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PARRY. To the solemn depths of the forest shades, Thou art streaming on through their green Behold yon glorious orb, whose feeble ray arcades; .

Mocks the proud glare of summer's livelier And the quivering leaves that have caught

day! thy glow,

His noon-tide beam, shot upward through Like fire-fies glance to the pools below. the sky,

Scarce gilds the vault of Heaven's blue I louk'd on the mountains--a vapour lay

canopy Folding their heights in its dark array:

A fainter yet, and yet a fainter light; Thou brakest forth-and the mist became

And lo! he leaves us now to one, long, A crown and a mantle of living flame.

cheerless night!

And is his glorious course for ever o'er? I look'd on the peasant's lowly cot

| And has he set indeed, to rise no more? Something of sadness had wrapt the spot; To us no more shall spring's enlivening beam But a gleam of thee on its lattice fell,

Unlock the fountains of the fetter'd stream: And it laugh'd into beauty at that bright

No more the wild bird carol through the sky,
And cheer yon mountains with rude melody?

Once more shall Spring her energy resude, To the earth's wild places a guest thou art,

| And chase the horrors of this wintry gloom; Flushing the waste like the rose's heart;

Once more shall Summer's animating ray And thou scornest not from thy pomp to shed

Enliven nature with perpetual day: A tender smile on the ruin's head.

Yon radiant orb, with self-inherent light,

Shall rise and dissipate the shades of night, . Thou tak’st thro' the dim church-aisle ihy

In peerless splendor repossess the sky, way,

And shine in renovated majesty. And its pillars from twilight flash forth today,

In yon departing orb methinks I see And its bigh pale tombs, with their trophies

A counterpart of frail mortality. old

Emblem of man! when life's declining sun Are bath'd in a flood as of molten gold.

Proclaims this awful truth,“ Thy race is run

His sun once set, its bright effulgence gone, And thou turnest not from the humblest

All, all is darkness, as it ne'er had shone!" grave,

Yet not for ever is man's glory fied, Where a flower to the sighing winds may

His name for ever “number'd with the .. wave;

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spell.

Like yon brightorb, th' immortal part of man | Linger! sure thy glorious worth
Shall end in glory as it first began:

Was never felt until withdrawn;
Like Him, encircled in celestial light, And the lonely darkling earth,
Shall rise triumphant ’mid the shades of Sighs for the coming of the dawn.

night,
Her native energies again resume,

Ab! too soon the Christian dies, Dispel the dreary winter of the tomb,

The morn serene, meridian bright; And, bidding death with all its terrors fly, Evening calm, too rapid flies, Shall bloom in spring through all eternity! And palls us in too early night.

Yet that tranquil dying hour,

Grander is than stronger day;
Sweetest is its latest power,

Surest is its faintest ray.

COMPOSED AFTER A MOST
RESPLENDENT SUN-SET.

HAMILTON. Stay thou orb of golden flame,

Nature bewails thy hasty set; Woodlands check their sweet acclaim,

Vested in shadowy regret.

San! go down, to rise again ;

Christian ! depart, to enter bliss :
Mine be its glad morrow's reign,

May my last end be like his !

'Twas but now thy earliest streak

TWILIGHT. Racked the veil of midnight gloom;

MISS WILLIAMS. And thy peering disk so meek, Emerged from morning's dewy womb. | Meek Twilight ! baste to shroud the solar

ray, Quick, too quick, thy tow'ring prime And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves;

Declined adown the heavenly steep! When o'er the hill is shed a paler day, And even now the western clime

That gives to stillness and to night the groves. Beholds thee sinking in the deep

Ah! let the gay, the roseate morning hail,

When, in the various blooms of light array'd, Fair the presage of thy morn,

She bids fresh beauty live along the vale, And rich the splendor of thy noon; And rapture tremble in the vocal shade : Lovelier tints yet still adorn

Sweet is the lucid morning's op'ning flower, The scene where thou shalt vanish soon. Her choral melodies benignly rise;

Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour, Mid that garniture of cloud,

At which her blossoms close, her music dies: And tresses of reflected fire,

For then mild Nature, while she droops her Glitter, as with Memphian shroud,

head, Consume, as laid on Indian pyre. | Wakes the soft tear 'tis luxury to shed.

