Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald, wake, oh, wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

43

In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with
tears,

Solemnly seemest like a vapory cloud
To rise before me. Rise, oh, ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth!
Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven,
Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.

S. T. COLERIDGE.

CHAMOUNI AT SUNRISE.

SOPHIA CHRISTIANA FREDERICA (MÜNTER) BRUN was born near Gotha, Germany, June 3, 1765, and died at Copenhagen, March 25, 1835. She was a friend of Sismondi, Madame de Staël, and other literary persons. Madame Brun was an extensive traveller, and wrote much prose and verse, mostly in German.

FROM the deep shadow of the silent fir-grove
I lift my eyes, and trembling look on thee,
Brow of eternity, thou dazzling peak,
From whose calm height my dreaming spirit

AT KANDERSTEG.

GEORGE BANCROFT, the historian of the United States, was born at Worcester, Mass., Oct. 3, 1800. He studied at Harvard College and in Europe, and on returning to his native country occupied stations of public importance, from which he retired in 1849. His poems were published in a small volume in 1823, and the first volume of his life work, the " History of the United States," in 1834. In 1867 Mr. Bancroft was sent abroad as Minister to the Court of Berlin, and during his occupancy of the post rendered important services to his country. He now resides at Washington.

FATHER in heaven! while friendless and alone
I gaze on nature's face in alpine wild,
I would approach thee nearer. Wilt thou own
The solitary pilgrim for thy child?

When on the hill's majestic height I trod,

And thy creation smiling round me lay, The soul reclaimed its likeness unto God,

And spurned its union with the baser clay.

The stream of thought flowed purely, like the air

That from untrodden snows passed coolly by; Base passion died within me; low born care

Fled, and reflection raised my soul on high.

Then wast thou with me, and didst sweetly pour

Serene delight into my wounded breast; The mantle of thy love hung gently o'er The lonely wanderer, and my heart had rest.

I gazed on thy creation. Oh, 't is fair!

The vales are clothed in beauty, and the hills In their deep bosom icy oceans bear,

To feed the mighty floods and bubbling rills.

I marvel not at Nature. She is thine; Thy cherished daughter, whom thou lov'st to bless ;

Through thee her hills in glistening whiteness

Headlong the avalanche loud thundering leaps! Like a foul spirit, maddened by disgrace, That in its fall the souls of thousands sweeps Into perdition's gulf, down ruin's slippery steeps.

When rose before me your transcendent heights,

Tipped from the orient with refulgent gold, While on your slopes were blended shades and lights,

As morn's pale mist away, like drapery, rolled, My soul, entranced, forgot its earthly hold, Upborne to purer realms, on morning's wing;

Yet felt serene, as ye are calm and cold, A joy that sublimated everything, That hushed all save the heart's profoundest, loftiest string.

But when against the evening's solemn sky Your white peaks through the spectral

moonlight peered,

Ye were Titanic spirits to my eye,

Awing the soul until itself it feared! Oh, how sublimely awful ye appeared, Silent as death in your cold solitude;

Appalling the lone traveller, as he neared Some sacred spot, where none might dare intrude

With sandalled foot, base thought or word, or action rude!

Imagination gives you endless forms:

Now ye seem giant sentinels, that wait To watch from your calm heights a world of

storms.

gate,

The world's advances, and man's brief es

tate:

How many races have ye seen descend

Into Time's grave, the lowly with the great; How many kingdoms seen asunder rend, How many empires fall, how many centuries

end!

Dread monuments of your Creator's power! When Egypt's pyramids shall mouldering fall,

In undiminished glory ye shall tower,

And still the reverent heart to worship call, Yourselves a hymn of praise perpetual: And if at last, when rent is Law's great chain, Ye with material things must perish all, Thoughts which ye have inspired, not born in vain,

In immaterial minds for aye shall live again.

MRS. ELIZABETH CLEMENTINE KINNY.

THE WONDERS OF THE LANE.

EBENEZER ELLIOTT, known as the " Corn-Law Rhymer," was born March 17, 1781, and, though not liberally educated, produced poetry that is commended on account of its expression of sympathy with the poor. He died Dec. 1, 1849.

STRONG climber of the mountain side,
Though thou the vale disdain,

Yet walk with me where hawthorns hide
The wonders of the lane.
High o'er the rushy springs of Don
The stormy gloom is rolled;
The moorland hath not yet put on
His purple, green, and gold.
But here the titling spreads his wing,
Where dewy daisies gleam;
And here the sunflower of the spring
Burns bright in morning's beam.

To mountain winds the famished fox
Complains that Sol is slow
O'er headlong steeps and gushing rocks
His royal robe to throw.
But here the lizard seeks the sun,
Here coils in light the snake;
And here the fire-tuft hath begun
Its beauteous nest to make.

Oh, then, while hums the earliest bee
Where verdure fires the plain,
Walk thou with me, and stoop to see
The glories of the lane !

This roof of sky and tree,

45

These tufts, where sleeps the gloaming clock, And wakes the earliest bee!

As spirits from eternal day

Look down on earth secure,

Gaze thou, and wonder, and survey
A world in miniature!

A world not scorned by Him who made
Even weakness by his might;
But solemn in his depth of shade,
And splendid in his light.

Light! not alone on clouds afar

O'er storm-loved mountains spread, Or widely teaching sun and star,

Thy glorious thoughts are read;
Oh, no! thou art a wondrous book,
To sky, and sea, and land,
A page on which the angels look,
Which insects understand!

THE ALPS.

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EVENING HYMN OF THE ALPINE

SHEPHERDS.

DR WILLIAM BEATTIE was born at Dalton, Dumfriesshire, about 1797, and was educated partly at the University of Edinburgh and partly abroad. In 1830 he took up his abode in London, where he was physician to the Duke of Clarence, afterwards William IV., and an industrious writer of prose and verse. He was literary executor of the poet Campbell, and a friend of Rogers In a note to the following ver-es he says: "Every evening, at sunset, Ye shepherds, praise the Lord,' was sung and repeated from cliff to cliff, until every voice joined in the chorus." Dr. Beattie died in 1875.

BROTHERS, the day declines;

Above, the glacier brightens ; Through hills of waving pines

The "vesper halo" lightens ! Now wake the welcome chorus

To him our sires adored;
To him who watcheth o'er us, -
Ye shepherds, praise the Lord!

From each tower's embattled crest,
The vesper-bell has tolled;
'Tis the hour that bringeth rest
To the shepherd and his fold:
From hamlet, rock, and chalet

Let our evening song be poured; Till mountain, rock, and valley

Re-echo, Praise the Lord!