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O'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws,
Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows.
On old Egina's rock, and Idra's isle,

The god of gladness sheds his parting smile;
O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine,
Though there his altars are no more divine.
Descending fast, the mountain shadows kiss
Thy glorious gulf, unconquered Salamis!
Their azure arches through the long expanse,
More deeply purpled met his mellowing glance;
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven,
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,
Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.
On such an eve, his palest beam he cast,
When Athens! here thy wisest looked his last.
How watched thy better sons his farewell ray,
That closed the murdered sage's latest day!
Not yet not yet, Sol pauses on the hill,
The precious hour of parting lingers still;
But sad his light to agonizing eyes

And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes-
Gloom o'er the lovely land he seemed to pour-
The land where Phoebus never frowned before.
But ere he sunk below Citharon's head

The cup of woe was quaffed—the spirit fled;
The soul of him who scorned to fear or fly-
Who lived and died, as none can live or die.
But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain,
The Queen of night asserts her silent reign.
No murky vapour, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form;
With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play,
There the white column greets her grateful ráy,
And bright, around with quivering beams beset,
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret;
The groves of olive scattered dark and wide
Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide,

The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,
The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk,

And, dun and sombre mid the holy calm,
Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,

All tinged with varied hues arrest the eye—
And dull were his that passed them heedless by.

SUNSET AND SUNRISE.

CONTEMPLATE when the sun declines,
Thy death, with deep reflection;
And when again he rising shines,

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BYRON.

COWPER,

THE SUNBEAM.

(HOU art no lingerer in monarchs' hall;
A joy thou art, and a wealth to all-
A bearer of hope unto land and sea;
Sunbeam! what gift has the world like thee?

Thou art walking the billows, and Ocean smiles-
Thou hast touched with glory his thousand isles!
Thou hast lit up the ships and the feathery foam
And gladdened the sailor, like words from home.

To the solemn depths of the forest shades,
Thou art streaming on through their green arcades,
And the quivering leaves that have caught thy glow,
Like fire-flies glance to the pools below.

I looked on the mountains-a vapour lay,
Folding their heights in its dim array:
Thou brokest forth-and the mists became
A crown and a mantle of living flame.

I looked on the peasant's lowly cot-
Something of sadness had wrapt the spot;
But a gleam of thee on its casement fell,
And it laughed into beauty at that bright spell.

To the earth's wild places a guest thou art,
Flushing the waste like the rose's heart;
And thou scornest not, from thy pomp, to shed
A tender light on the ruin's head.

Thou tak'st through the dim church-aisle thy way,
And its pillars from twilight flash forth to-day,
And its high pale tombs, with their trophies old
Are bathed in a flood as of burning gold.

And thou turnest not from the humblest grave,
Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave;
Thou scatterest its gloom like the dreams of rest,
Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast.

Sunbeam of Summer! oh! what is like thee?
Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea?—
One thing is like thee, to mortals given,

The Faith, touching all things with hues of heaven.

MRS. HEMANS.

MORNING.

IGHT wanes-the vapours round the mountains curled

Melt into morn, and Light awakes the world. Man has another day to swell the past,

And lead him near to little but his last;

But mighty nature bounds as from her birth,
The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth;
Flowers in the valley, splendour in the beam,
Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream.

Immortal man! behold her glories shine,
And cry, exulting inly, "They are thine!"
Gaze on, while yet thy gladdened eye may see;
A morrow comes when they are not for thee:
And grieve what may above thy senseless bier,
Nor earth nor sky will yield a single tear;

Nor cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall,
Nor gale breathe forth one sigh for thee, for all;
But creeping things shall revel in their spoil,
And fit thy clay to fertilize the soil.

BYRON.

MORNING.

EHOLD glad nature's triumph! Lo, the sun Hath burst the pall of night, and o'er the earth Reviving radiance scattered! Sleep hath done Her death-resembling reign, and thoughts have birth That thrill the grateful heart with secret mirth! Like glittering flowers that deck the dewy ground, How Fancy's bright-hued images abound, And mortals own the glory and the worth Of that proud boon-existence. All around, Unnumbered charms arise at every sight and sound.

The scene is steeped in beauty; and my soul, No longer lingering in the gloom of care, Doth greet creation's smile. The grey clouds roll, Even from the mountain peaks, and melt in air! The landscape looks an Eden! Who could wear The frown of sorrow now? This glorious hour Reveals the ruling God! The heavens are bare ! Each sunny stream and blossom-mantled bower Breathes of pervading love, and shows the power That spoke him into life hath blessed man's earthly dower.

RICHARDSON.

MORNING.

T was a lovely morning;—all was calm,
As if creation, thankful for repose,

In renovated beauty, breathing balm
And blessedness around, from slumber rose;
Joyful once more to see the east unclose
Its gates of glory:-yet subdued and mild,
Like the soft smile of Patience, amid woes
By Hope and Resignation reconciled,

That Morning's beauty shone, that landscape's charm beguiled

The heavens were marked by many a filmy streak,
Even in the orient; and the sun shone through
Those lines, as Hope upon a mourner's cheek
Sheds, meekly chastened, her delightful hue.
From graves and meadows, all empearled with dew,
Rose silvery mists,-no eddying wind swept by,—
The cottage chimneys, half concealed from view
By their embowering foliage, sent on high
Their pallid wreathes of smoke, unruffled to the sky.

And every gentle sound which broke the hush
Of morning's still serenity, was sweet;
The skylark overhead; the speckled thrush,
Who now had taken with delight his seat
Upon the slender larch, the day to greet;
The starling, chattering to her callow young;
And that monotonous lay, which seems to fleet
Like echo through the air, the cuckoo's song,
Was heard at times far off the leafy woods among.

BARTON.

MORNING.

HE eyelids of the Morning are awake;
The dews are disappearing from the grass;
The sun is o'er the mountains; and the trees,

Moveless, are stretching through the blue of heaven,

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