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O'er the still radiance of the lake below; Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow;

Even in its very motion there was rest; While every breath of eve that chanced to blow

Wafted the traveler to the beauteous West. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul;

To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given,

And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onward to the golden gates of heaven;

Where to the eye of Faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies. JOHN WILSON.

DAWN.

THROW up the window! 'Tis a morn for life I know it has been trifling with the rose,

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I had awoke from an unpleasant dream,
And light was welcome to me. I looked out
To feel the common air, and when the breath
Of the delicious morning met my brow,
Cooling its fever, and the pleasant sun
Shone on familiar objects, it was like
The feeling of the captive who comes forth
From darkness to the cheerful light of day.

Oh, could we wake from sorrow! Were it all
A troubled dream like this, to cast aside
Like an untimely garment with the morn!
Could the long fever of the heart be cooled
By a sweet breath from Nature, or the gloom
Of a bereaved affection pass away

With looking on the lively tint of flowers,
How lightly were the spirit reconciled
To make this beautiful, bright world its home!
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS.

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Every tinkle on the shingles

Has an echo in the heart;
And a thousand dreamy fancies
Into busy being start;
And a thousand recollections

Weave their bright hues into woof, As I listen to the patter

Of the rain upon the roof.

Now in fancy comes my mother,
As she used to, years agone,
To survey her darling dreamers,
Ere she left them till the dawn;
Oh! I see her bending o'er me,

As I list to this refrain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.

Then my little seraph sister,

With her wings and waving hair, And her bright-eyed cherub brother, A serene, angelic pair! Glide around my wakeful pillow With their praise or mild reproof,

As I listen to the murmur

Of the soft rain on the roof.

And another comes to thrill me
With her eyes' delicious blue,
And forget I, gazing on her,
That her heart was all untrue;
I remember but to love her
With a rapture kin to pain;
And my heart's quick pulses vibrate
To the patter of the rain.

There is naught in Art's bravuras

That can work with such a spell In the spirit's pure deep fountains, Whence the holy passions well, As that melody of Nature,

That subdued, subduing strain, Which is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain.

COATES KINNEY.

MORNING PLEASURES.

(From "Summer."')

ALSELY luxurious, will not man awake,

joy

The cool, the fragrant and the silent hour, To meditation due and sacred song?

For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise?

To lie in dead oblivion, losing half
The fleeting moments of too short a life;
Total extinction of the enlightened soul!
Or else to feverish vanity alive,

Wildered, and tossing through distempered dreams!

Who would in such a gloomy state remain
Longer than nature craves, when every muse
And every blooming pleasure wait without,
To bless the wildly devious morning walk?
But yonder comes the powerful king of day,
Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud,
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach
Betoken glad. Lo! now apparent all,
Aslant the dew-bright earth, and colored air,
He looks in boundless majesty abroad,
And sheds the shining day, that burnished
plays

On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams,

High-gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer. light!

Of all material beings, first and best!
Efflux divine! Nature's resplendent robe!
Without whose vesting beauty all were wrap-
ped

In unessential gloom; and thou, O Sun,
Soul of surrounding worlds! in whom best
seen,

Shines out thy Maker! may I sing of thee?

'Tis by thy secret, strong, attractive force,
As with a chain indissoluble bound,
Thy system rolls entire; from the far bourn
Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round
Of thirty years, to Mercury, whose disk
Can scarce be caught by philosophic eye,
Lost in the near effulgence of thy blaze.
JAMES THOMSON.

SUNRISE IN THE FOREST.
(From "Remarks on Forest Scenery.")

HE first dawn of day exhibits a beautiful obscurity, when the east begins just to brighten with the reflections only of effulgence; a pleasing and progressive light, dubious and amusing, is thrown over the face of things. A single ray is able to assist the picturesque eye; which by such slender aid creates a thousand imaginary forms, if the scene be unknown; and as the light steals gradually on, is amused by correcting its vague ideas by the real objects. What in the confusion of twilight seemed a stretch of rising ground, broken into various parts, becomes now vast masses of wood, and an extent of forest. As the sun begins to appear above the horizon, another change takes place. What was before only form, being enlightened, begins to receive effect. This effect depends upon two circumstances, the catching lights, which touch the summits of every object; and the mistiness in which the rising orb is commonly enveloped.

The effect is often pleasing, when the sun rises in unsullied brightness, diffusing its ruddy light over the upper parts of objects, which is contrasted by the deeper shadows below; yet the effect is then only transcendent when he rises, accompanied by a train of vapors, in a misty atmosphere. Among lakes and mountains, this happy accompaniment often forms the most astonishing visions; and yet it is in the forest nearly as great. With what admirable effect do we sometimes see the sun's disc just appear above a woody hill; or, in Shakspere's language,

"Stand tiptoe on the misty mountain top,"

and dart his diverging rays through the rising vapor! The radiance, catching the tops of the trees, as they hang midway upon the shaggy steep, and touching here and there a few other prominent objects, imperceptibly mixes its ruddy tint with the surrounding mists, setting on fire, as it were, their upper parts; while their lower skirts are lost in a dark mass of varied confusion, in which trees, and ground, and radiance, and obscurity, are all blended together. When the eye is fortunate enough to catch the glowing instant (for it is always a vanishing scene), it furnishes an idea worth treasuring among the choicest appearances of nature. Mistiness alone, we have observed, occasions a confusion in objects which is often picturesque; but the glory of the vision depends upon the glowing lights which are mingled with it.

Landscape painters in general pay too little attention to the discriminations of morning and evening. We are often at a loss to distinguish in pictures the rising from the setting sun; though their characters are very different both in the lights and shadows. The ruddy lights, indeed, of the evening are more easily distinguished; but it is not perhaps always sufficiently observed that the shadows of the evening are much less opaque than those of the morning. They may be brightened perhaps by the numberless rays floating in the atmosphere, which are incessantly reverberating in every direction; and may continue in action after the sun is set. Whereas, in the morning, the rays of the preceding day having subsided, no object receives any light but from the immediate rays of the sun. Whatever becomes of the theory, the fact is, I believe, well ascertained. WILLIAM GILPIN.

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