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Our joint communion breaking with the Sun:

Yet still from either beach

The voice of blood shall reach,
More audible than speech,

"We are One."

*

Note by the Author. — This alludes merely to the moral union of the two countries. The author would not have it supposed that the tribute of respect, offered in these stanzas to the land of his ancestors, would be paid by him, if at the expense of the independence of that which gave him birth.

WRITTEN IN SPRING.*

THIS gentle breath which eddies round my cheek,—
This respiration of the waking spring,-
How eloquently sweet it seems to speak
Of hope and joy to every living thing!
To every? No, it speaks not thus to all

Alike of hope; where misery gnaws the heart,

Her gentle breathings on the senses fall

Like hateful thoughts that make the memory start. The soul grows selfish where enjoyment flies, And, loathing, curses what it cannot taste; This glorious sun, and yon blue, blessed skies, And this green earth, but tell him of the past; The frightful past, that other name for death, That, when recalled, like mocking spectres come,In forms of life, without the living breath,

Like things that speak, yet organless and dumb!

For all that seems in this fair world to live,
To live to man, must catch the quickening ray

First printed in 1821, in "The Idle Man," No. I, p. 54.

From man's free soul; and they but freely give

Back unto him the life he

gave; for they

Are dead to him who lives not unto them.
But unto him, whose happy soul reposes
In love's sweet dream, how exquisite a gem

Seems every dewdrop on these budding roses!
The humblest plant that sprouts beneath his feet,
The ragged brier, nay, e'en the common grass,
Within that soul a kindred image meet,

As if reflected from an answering glass.
And how they seem by sympathy to lend
Their youthful freshness to each rising thought,
As if the mind had just begun to send

Her faculties abroad, uncurbed, untaught,
From all in nature beautiful and fair

To build her splendid fabrics, while the heart, Itself deluding, seems by magic rare

To give a substance to each airy part. Sweet age of first impressions! free and light! When all the senses, like triumphal ports, Did let into the soul, by day, by night,

The gorgeous pageants pouring from the courts Of Nature's vast dominions! substance then

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To the heart's faith; but, now that youth's bright dawn No longer shines, they flit like shadowy men

--

That walk on ceilings; for the light is gone! Yet no, not gone; for unto him that loves, The heart is youthful and the faith is strong; And be it love, or be it youth, that moves

The soul to joy, that light will live as long. And, O, how blest this kind reacting law,

That the young heart, with Nature's beauties glowing,

Should need, in all it felt, in all it saw,

Another heart to share its overflowing; While he that feels the pure expansive power Of joyous love, must pour his feelings forth On every tree, and herb, and fragrant flower, And all that grows upon the beauteous earth.

THE ANGEL AND THE NIGHTINGALE.

"To him that hath shall be given."

PART I.

IN days long past, within a lonely wood, Far from the sound of levelling axe, there stood A stately Oak, that seemed itself a grove; And near it grew, entwining shade with shade, A slender Ash, that with his branches played, Though oft at noon, all-motionless with love, 'T would lean upon his breast, as 't were a gentle maid.

And swift beneath a little brook there ran,
Like some wild creature from the face of man,
So swiftly did it run with smothered voice;
Nor ever was it heard, save only where
Some thwarting pebble sent upon the air
Its tiny moan; or when 't was wont rejoice

For wandering root o'erleaped, that checked its scared

career.

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