صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

THE STREAM.

AN EMBLEM.

SWEET stream that winds through yonder glade,
Apt emblem of a virtuous maid,
Silent and chaste she steals along
Far from the world's gay, busy throng,
With gentle, yet prevailing force,
Intent upon her destined course.
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where'er she goes.
Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass,
And heaven reflected in her face.

Cowper.

PEACE.

WHEN all within is peace,

How nature seems to smile!
Delights that never cease

The livelong day beguile.
From morn to dewy eve,

With open hand she showers
Fresh blessings, to deceive

And soothe the silent hours.
It is content of heart,

Gives nature power to please ;
The mind that feels no smart

Embraces all it sees :
Can make a wintry sky

Seem bright as smiling May,
And evening's cloudy eye

As peep of early day.

Corper.

EARLY DEATH.

O SNATCH'd away in beauty's bloom !
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb,
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year,
And the wild cypress wave in tender bloom.
And oft by yon blue gushing stream,

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream ;

And ling’ring, pause, and lightly tread,
Vain care l-as if her step disturbed the dead!

Byron.

[ocr errors]

THE FOUNTAIN.
Rest! This little fountain runs

Thus for aye: it never stays,
In the heat of summer suns,

Nor the cold of winter days.
Whosoe'er shall wander near,

When the mid-day heat is worst;
Let him hither come, nor fear,

Lest he may not slake his thirst;
He will find this little river
Running still, as bright as ever.

Barry Cornwall.

THE SEA.
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free;
The holy time is quiet as a nun,
Breathless with admiration : the broad sun
Is sinking down in his tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven is on the sea.
Listen! the mighty being is awake,
And doth with bis eternal motion make
A sound like thunder-everlastingly!

Wordsworth,

AS I LAY A-THINKING. As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking,

Merry sang the bird as she sat upon the spray ;
There came a noble knight,
With his hauberk shining bright,
And his gallant heart was light,

Free and gay;
And as I lay a-thinking, he rode upon

his

way. As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking,

Sadly sang the bird as she sat upon the tree,
There seemed a crimson plain,
Where a gallant knight lay slain,
And a steed with broken rein

Ran free;
As I lay a-thinking-most pitiful to see.
As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking,

Merry sang tlie bird as she sat upon the bough ;
A lovely maid came by,
And a gentle youth was nigh,
And he breathed many a sigh,

And a vow;
As I lay a-thinking-her heart was gladsome now.
As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking,

Sadly sang the bird as she sat upon the thorn ;
No more a youth was there,
But a maiden rent her hair,
And cried in sad despair,

“ That I was born!"
As I lay a-thinking-she perished forlorn.
As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking,

Sweetly sang the bird as she sat upon the briar ;
There came a lovely child,
And his face was meek and mild
Yet joyously he smiled

On his sire;
As I lay a-thinking-a cherub might admire.

Doth appear ;

As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking,

Sadly sang the bird as it perch'd upon a bier ;
That joyous smile was gone,
And the face was white and wan,
As the down upon the swan

As I lay a-thinking—ob, bitter flow'd the tear ! As I lay a-thinking, the golden sun was sinking,

O merry sang that bird as it glitter'd on her breast, With a thousand gorgeous dyes, While soaring to the skies, 'Mid the stars she seem'd to rise,

As to her nest;
As I lay a-thinking, her meaning was exprest:
“ Follow, follow me away!

It boots not to delay
("Twas so she seem'd to say),
“Here is rest!"

Barham.

WHEN THE NIGHT AND MORNING MEET.

In the dark and narrow street,

Into a world of woe,
Where the tread of many feet

Went trampling to and fro,

A child was born (speak low!)
When the night and morning meet.
Full seventy summers back

Was this; so long ago,
The feet that wore the track

Are lying straight and low;
Yet is there still no lack

Of passers to and fro.
Within the narrow street

This childhood ever played,
Beyond the narrow street

This manhood never strayed,

This age sat still and pray'd,
Anear the trampling feet.

The sound of trampling feet

Flow'd through his life, unstirred
By water's fall, or fleet

Wind, music, or the bird
At morn. These sounds are sweet;

But they were never heard.
Within the narrow street,

I stood beside a bed,
I held a dying head,
When the night and morning meet;
And every word was sweet,

Though few the words we said.
And while we talk'd, dawn grew

To-day; the world was fair In fields afar, I knew;

Yet I spoke not to him there Of how the grasses grew,

Besprent with dewdrops rare. I spoke not of the sun,

Nor of this green earth fair ; This soul whose day was done,

Had never claimed its share

In these, and yet its rare
Rich heritage had won.
From the dark and narrow street

Into a world of love,
A soul was born-speak low !
Speak reverent-for we know

Not how they speak above,
When the night and morning meet.

Dora Greenwell.

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
WOODMAN, spare that tree;

Touch not a single bough;
In youth it shelter'd me,

And I'll protect it now.

« السابقةمتابعة »