The sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds, I ween, O'er all the western sky; full soon, His rude expression and untutor'd airs, Beyond the power of language, will unfold The form of beauty smiling at his heart,
How lovely! How commanding! But though Heaven
In every breast hath sown these early seeds Of love and admiration, yet in vain, Without fair Culture's kind parental aid, Without enlivening suns, and genial showers, And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope The tender plant should rear its blooming head, Or yield the harvest promised in its spring. Nor yet will every soil with equal stores Repay the tiller's labour; or attend His will, obsequious, whether to produce The olive or the laurel. Different minds Incline to different objects: one pursues The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild; Another sighs for harmony and grace,
Casenting Zephyr sighs; the weeping rill Joins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves; And hill and dale with all the echoes mourn.
And gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning fires The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground, When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air, And Ocean, groaning from its lowest bed, Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky; Amid the mighty uproar, while below The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys The elemental war. But Waller longs, All on the margin of some flowery stream, To spread his careless limbs amid the cool Of plantane shades, and to the listening deer The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain Resound soft warbling all the live-long day:
Such, and so various, are the tastes of men.
How bright, and yet how calm this eve; Above, below, all seems to me
So lovely, that we might believe Twas nature's jubilee-
Fer earth and sky, this glorious even, Seem glowing with the hues of heaven.
How beautiful that vivid sky,
Lit by the parting sun's last ray. We gare till it appears more nigh- And fancy, as we gaze.
That deep-blue sky a boundless sea, Covered with vessels gloriously.
Yes: each dark cloud a barque appears, Each whiter one the foam- There one to distant countries steers While these sail quick towards home; And all look most tensely bright, Glowing in heaven's own glorious light. Turn now towards earth, and even there All, all is beauty and repose- The perfume-breathing evening air
Is wafted o'er the rose;
SACRED HARMONY.
The sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds. O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween, His rude expression and untutor'd airs, Beyond the power of language, will unfold The form of beauty smiling at his heart, How lovely! How commanding! But theagh Heaven
In every breast hath sown these early seeds Of love and admiration, yet in vain, Without fair Culture's kind parental aid, Without enlivening suns, and genial showers, And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope The tender plant should rear its blooming head, Or yield the harvest promised in its spring. Nor yet will every soil with equal stores Repay the tiller's labour; or attend His will, obsequious, whether to produce The olive or the laurel. Different minds ncline to different objects: one pursues he vast alone, the wonderful, the wild; nother sighs for harmony and grace, nd gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning s he arch of heaven, and thunders rock the grou When furious whirlwinds rend the bowling at And Ocean, groaning from its lowest bed, Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky; Amid the mighty uproar, while below The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys The elemental war. But Waller longs, All on the margin of some flowery stream, To spread his careless limbs amid the cool Of plantane shades, and to the listening deet The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain Resound soft warbling all the live-long day
Consenting Zephyr sighs; the weeping rill Joins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves; And hill and dale with all the echoes mourn. Such, and so various, are the tastes of men.
SUMMER AND WINTER EVENINGS.
How bright, and yet how calm this eve; Above, below, all seems to me
So lovely, that we might believe 'Twas nature's jubilee-
For earth and sky, this glorious even, Seem glowing with the hues of heaven.
How beautiful that vivid sky,
Lit by the parting sun's last ray, We gaze till it appears more nigh- And fancy, as we gaze,
That deep-blue sky a boundless sea, Covered with vessels gloriously.
Yes: each dark cloud a barque appears, Each whiter one the foam- There one to distant countries steers While these sail quick towards home; And all look most tensely bright, Glowing in heaven's own glorious light.
Turn now towards earth, and even there All, all is beauty and repose- The perfume-breathing evening air Is wafted o'er the rose;
While a thousand bright and glowing flowers Are cooled with dew in these evening hours.
And hushed the sky-lark's merry song, And silent all the humming bees: The soft west wind, that sighs among Those gently waving trees, Seems to lament each parting ray Until the next returning day.
The bright and glowing summer's past; 'Tis winter, and in storm and rain The day was darkened,-now at last The sun appears again-
Just for a moment glads our sight,
And, seen midst clouds, seems doubly bright.
Again look upwards-once again Behold the wintry sun has set; None of the summer barques remain: A nobler image yet
Strikes on the Christian gazer's mind, And leaves all others far behind.
