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SPLENDORS OF MORNING.

PLENDORS of morning the billow-crests bright

en,

Lighting and luring them on to the land,— Far away waves where the wan vessels whiten, Blue rollers breaking in surf where we stand. Curved like the necks of a legion of horses, Each with his froth-gilded mane flowing free, Hither they speed in perpetual courses, Bearing thy riches, O beautiful sea!

Strong with the striving of yesterday's surges, Lashed by the wanton winds leagues from the

shore,

Each, driven fast by its follower, urges

Fearlessly those that are fleeting before; How they leap over the ridges we walk on, Flinging us gifts from the depths of the sea,Silvery fish for the foam-haunting falcon,

Palm-weed and pearls for my darling and me!

Light falls her foot where the rift follows after,
Finer her hair than your feathery spray,
Sweeter her voice than your infinite laughter,-
Hist! ye wild couriers, list to my lay!

Deep in the chambers of grottos auroral

Morn laves her jewels and bends her bright knee : Thence to my dear one your amber and coral

Bring for her dowry, O beautiful sea!

E. C. Stedman.

FANCY IN NUBIBUS.

FULL MANY A GLORIOUS MORNING.

ULL many a glorious morning have I seen

FULL

165

Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace : Even so my sun one early morn did shine, With all triumphant splendor on my brow; But out! alack! he was but one hour mine, The regent cloud hath masked him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth.

Shakspere.

FANCY IN NUBIBUS.

H it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,

OH

Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,

To make the shifting clouds be what you please,
Or let the easily-persuaded eyes

Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould
Of a friend's fancy; or, with head bent low

And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold

'Twixt crimson banks; and then, a traveller, go From mount to mount through Cloudland, gorgeous

land,

Or listening to the tide, with closèd sight,

Be that blind bard who, on the Chian strand

By those deep sounds possessed with inward light, Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssey

Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.

Coleridge.

MOUNTAIN SACRAMENTS.

'OR we the mighty mountain plains have trod Both in the glow of sunset and sunrise ; And lighted by the moon of southern skies! The snow-white torrent of the thundering flood We two have watched together. In the wood

We two have felt the warm tears dim our eyes
While zephyrs softer than an infant's sighs
Ruffled the light air of our solitude!

O Earth, maternal Earth, and thou, O Heaven,
And night first-born, who now, e'en now dost waken
The host of stars, thy constellated train!

Tell me if those can ever be forgiven,

Those abject, who together have partaken
These Sacraments of Nature-and in vain?

Aubrey De Vere.

A

AFTER THE BALL.

ND now the eastern sky

Was kindling, not unseen, from humble copse

And open field, through which the pathway wound, And homeward led my steps. Magnificent

The morning rose, in memorable pomp,

THE WHISPER OF THE APENNINE. 167

Glorious as ere I had beheld-in front,
The sea lay laughing at a distance; near,
The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds,
Grain tinctured, drenched in empyrean light;
And in the meadows and the lower grounds
Was all the sweetness of a common dawn--
Dews, vapors, and the melody of birds,
And laborers going forth to till the fields.
Ah! need I say, dear Friend! that to the brim
My heart was full; I made no vows, but vows
Were then made for me; bond unknown to me
Was given, that I should be, else sinning greatly,
A dedicated spirit.

Wordsworth.

THE WHISPER OF THE APENNINE.

LISTEN, listen, Mary mine,

To the whisper of the Apennine ;

It bursts on the roof like the thunder's roar,

Or like the sea on a northern shore,

Heard in its raging ebb and flow

By the captives pent in the caves below.

The Apennine in the light of day

Is a mighty mountain dim and gray,

Which between the earth and sky doth lay;
But when night comes, a chaos dread
On the dim starlight then is spread,

And the Apennine walks abroad with the storm.

Shelley.

THANKSGIVING.

'OR the lifting up of mountains,

FOR

In brightness and in dread;

For the peaks where snow and sunshine

Alone have dared to tread ; For the dark of silent gorges, Where mighty cedars nod; For the majesty of mountains I thank thee, O my God!

L

REAL AND IDEAL.

Lucy Larcom.

OOKING athwart the valley's cleft,

Where nestles many a cosey farm
Beside the stream whose music low
For ever keeps its ancient charm,
For one I love, who, young and gay,
Full often wandered by its side,
Floating his wayward fancies down
To the great sea upon its tide,—

Looking through dreamy, half-shut eyes
Across to where the shining mist
Bathed all the woods and uplands dim
With purple and with amethyst,

I said, Why do we linger thus

Where all is sharp and bright and clear? Seek we the pleasant land beyond,

And taste of its enchantments dear.

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