The fever from my cheek, and sigh

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows The full new life that feeds thy breath

with sedge, Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, And sheds the freshening dew; and, lovelier Il brethren, let the fancy fly

still,

The pensive pleasures sweet,
From belt to belt of crimson seas,

Prepare thy shadowy car.
On leagues of odor streaming far,
To where, in yonder orient star,

Then let me rove some wild and leathy A hundred spirits whisper “Peace ! ”

scene;
Or find some ruin, 'midst its dreary dells,

Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, ODE TO EVENING.

Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut

That, from the mountain's side, If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,

Views wilds, and swelling floods, May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest

And hamlets brown, and dim discovered ear, Like thy own brawling springs,

spires; Thy springs, and dying gales

And hears, their simple bell, and marks o'er

all

Thy dewy fingers draw O Nymph reserved, while now the bright

The gradual dusky veil. haired Sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft With brede ethereal wove,

he wont, O'erhang his wavy bed.

And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!

While Summer loves to sport Now air is hushed, save where the weak Beneath thy lingering light;

eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; wing;

Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Or where the beetle winds

Affrights thy shrinking train, His small but sullen horn,

And rudely rends thy robes;

THE OWL.

109

0—when the moon shines, and dogs do howl, Then, then, is the joy of the Horned Owl!

TO NIGHT.

Mysterious Night! when our first parent Mourn not for the Owl, nor his gloomy plight; knew

The Owl hath his share of good : Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, He is lord in the dark greenwood ! This glorious canopy of light and blue ? Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mateYet 'neath the curtain of translucent dew,

They are each unto each a pride; Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Thrice fonder perhaps, since a strange, dark Hesperus with the host of heaven came,

fate And lo! creation widened in man's view. Hath rent them from all beside! Who could have thought such darkness lay So, when the night falls, and dogs do hool, concealed

Sing Ho! for the reign of the Horned Orol! Within thy beams, O Sun! or who could find,

We know not alway While fly, and leaf, and insect lay revealed,

Who are kings by day, That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us But the King of the night is the bold brown blind!

Orl! Why do we, then, shun Death with anxious

strife ?If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life ?

BLANCO WHITE.

SONG.—THE OWL.

BARRY CORNWALL.