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There seems a floating whisper on the hill, ..
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a
All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep,
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
But hath a part of being, and a sense
Of that which is of all Creator and defence.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt
The soul and source of music, which makes known
Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone,
Binding all things with beauty ;-'twould disarm
Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy pray'r! Thy sky is changed!-and such a change! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman!
Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! And this is in the night :-Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delightA portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again 'tis black-and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted! Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, Love was the very root of the fond rage
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed: Itself expired, but leaving them an age
Of years all winters-war within themselves to wage.
A THANKSGIVING FOR HIS HOUSE.-Herrick.
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whose humble roof
Under the spars of which, I lie
Where Thou, my chamber for to ward,
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
And yet the threshold of my door
Who hither come, and freely get
Like as my parlour, so my hall,
A little buttery, and therein
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
And all those other bits that be
There plac'd by Thee.
The worts, the purslain, and the mess
Of water cress,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent:
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,
To be more sweet.
"Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand,
That sows my land:
All this, and better, dost Thou send
Me, for this end;
That I should render for my part,
Which, fir'd with incense, I resign
But the acceptance-that must be,
Until the hast'ning day
But to the even-song;
We have short time to stay like you;
Say, gentle night! whose modest, maiden beams
The world's great picture softened to the sight;
Say ye, who guide the wilder'd in the waves,
I wake whole nights, in vain, to steal it from them.
In ardent contemplation's rapid car,
From earth, as from my barrier, I set out.
pass the moon; and, from her farther side,
Pierce heaven's blue curtain; strike into remote ;
And to celestial lengthens human sight.
And ask for HIM who gives their orbs to roll,
Who built thus high for worms (mere worms to him);