On! 'tis lovely to watch ye at twilight rise,
When the evening shadows have left the skies,
Or the sun has gone down like a king to rest,
In the palace-halls of the golden west;
Or the first pale star in the western sky,
Calls ye forth to the midnight solemnity.
Earth hails your light in the loveliest hour,
When the dew like a spirit hangs over each flower,
When the glens lie hushed and the woods are still,
And the Naïad heareth the fountain's thrill,
And the low wind waileth her anthem-hymn
In the ear of the night's young cherubim.
And, oh! the bright visions ye see from heaven!
The earth's blue shade in the gloom of even,
The red sea's wave as it rolleth on,
In the gleam of the sunset's horizon;
And the beautiful hues of the rainbow air;
And the spirits, like ye, that are wandering there.
Yet oh! there are more,-from the sunset dells
Ye hearken the chime of sweet vesper bells,
And the shepherd's hymn and the mother's prayer,
Ye hear through the hush of the midnight air,
And the dove's soft note in the solemn woods,
And eve's low moan in the solitudes.
Yet have ye a spell and a solemn power,
To guard the earth at the midnight's hour;
To watch o'er the slumbering homes of men-
O'er the lamp that lighteth the student's pen-
O'er the peasant's roof and the monarch's throne-
Over all that beauty hath made your own.
Ye pass in your glory o'er land and sea;
Ye ride through the heavens triumphantly;
O'er the boundless hills of immortal space,
Ye speed in the joy of your chariot-race;
Yet the sunset's beam, and the moonlight's ray,
Are the paths which ye tread to the shores of day.
And, oh! do ye gaze on that shining land,
Where seraph and spirit for ever stand!
A white-robed choir round the golden throne,
With harp, and with hymn, and with orison,
Sounding for ever their anthem cry,
Through the hush of the midnight immensity!
-Ye are mystic and holy!-ye may not tell
Of that land where the spirits of Eden dwell;
Ye may not give to the winds of earth,
The seraph voices that hailed your birth;
Round the awful throne where ye bend and bless
The spirit that called ye to loveliness!
But, lo! the deep glory of night goes by,
And the moon wanes low in the western sky;
And the beautiful spirit, whose silver wings
Gave songs to the night from a thousand strings,
Has pealed o'er the waves of the dark deep sea
Your dirge through the heaven's infinity!
Yet again ye will come in the eve's dark hours
With dew, to refreshen the folding flowers:
With balm on your wings for the wounded breast,
And hope for the mourner that finds no rest;
And joy for the spirit that waits afar
For the heaven that shineth in one night star!
KNOW ye that magic coral cave,
Which neither seas nor rivers lave,
Yet in it water oft is found,
Although raised high above the ground,
Nor comes it from the earth or sky,
And scarce the summer's heat can dry!
Its arched roof of rosy hue,
Is almost hidden from the view;
The red soft floor of this dark cave,
Heaves like the gentle Arno's wave.
Within the entrance glistening stand,
Arrayed in white, a crescent band,
Guards also from the roof depend,
Aiding the portal to defend,
Form a portcullis when they meet,
Preventing entrance and retreat.
Security has still done more,
Placing without a folding door,
Which opening slow or quick, no eye
Its noiseless hinges can descry.
Within this double-guarded cell,
Lo, witchery and wonder dwell!
For when the portal's opened wide,
Thence flows of various sounds a tide;
Accents of sorrow, grief, and fear,
Of joy and gladness, strike the ear,
The swell of praise, the breath of prayer,
The dismal howling of despair,
The din of revelry and strife,
The moan which 'scapes with ebbing life,
The boistrous laugh, the piercing shriek,
The gurgling sob when heart strings break,
Each tone known to the human voice,
When men bewail, despair, rejoice,
Sound from the east, west, south, and north,
From that red cavern issue forth.
'Tis th' ante-chamber to a tomb,
On which shines neither sun nor moon,
Connected by a narrow strait,
It lies beneath the cavern's gate,
Within this tomb a monster lies,
Which through that pass receives supplies
Of food for his voracious maw,
Nor owns he any other law
Than appetite, and, if not fed,
To acts of mutiny is led.
By some he's worshipped as a god,
And rules them with an iron rod.
Homage the cave receives, e'en this,
Its vot❜ries greet it with a kiss.
