Welcomes her as a friend;-the heavenly train From pole to pole; while a full chorused strain Brightly she moves on in her loveliness! The fair-haired regent of the sky!-Her smiles Soothe the stern horrors of the scene, and bless Nature's calm slumber; o'er yon splintered piles Of beetling crags, how sweetly she beguiles Gloom of its frown; and, see! the glittering rill Heaves conscious of her presence, and reviles, With murmuring voice, yon proudly frowning hill, That scorns meek Dian's gaze, and mocks her gentle will. A sound rolls by of horror !-On the wind Of Heaven displays around its harrowing form!— Heard ye his chariot-wheels sweep echoing through the sky? He speaks! scared nature trembles at the sound; Earth, air, sky, ocean, dictate a reply; The mountain-rock tolls out the voice profound, And woodland echo multiplies the cry :— Clashed with the night owl's scream, along the sky The night-breeze sails athwart the sky-the thunder The dæmon's call, and rudely rends asunder His deathless might, and wrathfully careers And now he sinks in softness, and anon She walks in beauty forth, with all her starry train. Chester Chronicle. SONNET, W. F. D. COMPOSED ON THE SEA COAST. BY S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ. O! IT is pleasant, with a heart at ease, Own each strange likeness issuing from the mould And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold "Twixt crimson banks, and then a traveller go From mount to mount o'er CLOUDLAND,—gorgeous land! Or listening to the tide with closed sight, Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand, By those deep sounds possessed with inward light, Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea! Blackwood's Magazine. A COUNTRY WEDDING. OH! there is music in the bells, And wakes the deepest chords of feeling! It is not that this twilight hour Blends softly with their melting one; Theirs' is a deeper, holier power, Whose echo's in the heart alone. There's music in that merry voice- It is not that those sounds proclaim Some boastful conqueror's vain parade ; They swell not now the pomp of fame, They hail no gorgeous cavalcade. But oh! they bear a mightier charm There's an o'erflowing tide of gladness, Who recks amid a life like this, Of future grief, or toil, or pain? To-morrow shall dissolve the bliss, And care and reason wake again. And may it be that yonder chime, Which spoke to-day of hearts delighted, That death those hearts has disunited? It may be but away, away! Forebodings dark, and dreams of sorrow; And reason's voice be heard to-morrow. I would not, with most sage advice, Etonian. SONNET, TO AILSA ROCK. BY JOHN KEATS. HEARKEN, thou craggy ocean pyramid ! Give answer from thy voice, the sea fowls' screams, Thou answerest not, for thou art dead asleep; Thy life is but two dread eternities; The last in air, the former in the deep,— First with the whales, last with the eagle skies ; Drowned wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep,Another cannot bow thy giant size. TO A GIRL THIRTEEN YEARS OF AGE. THY smiles, thy talk, thy aimless plays, So beautiful approve thee, So winning, light, are all thy ways, I cannot choose but love thee: Thy balmy breath upon my brow As o'er my cheek thou leanest now Thy steps are dancing toward the bound More precious to the heart; But never can'st thou be again, That lovely thing thou art! And youth shall pass, with all the brood Of fancy-fed affection; And care shall come with womanhood, And 'waken cold reflection; Thou❜lt learn to toil, and watch, and weep, O'er pleasures unreturning, Like one who wakes from pleasant sleep Unto the cares of morning. Nay, say not so! nor cloud the sun Of joyous expectation, Ordained to bless the little one, The freshling of creation! Nor doubt that HE, who now doth feed Her early lamp with gladness, Will be her present help in need, Her comforter in sadness. |