And now it is passing over the river,
I know by the water's timid quiver.
Balmy breeze!-I behold not thee,
But, Oh! how beautiful thou must be!
Come, thou breeze, from the bloomy South,
Kiss my lips with thy tender mouth;
Touch my brow with thy delicate hand,
And take me away to thy Southern land;
Then never, breeze invisible, roam,
But dwell with me in thy spirit's home.
Midsummer's Night Dream.
Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score again?
BENEDICT, in Much Ado about Nothing.
WHEN the tree of love is budding first,
Ere yet its leaves are green,
Ere yet, by shower and sunbeam nurst
Its infant life has been;
The wild bee's slightest touch might wring
The buds from off the tree,
As the gentle dip of the swallow's wing
Breaks the bubbles on the sea.
h, even in their hour of birth,
ant buds of Love,
his growing fire to earth,
Ere 't is dark in clouds above;
Cherish no more a cypress tree
To shade thy future years,
Nor nurse a heart-flame that may be
Quenched only with thy tears.
FAIR lot befall the minstrel!
Bright sky and shadeless earth.
Read ye what his deep eyes tell-
The wizard poet's birth--
Ye sprites, whose charge of duty
Is over land and sea,
To breathe the tints of beauty,
And rear the strong and free-
Let spring for him the fountains,
And spread for him the bower,
Pile high the 'battled mountains,
Unfold the simple flower;
Let all be for the minstrel,
For he is born of them,
To weave for him the song-spell,
To stud his diadem.
ye his boundless empire
In the midnight air,
Dencils of the red fire-
walks a monarch there!
be his high altar,
clouds his temple dome,
rave heart shall not falter-
e minstrel-priest shall come.
when the day is glowing
ove the windless deep,
glassy waves are flowing
ith slow and idle sweep,
a launch him in a light boat
pon the slumbering main,
he may know what dreams float
er ocean's mighty brain.
fair befall the minstrel Vithin the homes of men! fairy elves that aye dwell y highland hill and glen, d ye his footsteps ever, At rosy dawn and eve,
hen bright leaves toss and quiver, And pearly dew-nets weave.
princely halls of wassail Fill him the cup of cheer,
hile o'er the conqueror's festal
His harp is linging clear;
And in the humble shealing
Spread fresh his heather bed,
That dreams from perfume stealing
May wreath his sleeping head.
So through life's deserts dreary,
Lone waste and busy town,
His step may ne'er grow weary,
His smooth brow never frown;
And when his quick glance slumbers
From aught of earth or air,
Breathe o'er his rest soft numbers-
So let his lot be fair!
COME, mariner, down in the deep with me,
And hide thee under the wave
For I have a bed of coral for thee;
And quiet and sound shall thy slumbers be
In a cell in the Mermaid's cave.
On a pillow of pearls thine eye shall sleep,
And nothing disturb thee there ;
The fishes their silent vigils shall keep-
There shall be no grass thy grave to sweep
But the silk of the Mermaid's hair.
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