A MOONLIGHT NIGHT. How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, In full-orb'd glory yonder moon divine The desert circle spreads, Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky: How beautiful is night! SOUTHEY. NIGHT AT LAKE LEMAN. Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, Of that which is of all Creator and defence. Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt The soul and source of music, which makes known Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, Binding all things with beauty; 'twould disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. BYRON.-Abr. A MIDNIGHT SCENE IN ROME. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops I learned the language of another world. 'Midst the chief relics of all-mighty Rome: While Cæsar's chambers and the Augustan halls And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Of rugged desolation, and filled up, As 'twere anew the gaps of centuries; And making that which was not, till the place With silent worship of the great of old The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule BYRON.-Adap. THE VOICE OF SPRING. I come, I come! ye have called me long, I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers I have look'd o'er the hills of the stormy North, And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free, And the moss looks bright where my step has been. From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain; Away from the dwellings of care-worn men, And youth is abroad in my green domains.-HEMANS. SPRING. The sweet south wind-so long Sleeping in other climes or sunny seas, Or dallying with the orange trees In the bright land of song ; Wakes unto us and laughingly sweeps by, The labourer at his toil Feels on his cheek its dewy kiss, and lifts Borne from the blossoming garden of the south, The bursting buds look up And greet the sunlight while it lingers yet Opens her azure cup Meekly, and countless wild flowers wake to fling The reptile that hath lain Torpid so long within his wintry tomb, And the little snake crawls forth from caverns chill, Continual songs arise From universal nature; birds and streams Thrice blessed Spring! thou bearest gifts divine; Nor unto earth alone Thou hast a blessing for the human heart, And bringing hope upon thy rainbow wing,- MAY MORNING. Up and away! 'tis jocund May; In every bush Spring's glories flush, And the fresh green corn is springing. Waste not the hours when early flowers When the budding thorn salutes the morn, Oh, the matin prime is the loveliest time And to gather its dews will joy diffuse The sun is come, and the insects' hum, With mellow note the blackbird's throat The flowers peep from their long, long sleep, Kingcups unfold their stars of gold, With silver tide the streamlets glide, The forget-me-not, with its bright blue spot, Ah! the morn of May is a holiday It gladness brings on its joyous wings Oh, human flowers! these happy hours Their fruit shall bear through toil and care Then up and away to greet fair May With smiles the earth adorning; Cull life's best flowers, and let well-spent hours Shed joy like a sweet May morning. Chambers's Journal. SUMMER LONGINGS. Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Longing to escape from study, To the young face fair and ruddy, To the summer's day. Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing, Throbbing for the sea-side billows, Where in laughing and in sobbing, Glide the streams away. Waiting sad, dejected, weary, Spring goes by with wasted warnings- Waiting for the May! Dublin University Magazine. |