SOLITUDE. SOLITUDE!-amidst these ancient oaks, Whose shadows broad sleep on the mossy ground, And breeze-fanned boughs send fortha slumberous sound, Whose rugged trunks the hoary lichen cloaks, Where leaps the squirrel, and the raven croaks- In many a fold fantastic, round and round,- Which time alone shall waste,-how dear art thou To me, who commune with thy calmness now, When peaceful Evening spreads her purple pall, And Contemplation, with her scroll unfurled, Brings sad-sweet thoughts to wean me from the world TIME'S WAVES AVE follows wave towards the waste sea-shore, So day to day succeedeth evermore, Those silent waves on Time's unresting tide; And we are like the ocean-birds, that ride One moment now they sit, and seem to soar ; Upon the changeful billow of each day, In light and gloom alternate, ne'er at rest, In good nor evil ever at a stay, Yet looking still to find some halcyon nest Of peace, when all Time's waves have passed away. THOMAS NOEL. THE ACONITE. LOWER, that foretell'st a Spring thoune'er shalt see, Yet smilest still upon thy wintry day, Content with thy joy-giving destiny, Nor envying fairer flowers their festal May,— O golden-chaliced Aconite! I'll lay To heart the lesson that thou teachest me; I, too, contented with my times will be, EAUTY still walketh on the earth and air: As ere the Iliad's music was out-rolled; The roses of the Spring are ever fair, 'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair, And the deep sea still foams its music old: So, if we are at all divinely-souled, This beauty will unloose our bonds of care. 'Tis pleasant, when blue skies are o'er us bending Within old starry-gated Poesy, To meet a soul set to no worldly tune, Like thine, sweet Friend! Oh, dearer this to me Than are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon, Or noble music with a golden ending. ALEXANDER SMITH. TO AMERICA. JOR force nor fraud shall sunder us! Oh ye Native to noble sounds, say truth for truth, This universal English, and do stand Its breathing book; live worthy of that grand Far, yet unsevered-children brave and free Of the great mother-tongue, and ye shall be And rich as Chaucer's speech, and fair as Spenser's dream. |