From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,

Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,

The mountains its columns be.

The triumphal arch through which I march,
With hurricane, fire, and snow,

When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow;

The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,
While the moist earth was laughing below.

I am the daughter of earth and water,
And the nursling of the sky:

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.

For after the rain, when with never a stain,

The pavilion of heaven is bare,

And the winds and the sunbeams, with their convex gleams,

Build up the blue dome of air,

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain,

Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,

I arise and unbuild it again.

SHELLEY.

166. LIFE'S BUBBLES.

HE who has not learned to know
How false life's sparkling bubbles show,
How bitter are the drops of woe
That from its brim may overflow-
He has not learned to live.

LONGFELLOW.

BOYEOOD.

183

167. BOYHOOD.

Aн, then how sweetly closed those crowded days!
The minutes parting one by one like rays
That fade upon a summer's eve.

But oh! what charm or magic numbers
Can give me back the gentle slumbers
Those weary, happy days did leave?
When by my bed I saw my mother kneel,
And with her blessing took her nightly kiss;
Whatever Time destroys, he cannot this-
F'en now that nameless kiss I feel.

ALLSTON.

168. A WISH.

MINE be a cot beside the hill;

A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.
The swallow oft beneath my thatch
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivy'd porch shall spring

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy at her wheel shall sing

In russet gown and apron blue.

The village church among the trees,
Where first our marriage-vows were given,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point with taper spire to Heaven.

ROWERS.

184

THE ANGEL STRIFE.

169. THE ANGEL STRIFE.

WITHIN her downy cradle there lay a little child,
And a group of hovering angels unseen upon her smiled;
A strife arose among them-a lovely, holy strife-

Which should shed the richest blessing over the new-born life.

One breathed upon her features, and the babe in beauty grew,
With a cheek like morning's blushes and an eye of azure hue;
Till every one who saw her was thankful for the sight
Of a face so sweet and radiant with ever fresh delight.

Another gave her accents, and a voice as musical

As a spring-bird's joyous carol, or a rippling streamlet's fall; Till all who heard her laughing, or her words of childish grace, Loved as much to listen to her as to look upon her face.

Another brought from heaven a clear and gentle mind,
And within the lovely casket the precious gem enshrined;
Till all who knew her wondered that God should be so good
As to bless with such a spirit our desert world and rude.

Thus did she grow in beauty, in melody, and truth,
The budding of her childhood just opening into youth;
And to our hearts grew dearer every moment than before,
Though we fondly thought our hearts could never love her more.

Then out spake another angel, nobler, brighter than the rest, As with strong arm, but tender, he caught her to his breast: "Ye have made her all too lovely for a child of mortal race, But no shade of human sorrow shall darken o'er her face.

“Lulled in my faithful bosom, I will bear her far away, Where there is no sin, nor anguish, nor sorrow,,nor decay; And mine a boon more glorious than all your gifts shall beLo! I crown her happy spirit with immortality!"

Then on his heart our darling yielded up her gentle breath,
For the stronger, brighter angel, who loved her best, was DEATH!
DR. BETHUNE.

THE FISHER'S COTTAGE.

185

170. THE FISHER'S COTTAGE.

WE sat by the fisher's cottage,
And looked at the stormy tide;
The evening mist came rising,
And floating far and wide.

One by one in the light-house
The lamps shone out on high;
And far on the dim horizon
A ship went sailing by.

We spoke of storm and shipwreck-
Of sailors, and how they live;
Of journeys 'twixt sky and water,
And the sorrows and joys they give.

We spoke of distant countries,
In regions strange and fair;
And of the wondrous beings
And curious customs there.

Of perfumed lamps on the Ganges,
Which are launched in the twilight hour;
And the dark and silent Brahmins
Who worship the lotus flower.

Of the wretched dwarfs of Lapland,
Broad-headed, wide-mouthed, and small-
Who crouch round their oil-fires, cooking,
And chatter, and scream, and bawl.

186

THE FISHER'S COTTAGE.

And the maidens earnestly listened,
Till at last we spoke no more;
The ship like a shadow had vanished,
And darkness fell deep on the shore.

From the German of Heine.

LELAND.

171. THE NIGHT-PIECE. TO JULIA.

HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The sooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow

Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o'-the-Wisp mislight thee,
No snake or slow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way,

Not making a stay,

Since ghost there's none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber;

What though the moon do slumber?

The stars of the night

Will lend thee their light,

Like tapers clear without number.

Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet

Thy silv'ry feet

My soul I'll

pour into thee.

HERRICK.