THE CLOUDS.

THE CLOUDS.

O CLOUDS! ye ancient messengers,
Old couriers of the sky,
Treading as in primeval years,
Yon still immensity.

In march how wildly beautiful
Along the deep ye tower,
Begirt, as when from chaos dull
Ye loomed in pride and power,

To crown creation's morning hour.

And when the roar is done,
Ye lift your volumed robes in light,
And wave them to the world,

Like victory flags o'er scattered fight,
Brave banners all unfurled-

Still there, though rent and tempest hurled.

And then, in still and summer hours,

When men sit weary down,

Ye come o'er heated fields and flowers,
With shadowy pinions on-

Ye hover where the fervent earth

A saddened silence fills,

And, mourning o'er its stricken mirth,

Ye sweep along the hills

Then how the wakening landscape thrills!

37

38

AN EASTERN EVENING.-RIDICULE.

AN EASTERN EVENING.
EVENING comes on: arising from the stream,
Homeward the tall flamingo wings his flight;
And where he sails athwart the setting beam,
His scarlet plumage glows with deeper light.
The watchman, at the wished approach of night,
Gladly forsakes the field, where he all day,

To scare the winged plunderers from their prey,
With shout and sling, from yonder clay-built height,
Hath borne the sultry ray.

Hark! at the Golden Palaces,
The Bramin strikes the hour-

For leagues and leagues around, the brazen sound
Rolls through the stillness of departing day,
Like thunder far away.

RIDICULE.

He that indulges himself in ridiculing the little imperfections and weaknesses of his friends, will in time find mankind united against him. The man who sees another ridiculed before him, though he may, for the present, concur in the general laugh, yet in a cool hour he will consider the same trick might be played against himself; but when there is no sense of this danger, the natural pride of human nature rises against him, who, by general censures, lays claim to general superiority.

AMONG the vexations, our tempers to try,
Sure, vanity brings us the largest supply:
'Tis a failing, though common, all find of no use:
I hope no young gent. will e'er act like my goose.

The fowl, that I speak of a fine-looking bird,—
How much I regret she could be so absurd!
Was so plump and so fat, of white plumage profuse,
That she look'd like a very respectable goose.

But it was not sufficient, in her silly mind,
To act well in the station by nature assigned;
She envied the swans, and she fled with abuse
From her more humble tribe-What a vain giddy goose!

To the lake then she waddled, and joining the swan,
She stretched out her neck, and she tried to be one-

But such laughter and scorn did her efforts produce,
All the birds in the air mocked the poor silly goose.

An owl who sat near, for 't was late in the day,
Did with wisdom and truth, and much gravity, say;
"By your freaks of ambition, and folly let loose.
You're not only no swan, but a very bad goose."

The wave is bluer than the sky;

And though the light shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow
That sparkle in the depths below;
The rainbow's tints are only made,
When on the waters they are laid,
And sun and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine?

There's beauty in the deep.

There's music in the deep:
It is not in the surf's rough roar,
Nor in the whispering shelly shore-
They are but earthly sounds, that tell
How little of the sea-nymph's shell,
That sends its loud, clear note abroad,
Or winds its softness through the flood.
Echoes through groves with coral gay,
And dies on spongy banks away.
There's beauty in the deep.

There's quiet in the deep

Above, let tides and tempests rave,

And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave:

SUMMER MORNING.

Above, let care and fear contend
With sin and sorrow to the end:
Here, far beneath the tainted foam,
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joy, and wake in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above.
There's quiet in the deep.

41

SUMMER MORNING.

SHORT is the doubtful empire of the night;
And soon, observant of approaching day,
The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews,
At first faint gleaming in the dappled east ;
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow;
And, from before the lustre of her face,

White break the clouds away. With quickened step,
Brown Night retires: young Day pours in apace,
And opens all the lawny prospect wide.

The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top,

Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn.

Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine,
And from the bladed field the fearful hare

Limps, awkward: while along the forest-glade
The wild deer trip, and often turning gaze

At early passenger. Music awakes
The native voice of undissembled joy ;

And thick around the woodland hymns arise.
Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leave
His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells
And from the crowded fold, in order drives
His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn.