English

Hast thou observed the babe who, ignorant of the affection
Which his cradle surrounds, sleeps through each changing embrace,
Till in a natural burst the passions of youth are awakened,
And the first conscious flash suddenly shows him the world?
Hast thou the mother observed, who purchases sleep for her darling
At the cost of her own, tenderly guarding his dreams,
With her own very life supporting his feeble existence,
And in her deep concern finds a sufficient reward?
And dost thou speak ill of Nature which, Mother and infant,

TO J. L., DE T .

Dark, dark at last! and this warm tide of scent, —
A west wind in a cedarn element, —
These cold leaves of the lily out of sight,
And the long single ray of sacred light!

'Tis night, then; I have slept, and o'er my sleep
The soul of love has hovered close and deep.

A bat moves in the porphyry capitals,
And cuts the clear-drawn radiance as it falls;
So man, intruding in his bestial way,
Shears from the lamp of God the heavenly ray.

To thee, fair regent of the Night,
I dedicate my lays;
Thy silver beams, reflected light,
Excite our love and praise!

Sequester'd from the beams of Day,
The midnight awful scene
Converts the mind, by nature gay,
To prospects more serene.

Above each vain terrestrial art
Of Life's perplexing care,
Thy genuine graces strike the heart,
Free from delusive glare.

This useful lesson they instil,
That modest Virtues shine;
Like thee the constant course sulsil,
With majesty divine.

It is I that have got a sore start; there is a loch of tears under my pillow.
Though I go to my bed, it is not sleep I am likely to get,
While yon woman in Islay maketh me ever more jealous,
Who took from me my sweetheart, whom I'd choose before a hundred.
Nay, if I were before her, there would kertches be torn off.
Over yonder I see Fiunary, without wealth of any sort therein,
Though I have seen the day when nobles thronged thy greensward.
Some part of them would go to the hunting-hill, some of them to kill the fish,

At the ocean's sound my mood is forlorn — time was that such was not my wont to hear,
But the great shrill-voiced pipe, all music surpassing when Patrick's fingers stirred it.
Woe to him who giveth his trust to the world: often hath it changed its perilous step;
More varied its course than the drops of dew on a morning in May's beginning;
Never under the sun have I beheld him to whom it gave not his day of trouble.
Bear this greeting from me to the hall of wine-cups, haunt of kinsmen in distress;

Wildest wind that shakes the blossoms,
Or on ocean chafes and swells,
Blows not uncontroll'd and wanton,
But as Law compels.

Streams that wander and meander,
Loitering in the meads to play,
Or that burst in roaring torrents
Into foam and spray.

Avalanches, forest-crushing,
Fires that rage in Etna's breast,
Lava-floods and tides of ocean,
All obey the same behest.

Law releases, Law restrains them: —
Lo! the Moon, her forehead bent
Earthward, makes her revolution,

Who knows how many a potentate of mind
Has lived a stranger on the callous earth,
Nor left a name or memory behind? —
How many an art has perish'd in its birth,
That might have changed the fortunes of mankind,
And re-imparadised us? Who shall tell
All we have lost? What bliss ineffable
Has shone before us — we remaining blind,
Or hostile and indifferent to the light?
Who tell what thoughts, that might have stirr'd the zones,
Have died unheard, because we deem'd it right
To raise great cenotaphs o'er dead men's bones,

Old Earth? Young Earth! — though myriad years,
Since Time's primeval morn,
She may have bloom'd amid the spheres
Before a man was born.

Still young; though race succeeding race
Have trod her breast sublime,
And flourish'd in their pride of place
Their full allotted time, —

Then pass'd away, like daily things,
Nor left a trace behind
To tell how many thousand Springs

Almighty God! we raise
To thee the joyful song;
Let all the earth their Maker praise,
And heav'n the strain prolong.

Our God is worthy to receive
Honor and pow'r divine,
And blessings, more than we can give,
Be, Lord! forever thine:
Let all who dwell above the sky,
And air, and earth, and seas,
Conspire to lift thy glories high,
And speak thine endless praise.