PRONOUNCED as one letter, and written with three,
Two letters there are, and two only in me,
I am double, am single, am black, blue, and gray,
I am read from both ends, and the same either way
I am restless and wandering, steady and fixed,
And you know not one hour what I may be the next. I melt and I kindle, beseech and defy,
I am watery and moist, I am fiery and dry.
I am scornful and scowling, compassionate, meek,
I am light, I am dark, I am strong, I am weak.
I am sluggish and dead, I am lively and bright,
I am sharp, I am flat, I am left, I am right.
I am piercing and clear, I am heavy and dull,
Expressive and languid, contracted and full.
I am careless and vacant, I search, and I pry,
And judge, and decide, and examine, and try.
I'm a globe, and a mirror, a window, a door,
An index, an organ, and fifty things more.
I belong to all animals under the sun,
And to those which were long understood to have none.
By some I am said to exist in the mind,
And am found in potatoes, and needles, and wind.
Three jackets I own, of glass, water, and horn,
And I wore them all three on the day I was born.
I am covered quite snug, have a lid and a fringe,
Yet I move every way on invisible hinge.
A pupil I have, a most whimsical wight,
Who is little by day, and grows big in the night,
Whom I cherish with care as part of myself,
For in truth I depend on this delicate elf,
Who collects all my food, and with wonderful knack,
Throws it into a net which I keep at my back;
And, though heels over head it arrives, in a trice
It is sent up to table all proper and nice.
I am spoken of sometimes as if I were glass,
But then it is false, and the trick will not pass.
A blow makes me run though I have not a limb;
Though I neither have fins, nor a bladder, I swim.
Like many more couples, my partner and I,
At times will look cross at each and shy;
Yet still, though we differ in what we're about,
One will do all the work when the other is out.
I am least apt to cry, as they always remark,
When trimmed with good lashes, or kept in the dark.
Should I fret and be heated they put me to bed,
And leave me to cool upon water and bread.
But if hardened I grow they make use of the knife,
Lest an obstinate humour endanger my life.
Or you may, though the treatment appears to be rough,
Run a spit through my side, and with safety enough.
Like boys who are fond of the fruit and their play,
I am seen with my ball and my apple all day.
My belt is a rainbow, I reel and I dance
I am said to retire, though I never advance.
I am read by physicians as one of their books,
And am used by the ladies to fasten their hooks.
My language is plain, though it cannot be heard,
And I speak without ever pronouncing a word.
Some call me a diamond; some say I am jet;
Others talk of my water, or how I am set.
I'm a borough in England, in Scotland a stream,
And an isle of the sea in the Irishman's dream.
The earth without me would no loveliness wear,
And sun, moon, and stars, at my wish disappear;
Yet so frail is my tenure, so brittle my joy,
That a speck gives me pain, and a drop can destroy.
LADY FLORA gave cards for a party at tea,
To flowers, buds, and blossoms, of every degree;
So from town and from country they thronged at the call,
And strove by their charms to embellish the hall.
First came the exotics with ornaments rare,
The tall Miss Corchorus, and Cyclamen fair,
Auricula splendid, with jewels new set,
And gay Polyanthus, the pretty coquette.
The tulips came flaunting in gaudy array,
With the Hyacinths, bright as the eye of the day;
Dandy Coxcombs and Daffodils, rich and polite,
With their dazzling new vests, and their corsets laced tight;
While the Soldiers in green cavalierly attired,
Were all by the ladies extremely admired.
But prudish Miss Lily, with bosom of snow,
Declared that "those gentlemen stared at her so,
It was horridly rude,❞—so retired in a fright,
And scarce stayed to bid Lady Flora good night.
There were Myrtles and Roses from garden and plain,
And Venus's Fly-trap they brought in their train,
So the beaux thronged around them they scarcely knew why,
At the smile of the lip, or the glance of the eye.
Madam Damask complained of her household and care,
That she seldom went out, save to breathe the fresh air,
There were so many young ones and servants to stray,
And the thorns grew so fast, if her eye was away.
"Neighbour Moss-Rose," said she, "you who live like a queen,
And ne'er wet your fingers, don't know what I mean."
So the notable lady went on with her lay,
Till her auditors yawned, or stole softly away.
The sweet Misses Woodbine from country and town,
With their brother-in-law, the wild Trumpet, came down,
And Lupine, whose azure eye sparkled with dew,
On Amaranth leaned, the unchanging and true;
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