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To harmonies and hues beneath,

As tender as its own :
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep

Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep

The ocean-woods may be,
How calm it was !—The silence there

By such a chain was bound,
That even the busy woodpecker

Made stiller with her sound The inviolable quietness ;

The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less

The calm that round us grew.
There seem’d, from the remotest seat

Of the white mountain waste
To the soft flower beneath our feet,

A magic circle traced, -
A spirit interfused around,

A thrilling silent life;
To momentary peace it bound

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

The lifeless atmosphere.
We paused beside the pools that lie

Under the forest bough;
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.
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn,
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 in the water's love

Of that fair forest green :
And all was interfused beneath

With an Elysian glow,
An atmosphere without a breath,

A softer day below.
Like one beloved, the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast
Its every leaf and lineament

With more than truth exprest;
Until an envious wind crept by,

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



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 is on the Sea :
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, And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.

W. Wordsworth



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.
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



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.

The noble dame, on turret high,

Who waits her gallant knight,
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

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 IV. Scott



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



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;
I've thought of all by turns, and yet do lie
Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies
Must hear, first utter'd 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 :
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

CCCXIV 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. 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 ; 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

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