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 f bold, you, And the half-breathless Lamplighter-he's in the net! A Boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put t Mark that Cripple who leans on his Crutch; like a Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude Tower Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefr kes, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful | Seem to participate, the whilst they view Their own far-stretching arms and leafy heads Lind employ z who gazes, or has gazed a grave and steady Vividly pictured in some glassy pool, ath reject all show of pride, admits no outward case not of this noisy world, but silent and divine! T f its pleasure, screen or canopy ample than the time-dismantled Oak s o'er this tuft of heath, which now, attired while fulness of its bloom, affords a beautiful as e'er for earthly use Sushioned; whether by the hand of Art, at Eastern Sultan, amid flowers enwrought en tissue, might diffuse his limbs angar; or, by Nature, for repose ting Wood-nymph, wearied by the chase. Lady! fairer in thy Poet's sight farest spiritual Creature of the groves, ach—and, thus invited, crown with rest non-tide hour:- though truly some there are footsteps superstitiously avoid 7 venerable Tree; for, when the wind as keenly, it sends forth a creaking sound are the general roar of woods and crags) setly heard from far-a doleful note! fo Grecian shepherds would have deemed) Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed bitter wrong. Nor is it unbelieved, nder fancy, that a troubled Ghost That, for a brief space, checks the hurrying stream! WRITTEN IN MARCH, WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF BROTHER'S WATER. THE cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, 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, 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. -Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours, are gone while I Have been a Traveller under open sky, Much witnessing of change and cheer, The weary Sun betook himself to rest. The glorious path in which he trod. And now, ascending, after one dark hour And one night's diminution of her power, Behold the mighty Moon! this way She looks as if at them- but they 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, Were perilous to hear. 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.† 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 ar scattered with such profusion over the Hills in the Southern parts of North America, is frequently mentioned by Bartram in his Travels. 1 |