How beautiful is Night!
A smile is on her brow;
Her eyes of dewy light
Look out, serenely bright,
Upon the waves below:
The waters, in their flow,
Just murmur, and the air
Hath scarce a breath to show
A spirit moving there:
The world is purely fair,
The winds are hushed and still;
The moonlight on the hill
Is sleeping, and her ray
Along the falling rill,
In lightly dancing play,
Soft winding, steals away:
A cool and silent breath,
From waterfalls and streams,
Comes o'er my ear, like dreams,

At break of day my heart is still unquiet,
I dress myself, then stand there hesitating
I hesitate, not knowing where I should go—
A recluse may dwell in a secluded valley
In the morning he culls cress in the southern gorge,
At night he rests at the foot of the western hill
Light branches lace above him like the clouds,
Thick foliage forms a tent of kingfisher-green.
Eddying winds linger in the grove of magnolias,
Their fragrance swirls to meet the graceful trees
The pleasant plashing of the mountain burn,
A waterfall rinsing the singing jade!

I wake this morn, and all my life
Is freshly mine to live;
The future with fair promise rife,
And crowns of joy to give.

New words to speak, new thoughts to hear,
New love to give and take, —
Perchance new burdens I may bear
For love's own sweetest sake.

New hopes to open in the sun,
New efforts worth the will,
Or tasks, with yesterday begun,
More bravely to fulfil.

Fresh seeds for all the time to be
Are in my hand to sow,
Whereby, for others and for me,
Undreamed-of fruit may grow.

Fair Musique harh a Cliff , and that doth guide
Rightly the song, who marks not that, sings wide:
And there's a proper Cliff to every thing,
Not cared for, an ill event will bring.
Chose whatsoever enterprise you will,
Insue the Cliff , or be unlucky still,
Seek every thing to act in his right key,

Chusing at first the end well to survey:
Lustrous bright rayes of beauty then will shine
Into that heart, who is so true divine:
Fancy hath each man then, and who doth steere
Fancy to a right end, doth wise appeare,

Thus saith the Lord to his own: —
" See ye the trouble below?
Warfare of man from his birth!
Too long let we them groan;
Haste, arise ye, and go,
Carry my peace upon earth!"

Gladly they rise at his call,
Gladly obey his command,
Gladly descend to the plain.
— Ah! How few of them all,
Those willing servants, shall stand
In the Master's presence again!

Some in the tumult are lost;
Baffled, bewilder'd, they stray.
Some, as prisoners, draw breath.
Some, unconquer'd, are cross'd
(Not yet half through the day)

" Man is blind because of sin,
Revelation makes him sure;
Without that, who looks within,
Looks in vain, for all 's obscure.

Nay, look closer into man!
Tell me, can you find indeed
Nothing sure, no moral plan
Clear prescribed, without your creed?

" No, I nothing can perceive!
Without that, all 's dark for men.
That, or nothing, I believe." —
For God's sake, believe it then!

ON VIEWING, ONE SUMMER EVENING, THE HOUSE OF MY BIRTH IN
A STATE OF DESERTION .

The crescent moon with pallid light
Was silvering o'er the brow of night;
With downy wing the summer breeze
Sported amid the rustling trees,
Waving the leaves that lightly flew,
And kissing off the night-fallen dew.
Along the gently winding vale,
Its surface ruffled by the gale,
The softly flowing rivulet strayed,
While o'er its wave the moonbeam played,
Smiling, as calmly stealing by,

I.

The waning moon looked cold and pale,
Just rising o'er the eastern wave,
And faintly moaned the evening gale,
That swept along the gloomy cave:
The waves that wildly rose and fell,
On all the rocks the white foam flung,
And like the distant funeral knell,
Within her grot the Mermaid sung.

II.

It was a strain of witchery
So sweet, yet mournful to my ear,
It lit the smile, it waked the sigh,
Then started pity's pearly tear;
There was a ruffle in my breast,
It was not joy, it was not pain,

A trace of shadow veils the light of the sun,
A pure breeze is ruffling at my robe
Swimming fishes dive through the limpid water,
Wheeling birds fly up to touch the sky
Far, far away the traveler has journeyed,
From such a voyage he can never return.
When he first set out, a cruel frost prevailed,
Now he journeys on as the white dew dries in the sun.
The traveler sighed at the song of the Drooping Millet,
Those who stayed home sang " Oh, how few, how few! "
Now quite cast down I face my honored guests,

In the south country there lives a lovely lady,
Her face as delicate as peach or plum
In the morning she wanders on the north shore of the River,
In the evening she wanders on an islet in the Xiang
But these days rosy cheeks are out of fashion,
No one is there to see her dazzling smile
In the blink of an eye, the year's night is on us,
Such fleeting beauty cannot last for long.