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Brighter than rose-hues of the morn, or red
Pyrus, that garlands Beauty's flower-bed!

Through orbits of interminable light

They look-how piercing is their visual might ! Discerning germs, with which all worlds are rife, Ere they expanding blossom into life!


Or love, the flower that closes up for fear,

When rude and selfish spirits breathe too near.-KEBLE.


THE cares of life hang heavy on our hearts—
All that was born of spirit is extinct
Within us! Soon the world its lore imparts,
With good, as far as sense unites it, link'd
To minds with heaven-sown virtue once instinct.
Each in his generation wise, pursues

Gain, or a good as palpable, distinct.

Few, like the maid beloved of Heaven, will choose

The better part-what win they for the prize they lose?


A stream spontaneous flowing from the heart

Of love divine, an ardent zeal for truth,

Wanting no aid from oratory's art

These these pervade not now, as once, our youth

All for effect now speak and write, in sooth. To idols of the theatre we bow:

Even our compassion is but show of ruth ; We seem with an indignant zeal to glow

In halls that ring with slavery's wrongs, but shun the house of woe.


The meeting's frequent shout is as the clash
Of cymbals, waking in vain man delight,
Whose charity is but a transient flash

Of feeling; how unlike the purer light

That lives self-fed within the heart, by night By day in shade or sunshine burning strong! Effluence of seraph fair, Charissa hight— Supreme the brightest sanctities among!

Can her fine spirit visit those who court the ignoble throng?


HAST thou the high-spiced bowl of pleasure drained,
And since thy spirits fail thee now, art pained?
Go and erect thy cottage near a cliff

That overlooks the sea, there build thy skiff;
And as the waves o'er waves precursive ride,
Bold, as war-horses charging in their pride,
Sail o'er their foaming crests, or ply the oar;
Regain thy health,-"repent and sin no more.
Or on the downs, the life of life inhale,

Where scents of wild thyme freshen through the gale;
Where the gay gorse a golden mass abounds,
Glittering and sharp as wit that, handled, wounds.
The expanse of plains, the boundlessness of seas,
Heal with their charm sublime the mind's disease:
Pure elements, and free, create a sense

Of primitive joy that quells e'en grief intense,
And to the heart restore, whate'er the loss
By friction with the world, its vernal gloss.
Who can the fathomless ocean view, and feel
For petty interests of this world a zeal?

How beautiful the ocean's argentry,
Reflecting the mild splendours of the sky!
Thus woman's eyes reflect her partner's joy :
These sweet analogies our thoughts employ
As the primeval works of Heaven we view,
Each object touched with harmonising hue!
A calm has circumfused the silvery deep,
Serene as beauty's smile or infant's sleep:
The very rocks look gentleness; the air

Is hush'd, as charm'd by a young spirit's prayer!
All is a stirless solitude, and now

Is Nature's aspect clear as Jesus' brow.

Call it not solitude!—the Almighty Power

Is as a visible presence in this hour.

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