1. Lo! the unletter'd hind, who never knew
To raise his mind excursive, to the heights
Of abstract contemplation, as he sits
On the green hillock by the hedge-row side,
What time the insect swarms are murmuring,
And marks, in silent thought, the broken clouds,
That fringe, with loveliest hues, the evening sky,
Feels in his soul the hand of nature rouse
The thrill of gratitude, to him who formed
The goodly prospect: he beholds the God
Thron'd in the west; and his reposing ear
Hears sounds angelic in the fitful breeze
That floats through neighboring copse or fairy brake,
Or lingers, playful, on the haunted stream.
2. Go with the cotter to his winter fire,
When o'er the moor the loud blast whistles shrill,
And the hoarse ban-dog bays the icy moon;
Mark with what awe he lists the wild uproar,
Silent, and big with thought; and hear him bless
The God that rides on the tempestuous clouds,
For his snug hearth, and all his little joys.
3. Hear him compare his happier lot, with his
Who bends his way across the wintry wolds,
A poor night-traveler, while the dismal snow
Beats in his face, and dubious of his paths,
He stops, and thinks, in every lengthening blast,
He hears some village mastiff's distant howl,
And sees far streaming some lone cottage light;
Then, undeceived, upturns his streaming eyes,
And clasps his shivering hands, or overpower'd,
Sinks on the frozen ground, weighed down with sleep
From which the hapless wretch shall never wake.
4. Thus the poor rustic warms his heart with praise And glowing gratitude: he turns to bless With honest warmth, his Maker and his God. And shall it e'er be said, that a poor hind, Nurs'd in the lap of ignorance, and bred In want and labor, glows with noble zeal To laud his Maker's attributes, while he Whom starry silence in her cradle rocked,
And Castalay enchastened with its dews,
Closes his eye upon the holy word,
And, blind to all but arrogance and pride,
Dares to declare his infidelity,
And openly contemn the Lord of Hosts!
5. What is the pomp of learning? the parade
Of letters and of tongues? Even as the mists
Of the gray morn before the rising sun,
That pass away and perish. Earthly things
Are but the transient pageants of an hour;
And earthly pride is like the passing flower,
That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die.
1. THE evening was glorious, and light through the trees, Play'd in sunshine the rain-drops, the birds, and the breeze : The landscape outstretching in loveliness lay,
On the lap of the year, in the beauty of May.
For the bright queen of spring, as she pass'd down the vale
Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale;
And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours,
And fresh in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers.
The skies, like a banner in sunset unroll'd,
O'er the west threw their splendor of azure and gold;
But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increas'd,
Till its margin of black touch'd the zenith and east.
2. We gaz'd on these scenes, while around us they glow'd, When a vision of beauty appeared on the cloud;
'Twas not like the sun, as at mid-day we view,
Nor the moon, that rolls lightly through star-light and blue,
Like a spirit it came in the van of the storm,
And the eye and the heart hail'd its beautiful form;
For it look'd not severe, like an angel of wrath,
But its garments of brightness illum'd its dark path.
In the hues of its grandeur sublimely it stood,
O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood;
And river, field, village, and woodland grew bright,
As conscious they gave and afforded delight.
3. 'Twas the bow of Omnipotence, bent in his hand, Whose grasp at creation the universe spann'd; 'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime, His vow from the flood to the exile of time;Not dreadful, as when in a whirlwind he pleads, When storms are his chariot, and lightning his steeds,The black cloud of vengeance his banner unfurl'd, And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world,— In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire, And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire,
And the sword and the plague-spot with death strew the plain, And vultures and wolves are the graves of the slain :
4. Not such was that rainbow, that beautiful one! Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone-the sun; A pavilion it seem'd with a deity graced,
And justice and mercy met there and embraced.
Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom,
Like love o'er a death-couch, or hope o'er the tomb;
Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired,
As love has just vanished, or hope had expired.
