O change! O wondrous change! So agonized, and now O change, stupendous change! There lies the soulless clod; The new immortal wakes, AN INVITATION TO PRAISE GOD.- Watts. SWEET flocks, whose soft, enamelled wing Lovely minstrels of the field, Who in leafy shadows sit, And your wondrous structures build, Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light, 'Tis He calls up the sun, and gives him Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide, every ray. In harmless play, twist and unfold The volumes of your scaly gold; That rich embroidery of your gay attire Proclaims your Maker kind and wise. Insects and mites of mean degree, And curled and painted with a various dye; In Praise Him that wears the ethereal crown, TO THE EVENING WIND. - Bryant. SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou 162 TO THE EVENING WIND. Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee Nor I alone; -a thousand bosoms round Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The faint old man shall lean his silver head His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And softly part his curtains to allow Go, but the circle of eternal change, - Which is the life of nature, shall restore, With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more; Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, THE ERL KING. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. WHO rideth so late through the night-wind wild ? It is the father with his child; He has the little one well in his arm; He holds him safe, and he folds him warm. My son, why hidest thy face so shy?" "Seest thou not, father, the Erl King nigh? The Erlen King, with train and crown?" "It is a wreath of mist, my son." "Come, lovely boy, come, go with me; My father, my father, and dost thou not hear "Come, lovely boy, wilt thou go with me? My daughters fair shall wait on thee; My daughters their nightly revels keep; They'll sing, and they 'll dance, and they'll rock thee to sleep." M 164 LAMENT OF MARI QUEEN OF SCOTS. My father, my father, and seest thou not The Erl King's daughters in yon dim spot?" My son, my son, I see and I know 66 'Tis the old gray willow that shimmers* so." "I love thee; thy beauty has ravished my sense; And, willing or not, I will carry thee hence." "O father, the Erl King now puts forth his arm! O father, the Erl King has done me harm!" The father shudders; he hurries on ; LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. - Burns. Now nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Now Phœbus cheers the crystal streams, But nought can glad the weary wight Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, The merle, in his noontide bower, Gleams with an uncertain light. |