The sun, whose way through that expanse Has been, since first his course began, Through storms and clouds, seems to our glance A fitting type of man;
For thus the Christian's narrow way With clouds is darkened day by day.
Thus, as the sun in winter's gloom Sinks more than ever bright, The Christian's hopes his way illume, And gild his path with light:
As the sun sets the Christian dies,- Both, on a brighter, happier day to rise.
Low was our pretty cot! our tallest rose Pep at the chamber-window. We could hear At slent noon, and eve, and early morn, The sea's faint murmur. In the open air Our yrtles blossom'd! and across the porch Thek jasmins twin'd: the little landscape round Was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye. It was a spot, which you might aptly call The valley of seclusion! Once I saw (Halowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) A wealtby son of commerce saunter by, Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calm'd Ha thirst of idle gold, and made him muse With wiser feelings: for he paus'd, and look'd With a pleas'd sadness, and gaz'd all around, Then eyed our cottage, and gaz'd round again, And sigh'd, and said, it was a blessed place. And we were blessed. Oft with patient ear Long listening to the viewless sky-lark's note, (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen Gleaning on sunny wing,) "And such," I said, "The inobtrusive song of happiness- Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard
When the soul seeks to hear! when all is hush'd And the heart listens !"
From that low dell steep up the stony mount But the time, when first I climb'd with perilous toil and reach'd the top.
While a thousand bright and glowing flowers Are cooled with dew in these evening hours.
And hushed the sky-lark's merry song, And silent all the humming bees: The soft west wind, that sighs among Those gently waving trees, Seems to lament each parting ray Until the next returning day.
The bright and glowing summer's past; 'Tis winter, and in storm and rain The day was darkened,-now at last The sun appears again- Just for a moment glads our sight,
And, seen midst clouds, seems doubly bright.
Again look upwards-once again
Behold the wintry sun has set; None of the summer barques remain:
A nobler image yet Strikes on the Christian gazer's mind, And leaves all others far behind.
The sun, whose way through that expanse Has been, since first his course began, Through storms and clouds, seems to our glas A fitting type of man; For thus the Christian's narrow way With clouds is darkened day by day. Thus, as the sun in winter's gloom Sinks more than ever bright, The Christian's hopes his way illume, And gild his path with light: As the sun sets the Christian dies,- Both, on a brighter, happier day to rise.
ON HAVING LEFT A PLACE OF RETIREMENT.
Low was our pretty cot! our tallest rose Peep'd at the chamber-window. We could hear At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, The sea's faint murmur. In the open air Our myrtles blossom'd! and across the porch Thick jasmins twin'd: the little landscape round Was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye. It was a spot, which you might aptly call The valley of seclusion! Once I saw (Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) A wealthy son of commerce saunter by, Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calm'd His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse With wiser feelings: for he paus'd, and look'd With a pleas'd sadness, and gaz'd all around, Then eyed our cottage, and gaz'd round again, And sigh'd, and said, it was a blessed place. And we were blessed. Oft with patient ear Long listening to the viewless sky-lark's note, (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen Gleaming on sunny wing,)" And such," I said, "The inobtrusive song of happiness- Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard
When the soul seeks to hear! when all is hush'd And the heart listens !"
But the time, when first From that low dell steep up the stony mount
I climb'd with perilous toil and reach'd the top,
O what a goodly scene! here the bleak mount, The bare bleak mountain speckled thin with sheep! Gray clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields And river, now with bushy rocks o'erbrow'd, Now winding bright and full, with naked banks; And seats, and lawns, the abbey, and the wood, And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire: The channel there, the islands and white sails, Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and shoreless
It seem'd like Omnipresence! God, methought, Had built him there a temple: the whole world Seem'd imag'd in its vast circumference. No wish profan'd my overwhelmed heart. Blest hour! it was a luxury-to be! Ah quiet dell! dear cot! and mount sublime, I was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right, While my unnumber'd brethren toil'd and bled, That I should dream away the entrusted hours On rose-leaf beds, pamp'ring the coward heart With feelings all too delicate for use?
Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye Drops on the cheek of one he lifts from earth: And he, that works me good with unmov'd face, Does it but half: he chills me while he aids,- My benefactor, not my brother man! Yet even this, this cold beneficence Seizes my praise; when I reflect on those, The sluggard pity's vision-weaving tribe!
Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched, Nursing in some delicious solitude Their slothful loves and dainty sympathies! I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight Of science, freedom, and the truth in Christ.
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