And his virgin sight beheld The ruddy glow of even, And the thousand shining orbs that fill'd And woman's voice before Had cheer'd his gloomy night, And his heart at daylight's close, MY NATIVE VILLAGE. THERE lies a village in a peaceful vale, With sloping hills and waving woods around, Fenced from the blasts. There never ruder gale Bows the tall grass that covers all the ground; And planted shrubs are there, and cherish'd flowers, And a bright verdure born of gentle showers. 'Twas there my young existence was begun, My earliest sports were on its flowery green, And often, when my schoolboy task was done, I climbed its hills to view the pleasant scene, And stood and gazed till the sun's setting ray Shone on the height-the sweetest of the day. There, when that hour of mellow light was come, And mountain shadows cool'd the ripen'd grain, I watch'd the weary yeoman plodding home, In the lone path that winds across the plain, To rest his limbs, and watch his child at play, And tell him o'er the labours of the day. U And when the woods put on their autumn glow, Ah! happy days, too happy to return, Fled on the wings of youth's departed years, The truth of life, its labours, pains, and fears; My thoughts steal back to that sweet village still; The present brings its storms; but, while they last, ELIZABETH F. ELLET. LAKE ONTARIO. DEEP thoughts o'ershade my spirit while I gaze Thy smile is glorious when the morning's spring Thou'rt beautiful when evening moonbeams shine, And the soft hour of night and stars is thine. Thou hast thy tempests, too; the lightning's home Of those now sought and wept on earth no more: The world was young with thee; this swelling flood Here, too, at early morn, the hunter's song Those scenes are past. The spirit of changing years Thy voice, once full and joyous as its own. THE VANITY OF THE VULGAR GREAT. STAY, thou ambitious rill, Ignoble offering of some fount impure! Gloomy with shade, thou hadst thy birth obscure; In scanty waves among the rocks to flow. Fling not abroad thy spray, Nor fiercely lash the green turf at thy side! With liquid snows hath swoln thy foaming tide? To still thy boastings with his scorching noon. Lo! calmly through the vale The Po, the king of rivers, sweeps along; Bears on his breast-proud vessels, swift and strong. 'Neath summer's sun recedes his lessen'd tide. Thou, threatening all around, Dost foam and roar along thy troubled path; Stunning the gazer with thy noisy wrath! Of all thy boasted glories is thine own. The smile of yonder sky Is brief, and change the fleeting seasons know; Soon to their death thy brawling waves shall flow. O'er thee, in summer's heat, Shall pass the traveller with unmoisten'd feet. TO THE WHIPPORWILL. BIRD of the lone and joyless night, Why shun the gairish blaze of day? Nor sounds the song of happier bird, Thy wild and plaintive note is heard. Sad minstrel! thou hast learn'd, like me, Who will not trust its charm again. GRENVILLE MELLEN. MOUNT WASHINGTON. MOUNT of the clouds, on whose Olympian height The tall rocks brighten in the ether air, And spirits from the skies come down at night, To chant immortal songs to freedom there! |