POWER OF MUSIC. Now, Coaches and Chariots! roar on like a stream Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream: AN Orpheus! an Orpheus!-yes, Faith may grow They are deaf to your murmurs-they care Lot for bold, you, Mark that Cripple who leans on his Crutch; like a Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude, Tower That long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour! - Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore prostrate lie? No, no, this cannot be-Men thirst for power and majesty! Does, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful | Seem to participate, the whilst they view Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady Vividly pictured in some glassy pool, That doth reject all show of pride, admits no outward sign, Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine! Whatever be the cause, 't is sure that they who pry and pore Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before: One after One they take their turn, nor have I one espied That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied. THE HAUNTED TREE. ΤΟ THOSE silvet clouds collected round the sun To rocks, fields, woods. Nor doth our human sense Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords Than fairest spiritual Creature of the groves, Not even a zephyr stirs ; — the obnoxious Tree That, for a brief space, checks the hurrying stream! WRITTEN IN MARCH, WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF THE Cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun: Are at work with the strongest; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one! Like an army defeated The Snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughhoy is whooping-anon-anon: GIPSIES. YET are they here the same unbroken knot Men, Women, Children, yea the frame Their bed of straw and blanket-walls. while I Have been a Traveller under open sky, Much witnessing of change and cheer, The glorious path in which he trod. SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING, WHERE are they now, those wanton Boys? More fresh, more bright, than Princes wear, What good or evil have they seen Since I their pastime witnessed here, I ask but all is dark between! Spirits of beauty and of grace! They met me in a genial hour, When universal nature breathed As with the breath of one sweet flower. A time to overrule the power Of discontent, and check the birth Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife, The most familiar bane of life Soft clouds, the whitest of the year, Sailed through the sky- the brooks ran clear; The lambs from rock to rock were bounding. With songs the budded groves resounding, And to my heart is still endeared The faith with which it then was cheered; The faith which saw that gladsome pair RUTH. WHEN Ruth was left half desolate, And she had made a Pipe of straw, Beneath her Father's root, alone She seemed to live; her thoughts her own; Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay; There came a Youth from Georgia's shore A military Casque he wore, With splendid feathers drest; He brought then from the Cherokees; The feathers nodded in the breeze, And made a gallant crest. From Indian blood you deem him sprung: Ah no! he spake the English tongue, And bore a Soldier's name; He 'cross the ocean came. With hues of genius on his cheek In finest tones the Youth could speak: 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 And, when he chose to sport and play, Among the Indians he had fought Such tales as told to any Maid By such a Youth, in the green shade, He told of Girls-a happy rout! Who quit their fold with dance and shout, To gather strawberries all day long; He spake of plants divine and strange With budding, fading, faded flowers He told of the Magnolia*, spread The Cypress and her spire; -Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam Cover a hundred leagues, and seem To set the hills on fire.t The Youth of green savannahs spake, Of islands, that together lie And then he said, "How sweet it were A gardener in the shade, Still wandering with an easy mind To build a household fire, and find A home in every glade! "What days and what sweet years! Ah me! Our life were life indeed, with thee So passed 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!" *Magnolia grandiflora. †The splendid appearance of these scarlet flowers, which are scattered with such profusion over the Hills in the Southern parts of North America, is frequently mentioned by Bartram in his Travels. |