Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky
Gulf'd in a world below ;

A firmament of purple light
Which in the dark earth lay,

More boundless than the depth of night,

And purer than the day—

In which the lovely forests grew

As in the upper air,

More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.

55

60

There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, 65 And through the dark green wood

The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.

Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen

Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green :

And all was interfused beneath

With an Elysian glow,

70

An atmosphere without a breath,

75

Like an unwelcome thought

Which from the mind's too faithful eye

Blots one dear image out.

Though thou art ever fair and kind,

The forests ever green,

Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind
Than calm in waters seen.

P. B. SHELLEY.

85

261

BY THE SEA

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free;
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;

The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea : 5
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,

And doth with his eternal motion make

A sound like thunder-everlastingly.

Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought Thy nature is not therefore less divine:

Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year,

11

And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. W. WORDSWORTH.

262

TO THE EVENING STAR

Star that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary labourer free!
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,
That send'st it from above,

Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.

Come to the luxuriant skies,

Whilst the landscape's odours rise,

Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,
And songs when toil is done,

From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd
Curls yellow in the sun.

4

10

Star of love's soft interviews,
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in Heaven
Of thrilling vows thou art,
Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart.

T. CAMPBELL.

15

263

DATUR HORA QUIETI

The sun upon the lake is low,
The wild birds hush their song,
The hills have evening's deepest glow,

Yet Leonard tarries long.

Now all whom varied toil and care
From home and love divide,
In the calm sunset may repair
Each to the loved one's side.

5

The noble dame on turret high,
Who waits her gallant knight,

10

Looks to the western beam to spy
The flash of armour bright.

The village maid, with hand on brow
The level ray to shade,

Upon the footpath watches now

15

For Colin's darkening plaid.

Now to their mates the wild swans row,

By day they swam apart,

And to the thicket wanders slow
The hind beside the hart.

The woodlark at his partner's side
Twitters his closing song-

All meet whom day and care divide,
But Leonard tarries long!

SIR W. SCOTT.

20

264

TO THE MOON

Art thou pale for weariness

Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless

Among the stars that have a different birth,— And ever-changing, like a joyless eye

That finds no object worth its constancy?

P. B. SHELLEY.

5

265

A widow bird sate mourning for her love
Upon a wintry bough;

The frozen wind crept on above,

The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon the forest bare,
No flower upon the ground,

And little motion in the air
Except the mill-wheel's sound.

P. B. SHELLEY.

5

266

TO SLEEP

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky

5

I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees, And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth : So do not let me wear to-night away :

11

Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blesséd barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! W. WORDSWORTH.

267

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 4
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw ;
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array
Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track:
'Twas autumn,—and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was
young;

13

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 15 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;

18

My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fullness 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.