Puslapio vaizdai
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Sun and moon, and stars shine o'er thee,

See thy surface ebb and flow;

Yet attempt not to explore thee
In thy soundless depths below.

Whether morning's splendours steep thee
With the rainbow's glowing grace,
Tempests rouse or navies sweep thee,
'Tis but for a moment's space.

Earth, her valleys, and her mountains,
Mortal man's behests obey;

Thy unfathomable fountains

Scoff his search, and scorn his sway.

Such thou art-stupendous ocean!
But if overwhelm'd by thee,
Can we think, without emotion,
What must thy Creator be?

B. BARTON.

DAY-BREAK IN THE COUNTRY.

AWAKE! awake! the flowers unfold,
And tremble bright in the sun,
And the river shines a lake of gold,—
For the young morn has begun.

The air is blithe, the sky is blue,

And the lark on lightsome wings,
From bushes that sparkle rich in dew,
To heaven her matin sings.

Then awake! awake! while music's note
Now bids thee sleep to shun,

Light zephyrs of fragrance 'round thee float,-
For the young day has begun.

I've wander'd o'er yon field of light,

Where daisies wildly spring,

And trac'd the spot where fays of night

Flew round on elfin wing:

And I've watch'd the sudden darting beam,
Make gold the field of grain,

Until clouds obscur'd the passing gleam,
And all frown'd dark again.

Then awake! awake! each warbling bird
Now hails the dawning sun,
Labour's enlivening song is heard,-

For the young day has begun.

Is there to contemplation given
An hour like to this one,

When twilight's starless mantle's riven
By the uprising sun.

When feather'd warblers fleet awake
His breaking beams to see,

And hill and grove, and bush and brake,
Are fill'd with melody.

Then awake! awake! all seem to chide
Thy sleep, as round they run,

The glories of heaven lie far and wide,—
For the young day has begun.

R. RYAN.

THE SCENTLESS VIOLET.

DECEITFUL plant! from thee no odours rise,
Perfume the air, or scent the mossy glade,
Although thy blossoms wear the modest guise

Of her, the sweetest offspring of the shade.
Yet not like her's, still shunning to be seen,

And by their fragrant breath alone betray'd,
Veil'd in the vesture of a scantier green,

To every gazer are thy flowers display'd.
Thus Virtue's garb Hypocrisy may wear,
Kneel as she kneels, or give as she has given;
But ah! no meek retiring worth is there,

No incense of the heart exhales to Heaven!

C. H. TOWNSEND.

The Dog's-violet, Viola canina, is entirely destitute of smell. Sir. J. E. Smith satirically remarks, "The epithet canina seems to have been given to it, as to the hedge-rose, to express a degree of inferiority or unworthiness, as if a dog were always a less respectable or useful animal than his master."

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

THE Humming-bird !-the Humming bird,

So fairy-like and bright;

It lives among the

sunny flowers,

A creature of delight!

In the radiant islands of the East,
Where fragrant spices grow,

A thousand, thousand Humming-birds
Are glancing to and fro.

Like living fires they flit about,
Scarce larger than a bee,
Among the dusk palmetto leaves.

And through the fan-palm tree.

And in the wild and verdant woods,
Where stately moras tower-
Where hangs from branching tree to tree
The scarlet passion-flower-

Where, on the mighty river banks,

La Plate or Amazon,

The cayman, like a forest tree,

Lies basking in the sun

There builds her nest the Humming-bird

Within the ancient wood,

Her nest of silky cotton down,

And rears her tiny brood.

She hangs it to a slender twig,

Where waves it light and free,
As the campanero* tolls his song,

And rocks the mighty tree.

In the extensive wilds of Demerara, the Campanero never fails to attract the attention of the passenger; at a distance of nearly three miles, you may

All crimson is her shining breast,
Like to the red, red rose;

Her wing the changeful green and blue
That the neck of the peacock shows.
Thou happy, happy Humming-bird,
No Winter round thee lowers,
Thou never saw'st a leafless tree,
Nor land without sweet flowers!
A reign of Summer joyfulness
To thee for life is given:

Thy food, the honey in the flower,
Thy drink, the dew from heaven.

How glad the heart of Eve would be,
In Eden's glorious bowers,

When she saw the first, first Humming-bird
Among the spicy flowers;

Among the rainbow butterflies,
Before the rainbow shone-
One moment glancing in her sight

Another moment gone!

Thou little shining creature,

God sav'd thee from the flood,

With eagle of the mountain-land,
And tiger of the wood!

Who cared to save the elephant,

He also cared for thee,

And gave those broad lands for thy home,

Where grows the cedar-tree!

MARY HOWITT.

"Of all animated beings," says Buffon, "this is the most elegant in form and most splendid in colouring. Precious stones and metals artificially polished

hear this snow-white bird tolling every four or five minutes, like the distant convent-bell. It is generally to be seen resting on the dried top of an aged mora-tree. No sound or song from any of the winged inhabitants of the forest, not even the clearly-pronounced "Whip-poor-Will," from the Goat-Sucker, causes such astonishment as the toll of the Campanero.-Waterton's Wanderings.

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