Or spied where thou sit'st moping in thy mew
At the dim centre of a churchyard yew;
Or, from a rifted crag or ivy tod

Deep in a forest, thy secure abode,

Thou giv'st, for pastime's sake, by shriek or shout, A puzzling notice of thy whereabout;

May the night never come, the day be seen, When I shall scorn thy voice or mock thy mien ! In classic ages men perceived a soul

Of sapience in thy aspect, headless Owl!

Thee Athens reverenced in the studious grove; And, near the golden sceptre grasped by Jove, His Eagle's favourite perch, while round him sate The Gods revolving the decrees of Fate,

Thou, too, wert present at Minerva's side

Hark to that second larum! far and wide

The elements have heard, and rock and cave replied.

VI.

THE Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire,
Flung back from distant climes a streaming fire,
Whose blaze is now subdued to tender gleams,
Prelude of night's approach with soothing dreams.
Look round;-of all the clouds not one is moving ;
"Tis the still hour of thinking, feeling, loving.
Silent, and stedfast as the vaulted sky,

The boundless plain of waters seems to lie :-
Comes that low sound from breezes rustling o'er
The grass-crowned headland that conceals the shore!
No 't is the earth-voice of the mighty sea,
Whispering how meek and gentle he can be!

Thou Power supreme! who, arming to rebuke Offenders, dost put off the gracious look, And clothe thyself with terrors like the flood Of occan roused into his fiercest mood,

Whatever discipline thy Will ordain

For the brief course that must for me remain ;
Teach me with quick-eared spirit to rejoice
In admonitions of thy softest voice!

Whate'er the path these mortal feet may trace,
Breathe through my soul the blessing of thy grace,
Glad, through a perfect love, a faith sincere

Drawn from the wisdom that begins with fear;
Glad to expand, and, for a season, free

From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee!

VII.

(BY THE SEA-SIDE.)

THE sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest, And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest; wave with wave no longer strives,

Air slumbers

Only a heaving of the deep survives,
A tell-tale motion! soon will it be laid,
And by the tide alone the water swayed.
Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild
Of light with shade in beauty reconciled
Such is the prospect far as sight can range,
The soothing recompence, the welcome change.
Where now the ships that drove before the blast,
Threatened by angry breakers as they passed;
And by a train of flying clouds bemocked;
Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked
As on a bed of death? Some lodge in peace,
Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease;
And some, too heedless of past danger, court
Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port;

But near, or hanging sea and sky between,
Not one of all those wingèd Powers is seen,
Seen in her course, nor 'mid this quiet heard;
Yet oh! how gladly would the air be stirred
By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise,
Soft in its temper as those vesper lays
Sung to the Virgin while accordant oars
Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores ;
A sea-born service through the mountains felt
Till into one loved vision all things melt:

Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound
The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound;
And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise
With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies.
Hush, not a voice is here! but why repine,
Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine
On British waters with that look benign?
Ye mariners, that plough your onward way,
Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay,

May silent thanks at least to God be given

With a full heart, "our thoughts are heard in

heaven!"