asteer Like get waves of the st.. As still as im the silent deep The wean-woods may be. How calm it was-The silence there The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less A spirit interfused around, To momentary peace it bound Our mortal nature's strife ; And still I felt the centre of Was one fair form that fill'd with love We paused beside the pools that lie A firmament of purple light The white sun twinkling like the dawn Sweet views which in our world above Of that fair forest green : An atmosphere without a breath, Like one beloved, the scene had lent Its every leaf and lineament With more than truth exprest: Than calm in waters sent Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. W. Wordsworth CCCX SONG TO THE EVENING STAR Star that bringest home the bee, Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow Are sweet as hers we love. Come to the luxuriant skies, Star of love's soft interviews, Of thrilling vows thou art, Too delicious to be riven By absence from the heart. T. Campbell CCCXI DATUR HORA QUIETI The sun upon the lake is low, The hills have evening's deepest glow, Now all whom varied toil and care In the calm sunset may repair The noble dame, on turret high, The village maid, with hand on brow Upon the footpath watches now For Colin's darkening plaid. Now to their mates the wild swans row, By day they swam apart, And to the thicket wanders slow All meet whom day and care divide, Sir W. Scott CCCXII TO THE MOON Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Among the stars that have a different birth,— That finds no object worth its constancy? CCCXIII TO SLEEP A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by I've thought of all by turns, and yet do lie X Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay. Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? CCCXIV THE SOLDIER'S DREAM Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. 'Stay-stay with us!-rest !-thou art weary and worn!' And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ;But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. T. Campbell |