To harmonies and hues beneath, How calm it was !-The silence there The breath of peace we drew Our mortal nature's strife ; And still I felt the centre of The magic circle there Was one fair form that fill'd with love We paused beside the pools that lie 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. There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, And through the dark-green wood The white sun twinkling like the dawn Sweet views which in our world above Can never well be seen Of that fair forest green : An atmosphere without a breath, Like one beloved, the scene had lent Its every leaf and lineament With more than truth exprest; Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind Than calm in waters seen! P. B. Shelley CCCIX BY THE SEA It is a beauteous evening, calm and free; The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea : Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here, Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. W. Wordsworth CCCX SONG TO THE EVENING STAR Star that bringest home the bee, And sett'st the weary labourer free! Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow Are sweet as hers we love. Come to the luxuriant skies, Whilst the landscape's odours rise, Star of love's soft interviews, Too delicious to be riven CCCXI T. Campbell DATUR HORA QUIETI The sun upon the lake is low, The hills have evening's deepest glow, 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. The noble dame, on turret high, The village maid, with hand on brow Upon the footpath watches now For Colin's darkening plaid. Now to their mates the wild swans row, By day they swam apart, All meet whom day and care divide, CCCXII Sir W. Scott TO THE MOON Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Among the stars that have a different birth,- CCCXIII P. B. Shelley TO SLEEP A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by I've thought of all by turns, and yet do lie Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? CCCXIV THE SOLDIER'S DREAM Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 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; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness 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 |