THE HERMIT. "Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, The moon, half extinct, a dim crescent displays; But lately I marked when, majestic, on high 181 She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, then, fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendor again; But man's faded glory no change shall renew; Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain! 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew. Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; Kind Nature the embryo-blossom shall save; But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn? O, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?" 'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, That leads to bewilder and dazzles to blind; My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. "O, pity, great Father of light!" then I cried, 66 Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee; Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride; From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free." And darkness and doubt are now flying away; So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn; 182 SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb. SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS, BY LONGFELLOW. INTO the Silent Land! Ah! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Thither, O thither, Into the Silent Land? Into the Silent Land! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band! Who in Life's battle firm doth stand Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms Into the Silent Land! O Land O Land! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our fate allotted Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great departed, How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By fairy hands their knell is rung, TO OUR ELDEST HEIR. - Mrs. Henry Coleridge. DEEM not that our eldest heir See in yonder plot of flowers Catching beams and kindly showers Which the heavens are shedding. While the younger plants below Till beyond the shade they grow, High and richly spreading. 183 184 THE HUSBANDMAN. She that latest leaves the nest, Though the most protected; Or in thought neglected." 'Gainst the islet's rocky shore Nature favors it no less Than the guarded, still recess, Where the birds for shelter press, THE HUSBANDMAN.- Sterling. EARTH, of man the bounteous mother, Shares with him these gifts divine. Many a power within her bosom Noiseless, hidden, works beneath; Hence are seed, and leaf, and blossom, Golden ear and clustered wreath. These to swell with strength and beauty Man's a king, his throne is Duty, Since his work on earth began. HELLVELLYN. Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage, Barn, and mill, and wine-vat's treasures, What the dream, but vain rebelling, Wind and frost, and hour and season, Sow thy seed and reap in gladness! 185 HELLVELLYN.--Sir W. Scott. In 1805, a young gentleman, who was fond of wandering amidst the romantic scenery of the "Lake District," in the counties of Westmoreland and Cumberland, in England, lost his way on the Hellvellyn Mountains, and perished there. Three months afterwards his remains were found, guarded by a faithful terrier-dog, the sole companion of his rambles. I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; |