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N itself the ocean panorama is very grand. It would be hard to exaggerate the beauty of both sea and sky, especially in and near the tropics. The sky near the horizon was of pale blue, and often the clouds all round the sea line of a light pink tint, and the sea near the ship like an amethyst or the wing of some tropical bird. In those rare times when the sea was calm, the motion of the ship made it flow in large sheets as of some oily liquid; or, again, like the blue steel of some polished cuirass.

H

TO THE CUCKOO.

BAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of spring!

Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.

Soon as the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear.

Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?
Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet

From birds among the bowers.

The school-boy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay,

Starts, thy most curious voice to hear, And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,

An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year!

O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Attendants on the spring.

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LAYER of winter, art thou here again? O welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh! The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain, Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky. Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry Make April ready for the throstle's song, Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong! Yea, welcome, March! and though I die ere June, Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise, Striving to swell the burden of the tune That even now I hear thy brown birds raise,

66

Unmindful of the past or coming days;
Who sing, "O joy! a new year is begun!
What happiness to look upon the sun!"

O, what begetteth all this storm of bliss,
But Death himself, who, crying solemnly,
Even from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,
Bids us, "Rejoice! lest pleasureless ye die.
Within a little time must ye go by.
Stretch forth your open hands, and, while ye live,
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give."
WILLIAM MORRIS.

THE SHADED WATER.

HEN that my mood is sad, and in the noise
And bustle of the crowd I feel rebuke,
I turn my footsteps from its hollow joys
And sit me down beside this little brook;
The waters have a music to mine ear
It glads me much to hear.

It is a quiet glen, as you may see,

Shut in from all intrusion by the trees,

That spread their giant branches, broad and free,

The silent growth of many centuries; And make a hallowed time for hapless moods, A sabbath of the woods.

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"It is a quiet glen, as you may see,

Shut in from all intrusion by the trees."

none, like me, Do seek it out with such a fond desire,

Poring in idlesse mood on flower and tree,
And listening as the voiceless leaves respire, -
When the far-traveling breeze, done wandering,
Rests here his weary wing.

And all the day, with fancies ever new,

And sweet companions from their boundless store, Of merry elves bespangled all with dew, Fantastic creatures of the old-time lore, Watching their wild but unobtrusive play, I fling the hours away.

And still the waters, trickling at my feet,
Wind on their way with gentlest melody,
Yielding sweet music, which the leaves repeat,
Above them, to the gay breeze gliding by,-
Yet not so rudely as to send one sound
Through the thick copse around.

Sometimes a brighter cloud than all the rest

Hangs o'er the archway opening through the trees, Breaking the spell that, like a slumber, pressed On my worn spirit its sweet luxuries, And with awakened vision upward bent, I watch the firmament.

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