There would unto my soul be given,
From presence of that gracious heaven,
A piety sublime!

And thoughts would come of mystic mood,
To make in this deep solitude
Eternity of time!

And did I ask to whom belonged
This vale? I feel that I have wronged
Nature's most gracious soul!

She spreads her glories o'er the earth,
And all her children, from their birth,
Are joint heirs of the whole!

Yea, long as Nature's humblest child
Hath kept her temple undefiled
By sinful sacrifice;

Earth's fairest scenes are all his own;
He is the monarch, and his throne
Is built amid the skies!

THE EVENING RAINBOW. — Southey.

MILD arch of promise! on the evening sky
Thou shinest fair, with many a lovely ray,
Each in the other melting. Much mine eye
Delights to linger on thee; for the day,
Changeful and many-weathered, seemed to smile,
Flashing brief splendor through his clouds a while,
That deepened dark anon, and fell in rain.
But pleasant is it now to pause, and view
Thy various tints of frail and watery hue,
And think the storm shall not return again.

Such is the smile that piety bestows

On the good man's pale cheek, when he in peace, Departing gently from a world of woes, Anticipates the realm where sorrows cease.

BOOK OF THE WORLD. - Drummond.

Of this fair volume which we "World" do name,
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,
Of Him who it corrects, and did it frame,

We clear might read the art and wisdom rare,
Find out his power,-which wildest powers doth

tame,

His providence, extending everywhere,

His justice, which proud rebels doth not spare, —
In every page, no period of the same!
But silly we, like foolish children, rest
Well pleased with colored vellum, leaves of gold,
Fair, dangling ribands, leaving what is best,
On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold;
Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught,
It is some picture on the margin wrought.

THE SKYLARK.-Hogg.

BIRD of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place,

O, to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay, and loud,
Far in the downy cloud,
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where, on the dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,

Musical cherub, soar, singing away!
Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather-blooms

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place,

O, to abide in the desert with thee!

TO DAFFODILS. — Herrick.*

FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see
You waste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attained his noon;
Stay, stay,

Until the hast'ning day
Has run

But to the even-song;
And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along!

N

* Born in 1591.

We have short time to stay, as you;
We have as short a spring,

As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything;
We die,

As your hours do; and dry
Away

Like to the summer's rain;

Or as the pearls of morning dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

THE HERMIT. - Beattie.

Ar the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove;
'T was then, by the cave of the mountain reclined,
A hermit his nightly complaint thus began;
Though mournful his numbers, his soul was resigned;
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.

"Ah! why thus abandoned to darkness and woe,
Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain?
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,

And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.
Yet, if pity inspire thee, O, cease not thy lay!
Mourn, sweetest companion! man calls thee to

mourn;

O, soothe him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away,
Full quickly they pass, but they never return!

Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, The moon, half extinct, a dim crescent displays; But lately I marked when, majestic, on high

She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, then, fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendor again; But man's faded glory no change shall renew; Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!

""Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew.

Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

Kind Nature the embryo-blossom shall save; But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn? O, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?"

'T was thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, That leads to bewilder and dazzles to blind; My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade,

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.

"O, pity, great Father of light!" then I cried,

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Thy creature, who fain would not wander from

thee;

Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride;

From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free."

And darkness and doubt are now flying away;
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn;

So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,

The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn;