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FROM THE SPANISH.
LAUGH of the mountain !-lyre of bird and
Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn!
How without guile thy bosom, all transparent
Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles
How, without malice murmuring, glides thy
O sweet simplicity of days gone by!
Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in
THE CELESTIAL PILOT
FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO. II.
AND now, behold! as at the approach of
Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery
Down in the west upon the ocean floor,
Appeared to me,-would I again could see it!-
And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little Mine eyes, that I might question my con ductor,
Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.