MOON.

TO THE MOON.

As sweeping o'er the leafless grove, the gale H. K. WHITE.

Seems to repeat the year's funereal dirge. (Written in November.)

Now Autumn sickens on the languid sight, SUBLIME, emerging from the misty verge | And leaves bestrew the wanderer's lonely Of the horizon dim, thee, Moon, I hail, I way,

Now unto thee pale arbitress of night,
With double joy my homage do I pay,
When clouds disguise the glories of the day,
And stern November sheds her boisterous

blight,
How doubly sweet to mark the moony ray
Shoot thro' the mist from the ethereal height,
And, still unchanged, back to the memory

bring
The smiles Favonian of life's earliest spring.

I think of the future, still gazing the while,

As though thou’dst those secrets reveal ;
But ne'er dost thou grant vne encouraging

smile,
To answer the mournful appeal.

Thy beams, which so bright through my

casement appear, To far distant regions extend; Illumine the dwellings of those that are dear,

And sleep on the grave of a friend.

Then still must I love thee mild Queen of

the Night! J. TAYLOR.

Since feeling and fancy agree, What is it that gives thee, mild Queen of To make three a source of unfailing delight, the Night,

A friend and a solace to me!
That secret, intelligent grace ?
Or why should I gaze with such pensive

delight
On thy fair,—but insensible face ?

TO THE HARVEST MOON. . What gentle enchantment possesses thy beam,

H. K. WHITE.
Beyond the warm sunshine of day?
Thy bosom is cold as the glittering stream, Moon of Harvest, herald mild
Where dances thy tremulous ray!

Of plenty, rustic labour's child,

Hail ! oh hail! I greet thy beam, Canst thou the sad lieart of its sorrows be As soft it trembles o'er the stream, guile?

And gilds the straw-thatched hamlet wide, Or grief's fond indulgence suspend ? Where Ipnocence and Peace reside; Yet, where is the mourner but welcomes | 'Tis thou that glad'st with joy the rustic thy smile,

throng, And loves thee-almost as a friend ! Promptest the tripping dance, the exbila

rating song. The tear that looks bright, in the beam, as it flows,

Moon of Harvest, I do love Unmoved dost thou ever behold ;

O'er the uplands now to rove, The sorrow that loves in thy light to repose,

While thy inodest ray serene To thee oft in vain hath been told !

Gilds the wild surrounding scene;

And to watch thee riding high Yet soothing thou art, and for ever I find,

In the blue vault of the sky, Whilst watching thy gentle retreat,

Where no thin vapour intercepts thy ray, A moonlight composure steal over my mind,

But in unclouded majesty thou walkest on Poetical-pensive, and sweet!

thy way. I think of the years that for ever have fied;Of follies,-by oihers forgot ;

Pleasing 'tis, oh! modest Moon ! Of joys that are vanished—and hopes that Now the night is at her noon, are dead;

'Neath thy sway to musing lie, And of friendships that were-and are not !! While around the zephyrs sigh,

Fanning soft the sun-tann'd wheat,

MOONLIGHT SCENE IN ITALY.
Ripen'd by the summer's heat;
Pictoring all the rustic's joy

BYRON.
When boundless plenty meets his eye,
And thinking soon,

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Oh, modest moon!

Of the snow-shining mountains- Beautiful ! How many a female eye will roam

I linger yet with Nature, for the night

Hath been to me a more familiar face
Along the road,
To see the load,

Than that of man; and in her starry sbade The last dear load of harvest-home.

Of dim and solitary loveliness,
I learn’d the language of another world.

I do remember me, that in my youth, Storms and tempests, floods and rains, When I was wandering-upon such a night Stern despoilers of the plains,

I stood within the Coliseum's wall, Hence away, the season flee,

'Midst the chief relics of once mighty Rome; Foes to light-heart jollity :

The trees which grew along the broken May no winds careering high,

arches Drive the clouds along the sky,

Wav'd dark in the blue midnight, and the But may all nature smile with aspect boon, stars When in the heavens thou shew'st thy face, Shone thro' the rents of ruin; from afar Oh, Harvest Moon!

