And the souls of whom thou lovest
Walk upon the winds with lightness
Till they fail, as I am failing,

Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing!

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P. B. SHELLEY.

WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.

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Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths;

And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
Their thoughts I cannot measure—

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But the least motion which they made
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.

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The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air ;

And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

W. WORDSWORTH.

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273

RUTH: OR THE INFLUENCES OF NATURE

When Ruth was left half desolate
Her father took another mate;

And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom, bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone

She seem'd to live; her thoughts her own ;
Herself her own delight:

Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay.

And, passing thus the live-long day,
She grew to woman's height.

There came a youth from Georgia's shore—

A military casque he wore

With splendid feathers drest ;

He brought them from the Cherokees;
The feathers nodded in the breeze

And made a gallant crest.

From Indian blood you deem him sprung

But no! he spake the English tongue

And bore a soldier's name ;

And, when America was free
From battle and from jeopardy,
He 'cross the ocean came.

With hues of genius on his cheek,

In finest tones the youth could speak:

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-While he was yet a boy

The moon, the glory of the sun,

And streams that murmur as they run,
Had been his dearest joy.

He was a lovely youth! I guess

The panther in the wilderness

Was not so fair as he

And when he chose to sport and play,

No dolphin ever was so gay

Upon the tropic sea.

Among the Indians he had fought ;
And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear;

Such tales as, told to any maid

By such a youth, in the green shade,
Were perilous to hear.

He told of girls, a happy rout!

Who quit their fold with dance and shout,
Their pleasant Indian town,

To gather strawberries all day long;
Returning with a choral song

When daylight is gone down.

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High as a cloud, high over head!

The cypress and her spire;

-Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam
Cover a hundred leagues, and seem

To set the hills on fire.

The youth of green savannahs spake,
And many an endless, endless lake

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With all its fairy crowds Of islands, that together lie As quietly as spots of sky

Among the evening clouds.

How pleasant,' then he said, ‘it were A fisher or a hunter there,

In sunshine or in shade

To wander with an easy mind,
And build a household fire, and find
A home in every glade!

What days and what bright years!
Our life were life indeed, with thee
So pass'd in quiet bliss ;

And all the while,' said he, ' to know
That we were in a world of woe,
On such an earth as this!'

And then he sometimes interwove
Fond thoughts about a father's love,
'For there,' said he,' are spun
Around the heart such tender ties,
That our own children to our eyes
Are dearer than the sun.

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Ah me!

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'Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me

My helpmate in the woods to be,

Our shed at night to rear;

Or run, my own adopted bride,
A sylvan huntress at my side,
And drive the flying deer!

'Beloved Ruth!'-No more he said.
The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed
A solitary tear :

She thought again-and did agree
With him to sail across the sea,
And drive the flying deer.

'And now, as fitting is and right,

We in the church our faith will plight,

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A husband and a wife.'

Even so they did; and I may say
That to sweet Ruth that happy day
Was more than human life.

Through dream and vision did she sink,
Delighted all the while to think

That, on those lonesome floods

And green savannahs, she should share
His board with lawful joy, and bear
His name in the wild woods.

But, as you have before been told,
This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold,
And with his dancing crest

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So beautiful, through savage lands

Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands
Of Indians in the West

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The wind, the tempest roaring high,

The tumult of a tropic sky

Might well be dangerous food

For him, a youth to whom was given

So much of earth-so much of heaven,
And such impetuous blood.

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Whatever in those climes he found

Irregular in sight or sound
Did to his mind impart

A kindred impulse, seem'd allied

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To his own powers, and justified
The workings of his heart.

Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought,

The beauteous forms of Nature wrought,-
Fair trees and gorgeous flowers ;

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The breezes their own languor lent;

The stars had feelings, which they sent
Into those favour'd bowers.

Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween
That sometimes there did intervene

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