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On hedge-rows, white with jessamine flowers,
And minarets o’erhung with roses. The exile on a foreign shore
Dejected sits, and turns his eye To thee, in beauty evermore,
Careering through a cloudless sky;
A white cloud comes, and, passing by, Veils thee a moment from his sight;
Then, as he rests beneath the shadows, He thinks of many as sweet a night,
When glad he roamed his native meadows. Enthroned amid the cloudless blue,
Majestic, silent, and alone, Above the fountains of the dew,
Thou glidest on, and glidest on,
To shoreless seas and lands unknown.
Thou eldest-born of Beauty's daughters !
THROUGH the hushed air the whitening shower
descends, At first thin wavering ; till at last the flakes Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day
With a continual flow. The cherished fields
THE SNOW BIRDS.
How busy at work are the snow and the frost !
The wintry winds cheerlessly blow; If a green little plant dares to peep forth its head,
It straightway is covered with snow. In the midst of the storm from which we all shrink,
How blithely the snow bird is hopping ; So tiny, it seems that its small spark of life
Might be quenched by each flake that is dropping. Didst thou come to tell us of sunshine and bloom,
Of the seasons so bright and pleasant ?
A link 'tween the future and present ?
To ridicule comforts and fire ;
“ Thou poor, little, barefooted friar ?" Sweet bird ! as I watch thee so gay mid the storm,
A moral instructer I see ; Teaching us amid suffering, privation, suspense,
To be cheerful, confiding, like thee; Revealing the depth of a kind Father's love ;
Confirming the truth before taught, 'Mid the sternest, the dreariest season of life The sparrow is never forgot.
I think thou art sent in this dull, cheerless day,
When all things are locked up in frost,
That the beauty of life is not lost.
And we scarcely with sorrow can cope,
Some teacher of heaven and hope.
THE WOODS IN WINTER.
WINTER boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous summer knows; Or autumn, with his many fruits and woods All flushed with many hues. Come, when the rains Have glazed the snow, and clothed the trees with ice; While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach ! The encrusted surface shall bear up thy steps, And the broad arching portals of the grove Welcome thy entering. Look! the massy trunks Are cased in the pure crystal ; each light spray, Nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven, Is studded with its trembling water-drops, That stream with rainbow radiance as they move. But round the parent stem the long low boughs
Bend in a glittering ring, and arbors hide