5 I gazed not alone on that source of my song;
To all who beheld it these verses belong;
Its presence to all was the path of the Lord!
Each full heart expanded, grew warm and adored.
Like a visit the converse of friends-or a day,
That bow from my sight pass'd forever away;
Like that visit, that converse, that day, to my heart,
That bow from remembrance can never depart.
"Tis a picture in mem'ry, distinctly defined,
With the strong and imperishing colors of mind:-
A part of my being beyond my control,
Beheld on that cloud, and transcribed on my soul.
The last Days of Autumn.
1. Now the growing year is over,
And the shepherd's tinkling bell,
Faintly from its winter cover,
Rings a low farewell:
Now the birds of Autumn shiver
Where the withered beach-leaves quiver,
O'er the dark and lazy river,
2. Now the mist is on the mountains,
Redd'ning in the rising sun;
Now the flowers around the fountains
Perish one by one:
Not a spire of grass is growing;
But the leaves that late were glowing,
Now its blighted green are strowing
With a mantle dun.
3. Now the torrent brook is stealing
Faintly down the furrowed glade-
Not as when in winter pealing,
Such a din it made,
That the sound of cataracts falling
Gave no echo so appalling,
As its hoarse and heavy brawling
In the pine's black shade.
4. Darkly blue the mist is hovering
Round the clifted rock's bare height,
All the bordering mountains covering
With a dim uncertain light:
Now, a fresher wind prevailing,
Wide its heavy burden sailing,
Deepens as the day is failing,
Fast the gloom of night.
5. Slow the blood-stained moon is rising
Through the still and hazy air,
Lik a sheeted spectre gliding
In a torch's glare:
Few the hours her light is given—
Mingling clouds of tempest driven
O'er the mourning face of heaven,
All is blackness there."
SECTION III.
An Evening sketch.
'Tis twilight now.
The sovereign sun behind his western hills
In glory hath declined. The mighty clouds,
Kissed by his warm effulgence, hang around
In all their congregated hues of pride,
Like pillars of some tabernacle grand,
Worthy his glowing presence; while the sky,
Illumin'd to its center, glows intense,
Changing his sapphire majesty to gold.
2. How deep is the tranquillity! the trees Are slumbering through their multitude of boughs, Even to the leaflet on the frailest twig!
A twilight gloom pervades the distant hills;
An azure softness mingling with the sky.
Then drags the fishman to the yellow shore
His laden nets; and, in the sheltering cove,
Behind yon rocky point, his shallop moors,
To tempt again the perilous deep at dawn.
3. The sea is waveless, as a lake ingulf'd
'Mid sheltering hills,-without a ripple spreads
Its bosom, silent and immense,-the hues
Of flickering day have from its surface died,
Leaving it garb'd in sunless majesty.
With bosoming branches round, yon village hangs It rows of lofty elm trees; silently,
Towering in spiral wreaths to the soft sky,
The smoke from many a cheerful hearth ascends, Melting in ether.
As I gaze, behold
The evening star illumines the blue south,
Twinkling in loveliness. O! holy star,
Thou bright dispenser of the twilight dews,
Thou herald of Night's glowing galaxy,
And harbinger of social bliss!-how oft,
Amid the twilights of departed years,
Resting beside the river's mirror clear,
On trunk of massy oak, with eyes upturn'd
To thee in admiration, have I sat,
Dreaming sweet dreams till earth-born turbulence
Was all forgot; and thinking that in thee,
Far from the rudeness of this jarring world,
There might be realms of quiet happiness!
SECTION IV.
Niagara Falls.
1 TREMENDOUS torrent! for an instant hush
The terrors of thy voice, and cast aside
Those wide-involving shadows, that my eyes
May see the fearful beauty of thy face-
I am not all unworthy of thy sight;
For, from my very boyhood, bave I loved-
Shunning the meaner track of common minds-
To look on nature in her loftier moods.
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