When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And naught but the nightingale's song in the grove,—
It was thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,

While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began ;
No more with himself, or with nature at war,

He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.

2. And darkness and doubt are now fleeing away;
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn ;
So breaks on the traveler faint and astray,

The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing, in Eden's first bloom,

On the cold cheek of death, smiles and roses are blend | ing,
And beauty, immortal, awakes from the tomb.


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1. O weep for the earth | ănd the chil | dren of mēn! Awake the sad music of mountain and glen!

Pour out the deep voice of lament on the blast,
For a year hath gone
down to the grave of the past!

2. Lament for the year, with its promise of bliss,
Hath gone from a world full of mourning like this;
And the hopes that it brought have been trampled in dust,
And its paths have been paved with the hearts of the just!

3. Rejoice! for the day of redemption draws nigh!
Let loud halleluiahs resound through the sky!
Let the years roll away, and the darkness shall flee;
Rejoice and exult, for the earth shall be free!



Anupestic and Iambic measures.

The first two lines and the fourth in the

first stanza, commence with an iambic; all the other feet are anapestic.




The fox and the crōw,

În prōse, | I well knōw,

Mãny good | littlě girls | căn rěhearse;

Perhaps it will tell,

Pretty nearly as well,

If we try the săme fã | ble in vērse.

In a dairy, a crow,

Having ventured to go,

Some food for her young ones to seek,

Flew up in the trees,

With a fine piece of cheese,

Which she joyfully held in her beak.

A fox that lived nigh,

To the tree saw her fly,

And to share in the prize made a vow;
For having just dined,

He for cheese felt inclined,

So he went and sat under the bough.

Dactylic measure.



The first line and the third of each stanza close with a trochee, and the second and fourth, with an additional long syllable. 1. Brightest and best of the | sōns of the | mōrning, Dawn on our | darkness and | lēnd us thine | aid;

QUESTIONS. In what measure is exercise fifth? Of what do the lines consist? What kind of measure is exercise sixth? How do the lines end? Of what does dactylic measure consist? How is it accented?

Star of the east, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.

2. Cold on his cradle, the dew-drops are shining;
Low lies his head, with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore him, in slumbers reclining,
Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all.

3. Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion,
Odors of Edom* and offerings divine?

Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the mine?

4. Vainly we offer each ample oblation;

Vainly with gold would his favor secure;
Richer by far, is the heart's adoration;
Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.

The following stanza, though not strictly tribrach, may be so read as to give a good specimen of that measure by closing the third line and the seventh with an additional long syllable, and pronouncing all other syllables in the stanza with an equally short quantity.

Come, thou Almighty King,

Help us thỹ năme to sing,

Help us to praise;

Father all glorious,

O'er all victorioŭs,

Come, and reign | Ŏvěr ŭs,

Ancient of days.

QUESTION. How may the above stanza be made to illustrate tribrach measure!

E'dom, the country of the Edomites, about eighty miles east of Jerusalem.



Iambic measure. —. Each line has five feet.

1. 'Tis past! | The sul try ty | rant of the south Has spent his short-lived rage; | more grate | ful hours



Move silent on; - the skies no more repel

The dazzled sight, but with mild, maiden beams
Of tempered luster, court the cherished eye
To wander o'er their sphere, where, hung aloft,
Dian's † bright crescent, like a silver bow
New strung in heaven, lifts high its beamy horns,
Impatient for the night, and seems to push
Her brother down the sky.

Fair Venus shines

E'en in the eve of day, with sweetest beam
Propitious shines, and shakes a trembling flood
Of softened radiance from her dewy locks.
The shadows spread apace, while meek-eyed Eve,
Her cheek yet warm with blushes, slow retires
Through the Hesperian § gardens of the west,
And shuts the gates of day.

"T is now the hour, When Contemplation from her sunless haunts, The cool, damp grotto, or the lonely depth

QUESTIONS. What measure is exercise seventh? How many feet in each line? What kind of verse is it?

• Barbauld, (Anna Letitia Aikin,) a pleasing English writer, born in 1742, and died at the age of eighty-two.

↑ Di'an, (Diana,) the moon, or the goddess said to guide the chariot of the moon. Eve, evening personified.

Hes-pe'ri-an gar'den, allusion is here made to a celebrated garden in heathen mythology, situated at the west, and said to have abounded with golden apples. and other fruits of the most delicious kind.


Of unpierced woods, where, wrapt in solid shade,
She mused away the gaudy hours of noon,
And fed on thoughts unripened by the sun, -
Moves forward; and, with radiant finger, points
To yon blue concave swelled by breath divine,
Where, one by one, the living eyes of heaven
Awake, quick kindling o'er the face of ether
One boundless blaze- ten thousand trembling fires,
And dancing lusters, where th' unsteady eye,
Restless and dazzled, wanders unconfined
O'er all this field of glories; spacious field,
And worthy of the Master! he, whose hand,
With hieroglyphics older than the Nile,
Inscribed the mystic tablet, hung on high
To public gaze, and said, " Adore, O man,
The finger of thy God!"

From what pure wells

Of milky light, what soft o'erflowing urn,
Are all these lamps so filled,

these friendly lamps, Forever streaming o'er the azure deep,

To point our path, and light us to our home?
How soft they slide along their lucid spheres,

And, silent as the foot of time, fulfill
Their destined courses! Nature's self is hushed,
And, but a scattered leaf which rustles through
The thick-wove foliage, not a sound is heard
To break the midnight air, though the raised ear,
Intensely list'ning, drinks in every breath.

5. How deep the silence, yet how loud the praise !
But are they silent all? or is there not

A tongue in every star, that talks with man
And wooes him to be wise? nor wooes in vain.
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought,
And wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.

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