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النشر الإلكتروني

134

SUNRISE ON THE HILLS.

There are hopes, that like enchantment brighten
Gaily in the van of coming years;

They are never met- and yet they lighten,
When we walk in sorrow and in tears.

When the present only tells of anguish,
Then we know their worth, and only then:
O! the wasted heart will cease to languish,
When it thinks of joys that might have been.

Age, and suffering, and want, may sever
Every link, that bound to life, in twain:
Hope-even Hope may vanish, but forever
Memory with her visions will remain.

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SUNRISE ON THE HILLS.

BY H. W. LONGFELLOW.

I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,

And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.

The clouds were far beneath me:-bathed in light
They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,
And in their fading glory shone

Like hosts in battle overthrown,

As many a pinnacle with shifting glance,

Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,

SUNRISE ON THE HILLS.

And rocking on the cliff was left

The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted,-and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade,
Where upward in the mellow blush of day
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.

I heard the distant waters dash-
I saw the current whirl and flash-
And richly by the blue lake's silver beach
The woods were bending with a silent reach.
Then o'er the vale with gentle swell

The music of the village bell

Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills,

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And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills Was ringing to the merry shout

That faint and far the glen sent out,

Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke Through thick-leaved branches from the dingle

broke.

If thou art worn and hard beset

With sorrows that thou wouldst forget,— If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills!-no tears

Dim the sweet look that nature wears.

136

AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN

AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.

BY WASHINGTON ALLSTON.

ALL hail! thou noble land,

Our fathers' native soil!
O stretch thy mighty hand,
Gigantic grown by toil,

O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore:
For thou, with magic might,

Canst reach to where the light
Of Phoebus travels bright

The world o'er!

The Genius of our clime,

From his pine-embattled steep,

Shall hail the great sublime;

While the Tritons of the deep

With their conchs the kindred league shall proclain, Then let the world combine

O'er the main our naval line,

Like the milky way, shall shine
Bright in fame!

Though ages long have passed

Since our fathers left their home,

Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravelled seas to roam,—

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins!
And shall we not proclaim

AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.

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That blood of honest fame,

Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains?

While the language, free and bold,
Which the bard of Avon sung,
In which our Milton told

How the vault of heaven rung,

When Satan, blasted, fell with all his host;
While this, with reverence meet,

Ten thousand echoes greet,

From rock to rock repeat

Round our coast;

While the manners, while the arts,

That mould a nation's soul,

Still cling around our hearts,

Between let Ocean roll,

Our joint communion breaking with the Sun

Yet, still, from either beach,

The voice of blood shall reach,

More audible than speech,

'We are One!'

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138

LOVE UNCHANGEABLE.

LOVE UNCHANGEABLE.

BY R. DAWES.

YES! still I love thee-Time who sets
His signet on my brow,

And dims my sunken eye, forgets

The heart he could not bow ;-
Where love, that cannot perish, grows
For one, alas! that little knows
How love may sometimes last;
Like sunshine wasting in the skies,
When clouds are overcast.

The dew-drop hanging o'er the rose,
Within its robe of light,

Can never touch a leaf that blows,
Though seeming, to the sight;
And yet it still will linger there,
Like hopeless love without despair,—
A snow-drop in the sun!

A moment finely exquisite,
Alas! but only one.

I would not have thy married heart

Think momently of me,—
Nor would I tear the cords apart,

That bind me so to thee;

No! while my thoughts seem pure and mild Like dew upon the roses wild,

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