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Of prospect, whereof many thousands tell.

Yet did the glowing west with marvellous power Salute us; there stood Indian citadel,

Temple of Greece, and minster with its tower Substantially expressed,


a place for bell Or clock to toll from! Many a tempting isle, With groves that never were imagined, lay 'Mid seas how steadfast! objects all for the eye. Of silent rapture; but we felt the while

We should forget them; they are of the sky,
And from our earthly memory fade away.

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And from our earthly memory fade away."

THOSE Words were uttered as in pensive mood
We turned, departing from that solemn sight:
A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
And life's unspiritual pleasures daily wooed!
But now upon this thought I cannot brood;
It is unstable as a dream of night;
Nor will I praise a cloud, however bright,
Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
Grove, isle, with every shape of sky-built dome,
Though clad in colors beautiful and
Find in the heart of man no natural home
The immortal Mind craves objects that endure:
These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.



WHILE not a leaf seems faded; while the fields,
With ripening harvest prodigally fair,

In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air,
Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields
His icy scymitar, a foretaste yields

Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware;
And whispers to the silent birds, "Prepare
Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields."
For me, who under kindlier laws belong
To Nature's tuneful choir, this rustling dry
Through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky,
Announce a season potent to renew,

'Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song, And nobler cares than listless summer knew.



How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright, The effluence from yon distant mountain's head, Which, strewn with snow smooth as the sky can shed,

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Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night,

And all her twinkling stars. Who now would


If so he might, yon mountain's glittering head,—
Terrestrial, but a surface by the flight

Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing
Unswept, unstained? Nor shall the aërial Powers
Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure,
White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure,
Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring
Has filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers.



ONE who was suffering tumult in his soul,
Yet failed to seek the sure relief of prayer,
Went forth, his course surrendering to the care
Of the fierce wind, while midday lightnings prowl
Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;

While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear
The lingering remnants of their yellow hair,
And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness,

As if the sun were not. He raised his eye
Soul-smitten; for, that instant, did appear
Large space ('mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky,
An azure disc, shield of tranquillity;
Invisible, unlooked-for minister

Of providential goodness ever nigh!



LONE Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they

But hardier far, once more I see thee bend

Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,

Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day,.
Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay
The rising sun, and on the plains descend;
Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend
Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May
Shall soon behold this border thickly set
With bright jonquils, their odors lavishing
On the soft West-wind and his frolic peers;
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,
Chaste Snowdrop, venturous harbinger of Spring,
And pensive monitor of fleeting years!



With a selection from the Poems of Anne, Countess of Winchilsea; and extracts of similar character from other Writers, transcribed by a female friend.

LADY! I rifled a Parnassian Cave

(But seldom trod) of mildly gleaming ore;

And culled, from sundry beds, a lucid store
Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave

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The azure brooks, where Dian joys to lave
Her spotless limbs; and ventured to explore
Dim shades for relics, upon Lethe's shore,
Cast up at random by the sullen wave.
To female hands the treasures were resigned;
And lo this Work!
a grotto bright and clear
From stain or taint; in which thy blameless mind
May feed on thoughts though pensive not austere ;
Or, if thy deeper spirit be inclined
To holy musing, it may enter here.

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LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove
While I was shaping beds for winter flowers;
While I was planting green unfading bowers,
And shrubs, to hang upon the warm alcove,
And sheltering wall; and still, as Fancy wove
The dream, to time and nature's blended powers
I gave this paradise for winter hours,

A labyrinth, Lady! which your feet shall rove.
Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines,
Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom
Or of high gladness you shall hither bring;
And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines
Be gracious as the music and the bloom
And all the mighty ravishment of Spring.

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