Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen,
The music bursteth into second life;
The notes luxuriate, every stone is kissed
THEY dreamt not of a perishable home
Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest,
GLORY to God! and to the Power who came
In filial duty, clothed with love divine,
Earth prompts, — Heaven urges; let us seek the
Studious of that pure
When first our infant brows their lustre won;
WHY sleeps the future, as a snake enrolled,
THAT STREAM Upon whose bosom we have passed
Nations, and Death has gathered to his fold
CALM is the fragrant air, and loth to lose Day's grateful warmth, though moist with falling dews.
Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none;
You mark them twinkling out with silvery light,
That, in rough winter, oft inflicts a fear
On fireside listeners, doubting what they hear!
The bat, lured forth where trees the lane o'ershade,
The busy dor-hawk chases the white moth
By its soft music whence the waters flow:
ON A HIGH PART OF THE COAST OF CUMBER
Easter Sunday, April 7.
THE AUTHOR'S SIXTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY.
THE Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire,