UP IN THE WILD. A foil'd circuitous wanderer-till at last The long'd for dash of waves is heard, and wide 175 And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars Emerge, and shine upon the Aral sea. Matthew Arnold. UP IN THE WILD. P in a wild where no one comes to look UP There lives and sings a little lonely brook : Liveth and singeth in the dreary pines, Yet creepeth on to where the daylight shines. Pure from their heaven, in mountain chalice caught, I catch the murmur of its undertone, The voiceful Rivers, chanting to the sun, Ah! lonely brook! creep onward through the pines; Feel how the floods are all akin to thee! Drink the sweet rain the gentle heaven sendeth ; Hold thine own path, however-ward it tendeth ; For somewhere, underneath the eternal sky, Thou, too, shalt find the Rivers, by-and-by ! Adeline D. T. Whitney. IF THOU ART WORN. F thou art worn and hard beset IF With sorrows that thou would'st forget, If thou would'st read a lesson that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills!-No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. H. W. Longfellow. MONADNOCK FROM CHESTERFIELD. HE merest bulge above the horizon's rim THE Of purplish blue which you might think a cloud Full seventy miles away. But far and dim Lying her length; her hair all disarrayed By the bold mountain-wind; her cheeks aglow ; As if that rocky summit should unfurl A rose of June! And what if I had said, "Thrice fair Monadnock with her lying so!" J. W. Chadwick. ABOVE AND BELOW. 177 WA SONG. WAVES on the beach, and the wild sea-foam, Where the sea-weed makes its bending home, ABOVE AND BELOW. I. DWELLERS in the valley-land, Who in deep twilight grope and cower, Till the slow mountain's dial-hand Shortens to noon's triumphal hour,While ye sit idle, do ye think The Lord's great work sits idle too? That light dare not o'erleap the brink Of morn, because 'tis dark with you? Though yet your valleys skulk in night, In God's ripe fields the day is cried, The night-shed tears of Earth she dries! The Lord wants reapers: Oh, mount up, The Master hungers while ye wait; II. LONE watcher on the mountain-height! But we, who in the shadow sit, Know also when the day is nigh, Seeing thy shining forehead lit With his inspiring prophecy. Thou hast thine office; we have ours; He counts with us for morning cheer; Our day, for Him, is long enough, To pierce the shield of error through. But not the less do thou aspire Light's earlier messages to preach; Keep back no syllable of fire,— Plunge deep the rowels of thy speech. A STANZA FROM "THYRSIS." Yet God deems not thine aeried sight 179 J. R. Lowell. A MOUNTAIN STORM. TORM in the night! for thrice I heard the rain STOR Rushing; and once the flash of a thunderboltMethought I never saw so fierce a fork— Struck out the streaming mountain-side and show'd Tennyson. A STANZA FROM 66 THYRSIS." W HERE is the girl, who, by the boatman's door, Above the locks, above the boating throng, Unmoored our skiff, when through the Wytham flats, Red loosestrife and blond meadow-sweet among, And darting swallows, and light water-gnats, We tracked the shy Thames shore ? Where are the mowers, who, as the tiny swell Of our boat passing heaved the river-grass, Stood with suspended scythe to see us pass?— They all are gone, and thou art gone as well. Matthew Arnold, |