English

O, pure is the wind,
As it blows o'er the mountain;
And clear is the wave,
As it flows from the fountain;
And sweet are the flowers
In the green meadow blooming;
And gay are the bowers,
When the soft air perfuming.
O go, dearest, go
To the heath, and the mountain,
Where the blue violets blow
On the brink of the fountain;
Where nothing but death
Our affection can sever,
And till life's latest breath
Love shall bind us for ever.

O, bright is the morn,
When it breaks on the valley;

Evermore may there riches great encrease
Double to you, who so acts righteousness;
Warding the poore, who want a sure defence;
And well regarding opprest innocence,
Rightly proclaiming you a Noble Peere,
Devoted unto works of mercy here,
Ever hereafter that you may shine cleere.

Run on blest soul, who as a Ward most Free
Advanceth forth, the poores defence to be:
Doing all freely evermore remaine,
Cloud-like retaining to distill the rayne,
Letting it fall upon the thirsty ground,

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,

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,

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,

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

" 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,