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, I had awoke from an unpleasant dream, Oh, could we wake from sorrow! Were it all With looking on the lively tint of flowers, Every tinkle on the shingles Has an echo in the heart; 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 I list to this refrain 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 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 Wildered, and tossing through distempered dreams! Who would in such a gloomy state remain On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, High-gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer. light! Of all material beings, first and best! In unessential gloom; and thou, O Sun, Shines out thy Maker! may I sing of thee? 'Tis by thy secret, strong, attractive force, SUNRISE IN THE FOREST. 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. |