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The Family Bible.—ANoNYMous.
How painfully pleasing the fond recollection
That Bible, the volume of God's inspiration,
Ye scenes of tranquillity, long have we parted;
—oThe Notes of the Birds.-I. McLELLAN, JUN
WELL do I love those various harmonies
at ring so gayly in Spring's budding woods,
If thou art pained with the world's noisy stir, Or crazed with its mad tumults, and weighed down With any of the ills of human life; If thou art sick and weak, or mournest at the loss Of brethren gone to that far distant land To which we all do pass, gentle and poor, The gayest and the gravest, all alike, Then turn into the peaceful woods, and hear The thrilling music of the forest birds.
How rich the varied choir : The unquiet finch Calls from the distant hollows, and the wren Uttereth her sweet and mellow plaint at times, And the thrush mourneth where the kalmia hangs Its crimson-spotted cups, or chirps half hid Amid the lowly off. snowy flowers, And the blue jay flits by, from tree to tree, And, spreading its rich pinions, fills the ear . With its shrill-sounding and unsteady cry.
With the sweet airs of Spring, the robin comes; And in her simple song there seems to gush A strain of sorrow when she visiteth Her last year's withered nest. But when the gloom Of the deep twilight falls, she takes her perch Upon the red-stemmed hazel's slender twig, That overhangs the brook, and suits her song To the slow rivulet’s inconstant chime.
In the last days of Autumn, when the corn Lies sweet and yellow in the harvest field, And the gay company of reapers bind The bearded wheat in sheaves, then peals abroad The blackbird’s merry chant. I love to hear, Bold plunderer, thy mellow burst of song Float from thy watch-place on the mossy tree Close at the corn-field edge.
Lone whippoorwill, There is much sweetness in thy fitful hymn, Heard in the drowsy watches of the night. Ofttimes, when all the village lights are out, And the wide air is still, I hear thee chant Thy hollow dirge, like some recluse who takes His lodging in the wilderness of woods,
And lifts his anthem when the world is still:
Far up some brook’s still course, whose current mines The forest's blackened roots, and whose green marge Is seldom visited by human foot, The lonely heron sits, and harshly breaks The Sabbath silence of the wilderness: And you may find her by some reedy pool, Or brooding gloomily on the time-stained rock, Beside some misty and far-reaching lake.
Most awful is thy deep and heavy boom,
And now, would'st thou, O man, delight the ear
Sentimental JMusic.—F. G. HALLEck.
Sounds as of far off bells came on his ears;
“Young thoughts have music in them, love
And happiness their theme;
And music wanders in the wind
And there are angel voices heard,
When life is but an April day,
“There’s music in the forest leaves
When summer winds are there,
And in the laugh of forest girls
The first wild bird that drinks the dew
Has music in his song, and in
“There’s music in the dash of waves,
When the swift bark cleaves their foam ;
There's music heard upon her deck—
When moon and star-beams, smiling, meet,
And there is music once a week
*But the music of young thoughts too soon
Is faint, and dies away,
And from our morning dreams we wake
And childhood's frolic hours are brief,
Their memory comes to chill the heart,
“To-day the forest leaves are green;
They’ll wither on the morrow,
And the maiden's laugh be changed, ere long,
Come with the winter snows, and ask
The answer is a silent one,
The moonlight music of the waves
THERE is no form upon our earth,
But has some charm : to draw this forth,
I saw a fair young girl—her face
Just at the age when childhood’s grace
A silk-worm in her hand she laid;
But gayly with her charge she played,
She raised it to her dimpled cheek,
O, why for outward beauty seek!
That worm—I should have shrunk, in truth, To feel the reptile o'er me move,