T seems as if it were Nature's ain Sabbath, and the verra waters were at rest. down upon the vale profound, and the stream is without motion! No doubt, if you were walking along the bank, it would be murmuring with your feet. But here-here up amang the hills, we can imagine it asleep, even like the well within reach of my staff.
THE SEA IN CALM AND STORM.
ARIOUS and vast, sublime in all its forms, When lulled by zephyrs, or when roused by
Its colors changing, when from clouds and sun Shades after shades upon the surface run; Embrowned and horrid now, and now serene In limpid blue and evanescent green;
And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie,
Lift the fair sail, and cheat the experienced eye! Be it the summer noon; a sandy space
The ebbing tide has left upon its place; Then just the hot and stony beach above, Light, twinkling streams in bright confusion move; (For, heated thus, the warmer air ascends, And with the cooler in its fall contends). Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps An equal motion; swelling as it sleeps, Then slowly sinking; curling to the strand, Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand,
-The petrel, in the troubled way,
Swims with her brood, or flutters in the spray."
All where the eye delights, yet dreads, to roam The breaking billows cast the flying foam Upon the billows rising-all the deep
Is restless change-the waves, so swelled and steep, Breaking and sinking and the sunken swells, Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells: But nearer land you may the billows trace, As if contending in their watery chase; May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach, Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch; Curled as they come, they strike with furious force, And then, reflowing, take their grating course,
Far as the eye can glance on either side, In a broad space and level line they glide; All in their wedge-like figures from the north, Day after day, flight after flight, go forth.
Inshore their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge, And drop for prey within the sweeping surge; Oft in the rough, opposing blast they fly Far back, then turn, and all their force apply, While to the storm they give their weak, complain- ing cry;
Or clap the sleek white pinion to the breast, And in the restless ocean dip for rest.
THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BURN.
HE midges dance aboon the burn;
The dews begin to fa`;
The pairtricks down the rushy holm Set up their e'ening ca'.
Now loud and clear the blackbirds sang Rings through the briery shaw, While, flitting gay, the swallows play Around the castle wa'.
Beneath the golden gloamin' sky
The mavis mends her lay;
The redbreast pours his sweetest strains To charm the lingering day;
While weary yeldrins seem to wail Their little nestlings torn, The merry wren, frae den to den,
Gaes jinking through the thorn.
The roses fauld their silken leaves, The fox-glove shuts its bell; The honeysuckle and the birk
Spread fragrance through the dell. Let others crowd the giddy court Of mirth and revelry,
The simple joys that Nature yields Are dearer far to me.
ROBERT TANNAHILL.
MAKER of sweet poets! dear delight Of this fair world and all its gentle livers; Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers, Mingler with leaves, and dew, and tumbling streams;
Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams; Lover of loneliness and wandering, Of upcast eye and tender pondering! - Thee must I praise above all other glories That smile on us to tell delightful stories; For what has made the sage or poet write, But the fair paradise of Nature's light? In the calm grandeur of a sober line We see the waving of the mountain pine;
And when a tale is beautifully staid, We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade; When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings; Fair dewy roses brush against our faces, And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases; O'erhead we see the jasmine and sweet-brier, And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire; While at our feet the voice of crystal bubbles Charms us at once away from all our troubles; So that we feel uplifted from the world,
Walking upon the white clouds wreathed and curled.
'ER all the land, a vision rare and splendid- (What time the summer her last glory yields!) I saw the reapers, by tall wains attended, Wave their keen scythes across the ripened fields;
At each broad sweep the glittering grain-stalks parted, With all their sunniest lustres earthward bowed, But still those tireless blade-curves flashed and darted Like silvery lightnings from a golden cloud.
Then burst from countless throats in choral thunder. A strain that rose toward the sapphire dome; Hushed in his lay, the mock-bird heard with wonder The resonant gladness of their "Harvest Home," And Echo to far fells and forest fountains
Bore the brave burden that was half divine, While the proud crested eagle of the mountains Sent back an answer from his eyried pine.
And still, the tireless steel gleamed in and over The bearded cohorts of the rye and wheat, Till in long swathes, o'ertopped by perfumed clover,
They slept supinely at the laborer's feet; And still that harvest song rolled cn, till even Looked wanly forth from night's encircling bars, — When, like a pearl of music, lost in Heaven Its sweetness melted in a sea of stars.
O favored land! thy bursting barns are laden With such fair offspring of thine opulent sod, At length thou art a rich Arcadian Adenne, Lapped in the bounteous benison of God. Pomona vies with Ceres; but less sober,
Trips down her orchard ways at gleeful ease,
And in the luminous sunsets of October,
Shakes the flushed fruitage from her rustling trees.
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