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At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise,
Scarce staining ether; but, by swift degrees,
In heaps on heaps the doubling vapour sails
Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep,
Sits on the horizon round, a settled gloom :
Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed,
Oppressing life; but lovely, gentle, kind,
And full of every hope and every joy,
The wish of Nature. Gradual sinks the breeze
Into a perfect calm, that not a breath
Is heard to quiver through the closing woods,
Or rustling turn the many-twinkling leaves
Of aspen tall. The uncurling floods, diffused
In glassy breadth, seem through delusive lapse
Forgetful of their course. 'Tis silence all,
And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks
Drop the dry sprig, and mute-imploring eye
The falling verdure. Hush'd in short suspense,
The plumy people streak their wings with oil,
To throw the lucid moisture trickling off;
And wait the approaching sign to strike, at once,
Into the general choir. Even mountains, vales,
And forests seem, impatient, to demand
The promised sweetness. Man superior walks
Amid the glad creation, musing praise,
And looking lively gratitude. At last,
The clouds consign their treasures to the fields ;
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow,
In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world.
The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard,
By such as wander through the forest walks,
Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves.
But who can hold the shade while Heaven descends
In universal bounty, shedding herbs
And fruits and flowers on Nature's ample lap!
Swift Fancy fired anticipates their growth;
And, while the milky nutriment distils,
Beholds the kindling country colour round.

Thus all day long the full-distended clouds
Indulge their genial stores, and well-shower'd earth
Is deep enrichid with vegetable life;
Till, in the western sky, the downward sun

Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush
Of broken clouds, gay shifting to his beam.
The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes
The illumined mountain, through the forest streams,
Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist,
Far smoking o'er the interminable plain,
In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems.
Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around.
Full swell the woods; their every music wakes,
Mix'd in wild concert with the warbling brooks
Increased, the distant bleatings of the hills,
And hollow lows responsive from the vales,
Whence, blending all, the sweeten'd zephyr springs.
Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud,
Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow
Shoots up immense and every hue unfolds,
In fair proportion running from the red
To where the violet fades into the sky.
Here, awful Newton, the dissolving clouds
Form, fronting on the sun, thy showery prism ;
And to the sage-instructed eye unfold
The various twine of light, by thee disclosed
From the white mingling maze. Not so the boy;
He wondering views the bright enchantment bend,
Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs
To catch the falling glory; but amazed
Beholds the amusive arch before him fly,
Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds,
A soften'd shade, and saturated earth
Awaits the morning beam, to give to light,
Raised through ten thousand different plastic tubes,
The balmy treasures of the former day.

Student at Law.”

STANZAS. bous HAMILTON REYNOLDS, who published, in 1820, & volume ens poder the assumed name of “ Peter Corcoran, of Grays Inn,

ent at Law." These stanzas powerfully describe the emotions and offerings of his strangely erratic life.

" and muttered lost, lost, lost." —SIR WALTER SCOTT.

'Tis vain to grieve for what is past,
The golden hours are gone;
My own mad hand the die hath cast,
And I am left alone:

'Tis vain to grieve-I now can leave
No other bliss—yet still I grieve!
The dreadful silence of this night
Seems breathing in my ear;
I scarce can bear the lonely light
That burns, oppress'd and near.
I stare at it, while half reclined,
And feel its thick light on my mind.
The sweetest fate have I laid waste,
With a remorseless heart;
All that was beautiful and chaste,
For me seem'd set apart;
But I was fashion'd to defy
Such treasure, so set richly by.

How could I give up her, whose eyes
Were fillid with quiet tears,
For many a day—when thoughts would rise ;
Though darken'd with just fears
Of all my vices !—Memory sees
Her eyes' divine remonstrances.
A wild and wretched choice was mine;
A life of low delight:
The midnight rounds of noise and wine,
That vex'd the wasted night;
The bitter jest, the wearied glee,
The strife of dark society.

To those who plunged me in the throng
Of such disastrous joys ;
Who led me, by low craft, along,
And stunn'd my mind with noise-
I only wish they now could look
Upon my life's despoiled book.
When midnight finds me torn apart
From vulgar revelry,
The cold, still Madness of the heart,
Comes forth, and talks with me;
Talks with me, till the sky is grey
With the chill light of breaking day.

Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush
Of broken clouds, gay shifting to his beam.
The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes
The illumined mountain, through the forest streams,
Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist,
Far smoking o'er the interminable plain,
In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems.
Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around.
Full swell the woods; their every music wakes,
Mix'd in wild concert with the warbling brooks
Increased, the distant bleatings of the hills,
And hollow lows responsive from the vales,
Whence, blending all, the sweeten'd zephyr springs.
Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud,
Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow
Shoots up immense and every hue unfolds,
In fair proportion running from the red
To where the violet fades into the sky.
Here, awful Newton, the dissolving clouds
Form, fronting on the sun, thy showery prism;
And to the sage-instructed eye unfold
The various twine of light, by thee disclosed
From the white mingling maze. Not so the boy;
He wondering views the bright enchantment bend,
Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs
To catch the falling glory; but amazed
Beholds the amusive arch before him fly,
Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds,
A soften'd shade, and saturated earth
Awaits the morning beam, to give to light,
Raised through ten thousand different plastic tubes,
The balmy treasures of the former day.

STANZAS. By John HAMILTON REYNOLDS, who published, in 1820, a volume of poems under the assumed name of “ Peter Corcoran, of Grays' Inn, Student at Law.” These stanzas powerfully describe the emotions and sufferings of his strangely erratic life.

"and muttered lost, lost, lost." -SIR WALTER SCOTT.

'Tis vain to grieve for what is past,

The golden hours are gone;
My own mad hand the die hath cast,
And I am left alone:

'Tis vain to grieve I now can leave No other bliss—yet still I grieve!

The dreadful silence of this night
Seems breathing in my ear;
I scarce can bear the lonely light
That burns, oppress'd and near.
I stare at it, while half reclined,
And feel its thick light on my mind.
The sweetest fate have I laid waste,
With a remorseless heart;
All that was beautiful and chaste,
For me seem'd set apart;
But I was fashion'd to defy
Such treasure, so set richly by.

How could I give up her, whose eyes
Were fill'd with quiet tears,
For many a day-when thoughts would rise;
Though darken'd with just fears
Of all my vices !-Memory sees
Her eyes' divine remonstrances.
A wild and wretched choice was mine;
A life of low delight:
The midnight rounds of noise and wine,
That vex'd the wasted night;
The bitter jest, the wearied glee,
The strife of dark society.

To those who plunged me in the throng
Of such disastrous joys ;
Who led me, by low craft, along,
And stunn'd my mind with noise-
I only wish they now could look
Upon my life's despoiled book.
When midnight finds me torn apart
From vulgar revelry,
The cold, still Madness of the heart,
Comes forth, and talks with me;
Talks with me, till the sky is grey
With the chill light of breaking day.

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