That pavement damp and cold No mingling voices sound,- O change! O wondrous change!- This moment there, so low, 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 every ray. Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide, In harmless play, twist and unfold Insects and mites of mean degree, Praise Him that wears the ethereal crown, TO THE EVENING WIND. - Bryant. SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou 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 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 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 th 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. 66 'My son, why hidest thy face so shy? "Come, lovely boy, come, go with me; Such merry plays I will play with thee; Many a bright flower grows on the strand, And 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? They'll sing, and they'll dance, and they'll rock thee to sleep." M 66 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 '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 And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Now Phœbus cheers the crystal streams, But nought can glad the weary wight That fast in durance lies. Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, The merle, in his noontide bower, Gleams with an uncertain light. |