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AN INVITATION TO PRAISE GOD.
That pavement damp and cold
No smiling courtiers tread;
A dying head.
No mingling voices sound,
An infant wail alone;
The parting groan.
O change!-- wondrous change! --
Burst are the prison-bars ;
Beyond the stars !
SWEET flocks, whose soft, enamelled wing
With an artless harmony;
Who in leafy shadows sit,
wondrous structures build, Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light,
To nature's God your first devotions pay,
Ere you salute the rising day ; Tis He calls up the sun, and gives him every ra
Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide,
Let the fierce glances of your eyes
Rebate their baleful fire ;
The volumes of your scaly gold;
Proclaims your Maker kind and wise.
Insects and mites of mean degree,
Moulded by Wisdom's artful hand,
In your innumerable forms
To despicable worms.
TO THE EVENING WIND. - Bryanf.
SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day, Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow;
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,
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 To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!
Nor I alone a thousand bosoms round
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,
Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest,
Summoning from the innumerable boughs The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast;
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And 'twixt the o'ershadowing branches and the grass.
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And they who stand about the sick man's bed
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
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,
Shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore ;
Who rideth so late through the night-wind wild ?
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 mother has many a gay garment at hand."
My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
“Come, lovely boy, wilt thou go with me?
thee to sleep.”
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.
My father, my father, and seest thou not
My son, my son, I see and I know
“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,
Out o'er the grassy lea ;
And glads the azure skies;
That fast in durance lies.
Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing ;
Makes woodland-echoes ring;
* Gleamis with an uncertain light.