THE SUNBEAM. MRS. HEMANS. THOU art no lingerer in monarch's hall, Thou art walking the billows, and ocean smiles, Thou hast touched with glory his thousand isles; Thou hast lit up the ships and the feathery foam, And gladden'd the sailor, like words from home. To the solemn depths of the forest shades, Thou art streaming on through their green arcades; And the quivering leaves that have caught thy glow, Like fire-flies glance to the pools below. I look'd on the mountains-a vapour lay Folding their heights in its dark array: Thou brakest forth-and the mist became A crown and a mantle of living flame. I look'd on the peasant's lowly cot- To the earth's wild places a guest thou art, Flushing the waste like the rose's heart; And thou scornest not from thy pomp to shed A tender smile on the ruin's head. Thou tak'st thro' the dim church-aisle thy way, And its pillars from twilight flash forth to day, And its high pale tombs, with their trophies old Are bath'd in a flood as of molten gold. And thou turnest not from the humblest grave, Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave; Thou scatterest its gloom like the dreams of rest, Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast. Sunbeam of summer! oh! what is like thee, Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea? One thing is like thee to mortals givenThe Faith touching all things with hues of heaven! REFLECTIONS On seeing the Sun set for a period of three months-November, 1819. PARRY. BEHOLD yon glorious orb, whose feeble ray Mocks the proud glare of summer's livelier day! His noon-tide beam, shot upward through the sky, Scarce gilds the vault of Heaven's blue сапору A fainter yet, and yet a fainter light; cheerless night! And is his glorious course for ever o'er? His name for ever "number'd with the dead," L Like yon bright orb, th' immortal part of man | Linger! sure thy glorious worth Shall end in glory as it first began: night, Her native energies again resume, COMPOSED AFTER A MOST HAMILTON. STAY thou orb of golden flame, 'Twas but now thy earliest streak Racked the veil of midnight gloom; Quick, too quick, thy tow'ring prime Beholds thee sinking in the deep. Fair the presage of thy morn, • And rich the splendor of thy noon; Lovelier tints yet still adorn The scene where thou shalt vanish soon. Mid that garniture of cloud, Was never felt until withdrawn; Sighs for the coming of the dawn. Ah! too soon the Christian dies, And palls us in too early night. Yet that tranquil dying hour, Grander is than stronger day; Surest is its faintest ray. Sun! go down, to rise again; Christian! depart, to enter bliss: TWILIGHT. MISS WILLIAMS. MEEK Twilight! haste to shroud the solar And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves; Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour, Wakes the soft tear 'tis luxury to shed. TO THE MOON. H. K. WHITE. MOON. (Written in November.) SUBLIME, emerging from the misty verge Of the horizon dim, thee, Moon, I hail, As sweeping o'er the leafless grove, the gale way, Now unto thee pale arbitress of night, blight, How doubly sweet to mark the moony ray I think of the future, still gazing the while, As though thou'dst those secrets reveal; But ne'er dost thou grant one encouraging smile, To answer the mournful appeal. Shoot thro' the mist from the ethereal height, Thy beams, which so bright through my And, still unchanged, back to the memory bring The smiles Favonian of life's earliest spring. J. TAYLOR. 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! Since feeling and fancy agree, WHAT is it that gives thee, mild Queen of To make thee a source of unfailing delight, the Night, That secret, intelligent grace? Or why should I gaze with such pensive delight On thy fair, but insensible face? What gentle enchantment possesses thy beam, Beyond the warm sunshine of day? Thy bosom is cold as the glittering stream, Where dances thy tremulous ray! Canst thou the sad heart of its sorrows beguile ? Or grief's fond indulgence suspend ? Yet, where is the mourner but welcomes thy smile, And loves thee-almost as a friend! The tear that looks bright, in the beam, as it flows, Unmoved dost thou ever behold;The sorrow that loves in thy light to repose, To thee oft in vain hath been told! Yet soothing thou art, and for ever I find, I think of the years that for ever have fled;Of follies, by others forgot; Of joys that are vanished-and hopes that are dead; And of friendships that were-and are not! A friend and a solace to me! TO THE HARVEST MOON. H. K. WHITE. MOON of Harvest, herald mild Of plenty, rustic labour's child, Hail! oh hail! I greet thy beam, As soft it trembles o'er the stream, And gilds the straw-thatched hamlet wide, Where Innocence and Peace reside; 'Tis thou that glad'st with joy the rustic throng, Promptest the tripping dance, the exhilarating song. Moon of Harvest, I do love O'er the uplands now to rove, While thy modest ray serene Gilds the wild surrounding scene; And to watch thee riding high In the blue vault of the sky, Where no thin vapour intercepts thy ray, But in unclouded majesty thou walkest on thy way. Pleasing 'tis, oh! modest Moon! Fanning soft the sun-tann'd wheat, When boundless plenty meets his eye, How many a female eye will roam To see the load, The last dear load of harvest-home. Storms and tempests, floods and rains, But may all nature smile with aspect boon, When in the heavens thou shew'st thy face, Oh, Harvest Moon! 'Neath yon lowly roof he lies, The husbandman, with sleep-sealed eyes; His visionary views of joy! God of the winds! Oh, hear his humble prayer, MOONLIGHT SCENE IN ITALY. BYRON. THE stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains-Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world. I do remember me, that in my youth, When I was wandering-upon such a night I stood within the Coliseum's wall, 'Midst the chief relics of once mighty Rome; The trees which grew along the broken arches Wav'd dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone thro' the rents of ruin; from afar Appear'd to skirt the horizon, yet they stood And while the moon of harvest shines, thy A grove which springs thro' levell❜d battle blustering whirlwind spare. Sons of luxury, to you Leave I Sleep's dull power to woo: Press ye still the downy bed, ments, And twines its roots with the imperial hearths, Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth ;But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, A noble wreck in ruinous perfection! While feverish dreams surround your head; While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan THE STARS. CROLY. STARS. YE stars! bright legions that, before all time, Camped on yon plain of sapphire, what Your burning myriads, but the eye of Him chariots wheel? Yet who earthborn can see your hosts, nor feel Immortal impulses-Eternity? What wonder if the o'erwrought soul should reel With its own weight of thought, and the mild eye Your incense to the THRONE. The Heavens shall burn! For all your pomps are dust, and shall to dust return. Yet look ye living intellects.-The trine Monarch of midnight, Sirius, shoots thy Undimm'd, when thrones sublunar pass away? Dreams!-yet if e'er was graved in vigil wan Your spell or gem or imaged alchemy, The sign when empires' hour-glass downwards ran, See fate within your tracks of sleepless glory Twas on that arch, graved on that brazen King! Ye heard his trumpet sounded o'er the sleep talisman. THE EVENING STAR. ANON. STAR of the Evening! How I love to mark Of Earth ;-ye heard the morning-angels Upon the ocean-wave! How brightly dark, On calvary shot down that purple eye, Shines thy lone ray, thou herald of the night. Thou lovely star! I've sometimes gazed at Till I have almost wept, I knew not why; It is a joy where sadness hath a part, of earth. Your vineyard shall be shaken! From your Thou lovely star! methinks 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, |