Thou smilest as if thy soul were soaring NIGHT. BY JAMES MONTGOMERY. NIGHT is the time for rest; How sweet, when labours close, Stretch the tired limbs and lay the head Upon our own delightful bed! Night is the time for dreams, The gay romance of life; When truth that is and truth that seems Blend in fantastic strife; Ah! visions less beguiling far Than waking dreams by daylight are! Night is the time for toil; To plough the classic field, Night is the time to weep; To wet with unseen tears Those graves of memory where sleep Hopes that were angels in their birth, Night is the time to watch; Night is the time for care; Brooding on hours misspent, Like Brutus midst his slumbering host Night is the time to muse; Then from the eye the soul Takes flight, and with expanding views Descries athwart the abyss of night The dawn of uncreated light. Night is the time to pray; Our Saviour oft withdrew To desert mountains far away, So will his followers do; Steal from the throng to haunts untrod, Night is the time for death; When all around is peace, Calmly to yield the weary breath Think of Heaven's bliss, and give the sign, THE VOICE OF MIDNIGHT. WHEN night sits on the earth, and tower and town Are sleeping in the sea of silvery light, That poureth from the moon who gazeth down, When e'en the night wind and the restless sea It is not in the sea, nor in the air; Is it the music of some distant sphere I look around-still is each gloomy tree- It were the day-sounds of another world. So once the holy bird sang all night long, Is it the rushing sound of years to come, Is it the fairy band's unearthly sound? Or swinging chains by which the stars are bound, Perchance 'tis Fancy's voice-the sound of dreams, We may not know-yet to the bard it seems HERE'S TO THEE, MY SCOTTISH LASSIE. BY THE REV. JOHN MOULTRIE. HERE'S to thee, my Scottish lassie! here's a hearty health to thee, For thine eye so bright, thy form so light, and thy step so firm and free; For all thine artless elegance, and all thy native grace, For the music of thy mirthful voice, and the sunshine of thy face; For thy guileless look and speech sincere, yet sweet as speech can be, Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a hearty health to thee! Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie!-though my glow of youth is o'er; And I, as once I felt and dream'd, must feel and dream no more; Though the world, with all its frosts and storms, has chill'd my soul at last, And genius, with the foodful looks of youthful friendship past; Though my path is dark and lonely, now, o'er this world's dreary sea, Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a hearty health to thee! 11 HERE'S TO THEE, MY SCOTTISH LASSIE. Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !--though I know that not for me Is thine eye so bright, thy form so light, and thy step so firm and free; Though thou, with cold and careless looks, wilt often pass me by, Unconscious of my swelling heart, and of my wistful eye; Though thou wilt wed some Highland love, nor waste one thought on me,— Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a hearty health to thee! Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie! when I meet thee in the throng Of merry youths and maidens, dancing lightsomely along, I'll dream away an hour or twain, still gazing on thy form, As it flashes through the baser crowd, like lightning through a storm; And I, perhaps, shall touch thy hand, and share thy looks of glee, And for once, my Scottish lassie! dance a giddy dance with thee. Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !—I shall think of thee at even, When I see its first and fairest star come smiling up through heaven; I shall hear thy sweet and touching voice, in every wind that grieves, As it whirls from the abandon'd oak, its wither'd autumn leaves; In the gloom of the wild forest, in the stillness of the sea, I shall think, my Scottish lassie! I shall often think of thee. |