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WISDOM AND FOLLY.
On folly's lips eternal talkings dwell;
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content,—
The quiet mind is richer than a crown:
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent,—
The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown.
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy when princes oft do miss.
The homely house that harbours quiet rest,
The cottage that affords no pride nor care,
The mean, that grees with country music best,
The sweet consort of Mirth's and Music's fare.
Obscured life sits down a type of bliss;
A mind content both crown and kingdom is.
Duty by habit is to pleasure turn'd:
Sir E. Bridges.
Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad,
Alas! delicious Spring, God sends thee down
To breathe upon his cold and perish-d works.
Beauteous revival: earth should welcome thee—
Thee and the west wind, thy smooth paramour,
With the soft laughter of her flowery meads,
Her joys, her melodies: the prancing stag
Flutters the shivering fern: the steed shakes out
His mane, the dewy herbage, silver-webb'd,
With frank step trampling: the wild goat looks down
From his empurpling bed of heath, where break
The waters deep and blue, with crystal gleams
Of their quick-leaping people: the fresh lark
Is in the morning sky: the nightingale
Tunes evensong to the dropping waterfall.
Creation lives with loveliness—all melts
And trembles into one wild harmony.
THE MOUNTAIN ASH.
The mountain ash
'Tis midnight: on the mountains brown
ADAM'S FIRST FEELINGS.
For man to tell how human life began
Is hard; for who himself beginning knew?
As new-wak'd from soundest sleep Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid In balmy sweat, which with his beams the sun Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed: Straight toward heaven my wondering eyes I turn'd, And gazed awhile on the ample sky, till raised By quick instinctive motion up I sprung, As thitherward endeavouring, and upright Stood on my feet; about me round I saw Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains, And liquid lapse of murm'ring streams; by these Creatures that lived and moved, or walk'd, or flew, Birds on the branches warbling: all things smiled, With fragrance, and with joy my heart o'erflow'd; Myself I then perus'd, and limb by limb Survey'd, and sometimes went and sometimes ran With supple joints, as lively vigour led; But who I was, or where, or from what cause, Knew not: to speak I tried, and forthwith spake; My tongue obey'd, and readily could name Whate'er I saw. Thou Sun, said I, fair light, And thou enlighten'd Earth, so fresh and gay, Ye hills, and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains, And ye that live and move, fair creatures tell, Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here? Not of myself; by some great Maker then, In goodness and in power pre-eminent: Tell me, how may I know Him, how adore From whom I have, that thus I move and live, And feel that I am happier than I know? While thus I call'd, and stray'd, I knew not whither, From where I first drew air, and first beheld This happy light, when answer none return'd, On a green shady bank profuse of flowers, Pensive I sat me down: there gentle sleep First found me, and with soft oppression seized
My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought
THE BREEZE IN THE CHURCH.
This beautiful little poem is from a volume recently published by Mrs. HiNXMAit, entitled Poems.
'twas a sunny day, and the morning psalm
We sang in the church together;
Of the calm and joyous weather.
The slow, and sweet, and sacred strain,
Through every bosom stealing,
And waked each holy feeling.
We knew by its sunny gleam how clear
Was the blue sky smiling o'er us,
The wild birds happy chorus.
And lo! from its haunts by cave or rill
With a sudden start awaking,
Its fragrant pinions shaking.
Through the open windows it bent its way,
And down the chancel's centre,
And in holy places enter.
From niche to niche, from nook to nook,
With a lightsome rustle flying,
On the altar-cushion lying.
It fann'd the old clerk's hoary hair,
Then vanish'd, none knew how or where,
It left sweet thoughts of summer hours
Spent on the quiet mountains; And the church seem'd full of the scent of flowers,
And the trickling fall of fountains.
The image of scenes so still and fair
With our music sweetly blended, While it seemed their whisper'd hymn took share
In the praise that to heaven ascended.
We thought of Him who had pour'd the rills,
Whose hand, when He piled the enduring hills,
And a purer passion was borne above,
In a louder anthem swelling,
On those calm summits dwelling.
SONG OF THE WOOD NYMPHS.
Come here, come here and dwell
In forest deep!
Why thou dost weep!
Come here, come here, and lie
By whispering stream! Here no one dares to die
For Love's sweet dream;