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النشر الإلكتروني

See the dew-drops how they kiss
Every little flower that is ;
Hanging on their velvet heads,
Like a string of crystal beads.
See the heavy clouds low falling,
And the evening star down calling
The dead night from underground;
At whose rising, mists unsound,
Damps and vapours, fly apace,
And hover o'er the smiling face
of these pastures, where they come,
Striking dead both bud and bloom :
Therefore from such danger lock
Every one his lovèd flock;
And let your dogs lie loose without,
Lest the wolf come as a scout
From the mountain, and ere day,
Bear a lamb or kid away ;
Or the crafty thievish fox
Break upon your simple flocks.
To secure yourself from these
Be not too secure in ease;
So shall you good shepherds prove,
And deserve your master's love.
Now good night! may sweetest slumbers
And soft silence fall in numbers
On your eye-lids : so farewell :
Thus I end my evening knell.

Beaumont and Fletcher.

UNFOLDING THE FLOCKS.
SHEPHERDS, rise, and shake off sleep-
See the blushing morn doth peep
Through your windows, while the sun
To the mountain-tops has run,
Gilding all the vales below
With the rising flames, which grow
Brighter with his climbing still
Up! ye lazy swains ! and fill

Bag and bottle for the field;
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
To the bitter north-east wind.
Call the maidens up, and find
Who lies longest, that she may
Be chidden for untimod delay.
Feed your faithful dogs, and pray
Heaven to keep you from decay,
So unfold, and then away,

Beaumont and Fletcher.

A COUNTRY COTTAGE. 'Mong the green lanes of Kent-green sunny lanes — Where troops of children shout, and laugh, and play, And gather daisies, stood an antique home, Within its orchard, rich with ruddy fruits ; For the full year was laughing in his prime. Wealth of all flowers grew in that garden green, And the old porch with its great oaken door Was smother'd in rose-blooms, while o'er the walls The honeysuckle clung deliciously, Before the door there lay a plot of grass, Snow'd o'er with daisies-flower by all beloved, And famousest in song-and in the midst, A carrèd fountain stood, dried up and broken, On which a peacock perch'd and sunn'd itself; Beneath, two petted rabbits, snowy white, Squatted upon the sward. A row of poplars darkly rose behind, Around whose tops, and the old-fashion'd vanes, White pigeons flutter'd, and o'er all was bent The mighty sky, with sailing sunny clouds.

Alexander Smith.

THE WIND.
The wind, it is a mystic thing,

Wand'ring o'er ocean wide ;
And fanning all the thousand sails

That o'er its billows glide.

;

It curls the blue waves into foam,

It snaps the strongest mast, Then, like a sorrowing thing, it sighs

When the wild storm is past. And yet how gently does it come

At ev'ning through the bow'rs,
As if it said a kind “good night"

To all the closing flowers !
It bears the perfume of the rose,

It fans the insect's wing; 'Tis round me, with me every where,

Yet 'tis an unseen thing.
How many sounds it bears along,

As o'er the earth it goes ;
The song of many joyous hearts,

The sounds of many woes!
It enters into palace balls,

And carries thence the sound
Of mirth and music ; but it creeps

The narrow prison round,
And bears away the captive's sigh,

Who sits in sorrow there ;
Or from the martyr's lonely cell

Conveys his evening prayer.
It fans the reaper's heated brow ;

It through the window creeps,
And lifts the fair child's golden curls,

As on her couch she sleeps. 'Tis like the light, a gift to all,

To prince, to peasant given; Awake, asleep, around us still,

There is this gift of heaven : This strange, mysterious thing we call

The breeze, the air, the wind ; We call it so, but know no more,

'Tis mystery, like our mind. Think not the things most wonderful

Are those beyond our ken,-
For wonders are around the paths,

The daily paths of men.

66

THE BREEZE.
WHERE is thy home, soft Breeze P
Is it among the trecs,
Or in the silent dell ?

Tell
Where dost thou dwell?
Still break the golden beam
That shines upon the stream
There let thy murmurs play
The livelong summer's day,

But tell
Where dost thou dwell ?

My home is in ladies' bowers,
I sigh among the flowers
When dew'd with evening showers-

There,
There do I dwell;
On Ocean's breast I play,
And wanton with his spray;
But chief o'er stream and dell
My murmurs love to swell,

And there,
There do I dwell.
Over the fount I take
My airy flight, and break
The crystal liquid curls,

It hurls
Into a thousand pearls,-
I kiss the placid lake
And its glassy smoothness shake-
Where from their watery lairs
Bright trout the angler snares,

Yon chimes
My breath unto him bears."
Then hail, thou heaven-sent Breeze !
Still sigh among the trees !
And in the silent dell,

Swell
The evening's knell!

Thy odorous breathings, now
Salute my burning brow,
And with my glowing palm
I clutch thy cooling balm-

O swell!
Here dost thou dwell.

T, Stuart.

ON AN ANCIENT STONE-QUARRY.
Know, visitor, that from this spot obscure,

So bid from human gaze,
Whither scarce once a year, across the moor,

A lonely shepherd strays,-
In olden time, far off beyond the seas,

A vast cathedral rose,
Whose fame extends to earth's extremities,

And still with ages grows.
The stones, that here in darkness would have lain,

There piled in glorious state,
Up to the skies, the fretted roof sustain,

Majestically great;
Or carved in many a mystical device,

And forms of Saints on high,
In glory erer new, bring Paradise

Before th' astonislı'd eye.
Such power hath God for His eternal ends

To human genius given ;-
Genius sublime! by which the mind ascends

In Him from earth to heaven !
So, at His will and bountiful decree,

From low obscurest things,
In everlasting truth and harmony,

Celestial beauty springs.
E'en as at first, from the rude formless mass

Of earth's chaotic frame,
This fair creation, at His word of grace,
In perfect order came.

Cuswall.

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