saw
THE DRYADS. — Leigh Hunt.
These are the tawny Dryads, who love nooks