412 MOON-STARS-SUN. MOON-STARS-SUN. 1. The weary sun hath made a golden set, And, by the bright track of his fiery car, Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. 2. But yonder comes the glorious king of day, Rejoicing in the East. 3. See, at the call of night, The star of evening sheds his silver light 4. Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day, The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray. 5. The sky Spreads like an ocean hung on high, Who ever gaz'd upon them shining, SHAKSPEARE. MILTON. GAY'S Dione. POPE. BYRON'S Siege of Corinth. 6. Ye stars, that are the poetry of heaven! BYRON'S Childe Harold. 7. The queen of night asserts her silent reign. BYRON'S Corsair. 8. Plac'd in the spangled sky, with visage bright The full-orb'd moon her radiant beams displays; From the Portuguese. 9. How oft at midnight have I fix'd my gaze Upon the blue, unclouded firmament, 10. With thousand spheres illumin'd, and, perchance, -Going forth, HON. W. HERBERT. Her princely way among the stars in slow And silent brightness. H. WARE. 11. But the stars, the soft stars!—when they glitter above us, I gaze on their beams with a feeling divine; For, as true friends in sorrow more tenderly love us, 12. O! who can lift above a careless look, While such bright scenes as these his thoughts engage, And doubt, while reading from so fair a book, That God's own finger trac'd the glowing page; Or deem the radiance of yon blue expanse, With all its starry hosts, the careless work of Chance? MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY. MORNING.-(See DAY.) MOTHER. (See FATHER.) MOUNTAINS.. 1. He who first met the highlands' swelling blue, BYRON'S Island. 414 2. MOURNING - MURDER. Above me are the Alps, The palaces of nature, whose vast walls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls Gather around these summits, as to show How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below. BYRON'S Childe Harold. 3. Who first beholds the Alps,—that mighty chain Of mountains, stretching on from east to west, A sense, a feeling that he loses not A something that informs him 't is a moment 4. Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines, ROGERS' Italy. In the soft light of your serenest skies; W. C. BRYANT. 5. And lo! the Catskills print the distant sky, Forgets or which is earth or which is heaven. 1. Oh! it came over me like the sweet South, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour. SHAKSPEARE. As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair. SHAKSPEARE. 3. The man that hath not music in himself, 5. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment? SHAKSPEARE. MILTON. MILTON'S Comus. 6. Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul, And lap it in Elysium. MILTON'S Comus. 7. Music the fiercest grief can charm, And fate's severest rage disarm. Music can soften pain to ease, And make despair and madness please; And antedate the bliss above. 8. Music resembles poetry; in each POPE. Are numerous graces which no methods teach, POPE'S Essay on Criticism. 416 MUSIC-SINGING. 9. Even rage itself is cheer'd with music: It wakes a glad remembrance of our youth, 10. Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast, To soften rocks, and bend the knotted oak. ROWE. CONGREVE. 11. Though cheerfulness and I have long been strangers, 12. There is in souls a sympathy with sounds, LILLO. COWPER'S Task. 13. Sweet notes! they tell of former peace, 14. Music! Oh, how faint, how weak, Language fades before thy spell! Why should feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her soul so well? Oh! 't is only music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray! 15. Her voice was like the warbling of a bird, So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear. MOORE. MOORE. BYRON'S Don Juan. |