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HAIL Twilight,--sovereign of one peaceful hour!
Not dull art thou as undiscerning Night;

But studious only to remove from sight
Day's mutable distinctions.-Ancient power!
Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower
To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest
Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest
On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower

Looked ere his eyes were closed. By him was seen
The self-same vision which we now behold,

At thy meek bidding, shadowy power, brought forth ;-
These mighty barriers, and the gulph between ;
The floods, the stars ;-a spectacle as old
As the beginning of the heavens and earth!

THE Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said,

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Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright!"
Forthwith, that little cloud, in ether spread,
And penetrated all with tender light,

She cast away, and showed her fulgent head
Uncovered;-dazzling the beholder's sight
As if to vindicate her beauty's right,
Her beauty thoughtlessly disparaged.

Meanwhile that veil, removed or thrown aside,
Went, floating from her, darkening as it went;
And a huge mass, to bury or to hide,
Approached this glory of the firmament;
Who meekly yields, and is obscured;-content
With one calm triumph of a modest pride.

ADMONITION,

INTENDED MORE PARTICULARLY FOR THE PERUSAL OF THOSE WHO MAY HAVE HAPPENED TO BE ENAMOURED OF SOME BEAUTIFUL PLACE OF RETREAT IN THE COUNTRY OF THE LAKES.

YES, there is holy pleasure in thine eye!

-The lovely cottage in the guardian nook

Hath stirred thee deeply; with its own dear brook,

Its own small pasture, almost its own sky!

But covet not the abode-Oh! do not sigh,

As many do, repining while they look;
Sighing a wish to tear from Nature's book

This blissful leaf with harsh impiety.

Think what the home would be if it were thine,

Even thine, though few thy wants!-Roof, window, door,

The very flowers are sacred to the poor,

The roses to the porch which they entwine:

Yea, all, that now enchants thee, from the day

On which it should be touched would melt, and melt away

"BELOVED Vale!" I said, " when I shall con
Those many records of my childish years,
Remembrance of myself and of my peers
Will press me down: to think of what is gone
Will be an awful thought, if life have one."
But, when into the Vale I came, no fears
Distressed me; I looked round, I shed no tears;
Deep thought, or awful vision, I had none.
By thousand petty fancies I was cross'd,
To see the trees, which I had thought so tall,
Mere dwarfs; the brooks so narrow, fields so small
A juggler's balls old Time about him tossed;
I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed; and all
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

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How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks
The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood!
An old place, full of many a lovely brood,

Tall trees, green arbours, and ground flowers in flocks;
And wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks,

Like to a bonny lass, who plays her pranks

At wakes and fairs with wandering mountebanks,When she stands cresting the clown's head, and mocks The crowd beneath her. Verily I think,

Such place to me is sometimes like a dream

Or map of the whole world: thoughts, link by link,
Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam
Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink,
And leap at once from the delicious stream.

WHERE lies the land to which yon Ship must go!
Festively she puts forth in trim array;
As vigorous as a lark at break of day:

Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?

What boots the inquiry ?-Neither friend or foe
She cares for; let her travel where she may,
She finds familiar names, a beaten way

Ever before her, and a wind to blow.
Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark?
And, almost as it was when ships were rare,
(From time to time, like pilgrims, here and there
Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark,
Of the old sea some reverential fear,

Is with me at thy farewell, joyous bark!

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