The watch-dog bay'd beyond the Tiber; and

| More near from out the Cæsars' palace came Neath yon lowly roof he lies,

The owl's long cry, and interruptedly, The husbandman, with sleep-sealed eyes;

Of distant sentinels the fitful song He dreams of crowded barns, and round

Begun and died upon the gentle wind. The yard, he hears the flail resound;

Some cypresses beyond the time-worn

breach Oh! may no hurricane destroy His visionary views of joy !

Appear'd to skirt the horizon, yet they stood

Within a bowshot-where the Cæsars dwelt, God of the winds! Oh, hear his humble

And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst prayer, And while the moon of harvest shines, thy

A grove which springs thro' levell’d battle

ments, blustering whirlwind spare.

And twines its roots with the imperial

hearths, Sons of luxury, to you

Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth ;Leave I Sleep's dull power to woo : But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, Press ye still the downy bed,

A noble wreck in ruinous perfection! While feverish dreams surround your head; While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan I will seek the woodland glade,

halls, Penetrate the thickest shade,

Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. Wrapp'd in Contemplation's dreams, And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, Musing high on holy themes,

upon While on the gale

All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Shall softly sail

Which soften'd down the hoar austerity The nightingale's enchanting tune, Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up, And oft my eyes,

As 'twere, anew, the gaps of centaries; Shall grateful rise

Leaving that beautiful which still was so, To thee, the modest Harvest Moon.

And making that which was not.

STARS.

THE STARS.

Your incense to the THRONE. The Hea

vens shall burn! CROLY.

For all your pomps are dust, and shall to YE stars ! bright legions that, before all

dust return. time, Camped on yon plain of sapphire, what Yet look ye living intellects.—The trine shall tell

Of waning planets, speaks it not decay ? Your burning myriads, but the eye of Him

Does Schedir's staff of diamond wave no Who bade thro' heaven your golden

sign? chariots wheel ?

Monarch of midnight, Sirius, shoots thy Yet who earthborn can see your hosts, nor

ray

Undimm'd, when thrones sublunar pass feel

away? Immortal impulses Eternity ? What wonder if the o'erwrought soul |

Dreams!—yet if e'er was graved in vigil

wan should reel

Your spell or gem or imaged alchemy, With its own weight of thought, and the

The sign when empires' hour-glass downmild eye

wards ran, See fate within your tracks of sleepless glory

'Twas on that arch, graved on that brazen lie?

talisman.

For ye behold the MIGHTIEST. From that steep

THE EVENING STAR. What ages have ye worshipp'd round your

ANON. King! Ye heard his trumpet sounded o'er the Star of the Evening! How I love to mark sleep

Thy beam thus gleaming, tremulously bright, Of Earth ;-ye heard the morning-angels Upon the ocean-wave! How brightly dark, sing.

Shines thy lone ray, thou herald of the night. Upon that orb, now o'er me quivering, ide gaze of Adam nxa from Faradise; Thou lovely star! I've sometimes gazed at The wonders of the Deluge saw it spring

thee Above the mountain surge, and bailed its Till I bave almost wept, I knew not why; rise,

Tell me, my heart, what can that feeling be Lighting their lonely track with Hope's ce- / Which makes thee at those moments throb lestial dyes.

so high?

(n calvary shot down that purple eye, It is a joy where sadness bath a part,
When, but the soldier and the sacrifice A melancholy, worth whole days of mirth;
All were departed.-Moupt of Agony! The eye in tears, indeed, but with a heart
But Time's broad pinion, ere the giant dies, Which bounds as if 'twould break the bonds
Shall cloud your dome.-Ye fruitage of of earth,

the skies, Your vineyard shall be shaken! From your Thou lovely star! metbinks thy herald-ray urn

Speaketh of rest beyond our hour of time; Censers of Heaven! no more shall glory And seemeth to invite the soul away rise,

To seek for refuge in a happier clime.

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