gay I see the hill's far-gazing head, Where thou noddest in the gale; I hear light-bounding footsteps tread The grassy path that winds along the vale. I hear the voice of woodland song Break from each bush and wellknown tree, And, on light pinions borne along, Comes back the laugh from childhood's heart of glee. O'er the dark rock the dashing brook, With look of anger, leaps again, And, hastening to each flowery nook, Its distant voice is heard far down the glen. Fair child of art! thy charms decay, And hushed the music of that day, When my voice mingled with the streamlet's chime: But on my heart thy cheek of bloom Shall live when Nature's smile has fled; And, rich with memory's sweet perfume, Shall o'er her grave thy tribute incense shed. There shalt thou live and wake the glee That echoed on thy native hill; And when, loved flower! I think of thee, My infant feet will seem to seek thee still. THOMAS MILLER. EVENING SONG. How many days with mute adieu Come softened by the distant shore; And in this hushed and breathless close, All these their Maker own. Now Nature sinks in soft repose, JOHN KEBLE. [1796-1821.] MORNING. O, TIMELY happy, timely wise, New every morning is the love |