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VERSES WRITTEN AFTER RETURNING FROM AN AUTUMNAL MORNING WALK.
It is the very carnival of nature,
The loveliest season that the year can show!
Have more than vernal softness; and the sun
It is the season when the green delight
When leaves are changing daily to the sight,
It is the season when each streamlet's sound,
Assumes a tone more pensive, more profound; And yet that hoarser voice spreads melody around.
And I have wander'd far, since the bright east
Was glorious with the dawning light of day; Seeing as that effulgence more increas'd,
The mists of morning slowly melt away:
With dew-drops glistening, ever more have heard
Or rustling of fall'n leaf, when morning's breezes stirr'd.
Thus having roam'd, and reach'd my home at last,
Can I do better than once more to trim
"O God! it is an awful thing indeed
For one who estimates our nature well, Be what it may his outward sect, or creed,
To name thee, thou Incomprehensible! Hadst thou not chosen of thyself to tell,
As in thy gospel thou hast done; nor less, By condescending in our hearts to dwell;
Could man have ever found to thee access, Or worshipp'd thee aright, in spiritual holiness?
"No! for the utmost that we could have done, Were to have rais'd, as Paul at Athens saw, Altars unto the dread and unknown One,
Bending before, we knew not what, with awe;
Holier than that of Moses, what know we
"It shall be this: permit me not to place
My soul's affections on the things of earth; But, conscious of the treasures of thy grace,
To let them, in my inmost heart, give birth To gratitude proportion'a to their worth:
Teach me to feel that all which thou hast made Upon this mighty globe's gigantic girth,
Though meant with filial love to be survey'd, Is nothing to thyself:-the shadow of a shade.
"If thou hast given me, more than unto some, A feeling sense of nature's beauties fair, Which sometimes renders admiration dumb,
From consciousness that words cannot declare The beauty thou hast scatter'd every where;
O grant that this may lead me still, through all Thy works to thee! nor prove a treacherous snare Adapted those affections to enthral,
Which should be thine alone, and waken at thy call.
"I would not merely dream my
Should, for its own sake, thought or song employ;
To thee, who fram'd them all, and canst destroy,
Grant me to gaze and love, and thus thy works to read.
"But while from one extreme thy power may keep
Of early bliss must sober, as it will,
And should, when earthly things to heavenly yield. I would have feelings left, time cannot chill;
That, while I yet can walk through grove or field, may be conscious there of charms by thee reveal'd.
"And when I shall, as, soon or late, I must,
Thy glorious works: forbid me to repine;
Before my mental eye, and let them shine
VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF A CHILD OF SUPERIOR ENPIETY.
DOWMENTS AND EXTRAORDINARY
It is not length of years which lends
The age we honor standeth not
In locks of snow, or length of days;
For wisdom, which is taught by truth,
Thus was this child made early wise,
The Christian church's gathering star.
What more could wisdom do for them,
Than guide them in the path they trod?
Hath led his spirit home to God!
Well may his memory be dear,
Whose loss is still its sole alloy,
With holy hopes and humble joy.
"The brightest star of morning's host,"
Its loss inspires a brief regret ;
And thus the spirit which is gone,
Though lost unto our finite gaze.
There are, who watch'd it to the last;
There are, who can forget it never;
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
FIRST FAUN. Canst thou imagine where those spirits live,
FIRST FAUN. If such live thus, have others other lives,
TO A SKYLARK.
HAIL to thee blithe spirit!
Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest;
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are brightning,
Thou dost float and run;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
The pale purple even
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,——
Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear,
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.
All the earth and air
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.
What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see,
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: