JOHN WILSON. [1785-1854.] THE EVENING CLOUD. A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow: Long had I watched the glory moving on O'er the still radiance of the lake below. Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow! Even in its very motion there was rest; While every breath of eve that chanced to blow Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul, To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given; And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onwards to the golden gates of heaven, Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies. The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell, The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well, The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well, The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it, As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt Though filled with the nectar that And now, far removed from the loved The tears of regret will intrusively swell, AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER. THE rain is o'er. How dense and bright The moss-covered bucket, which hung in In grateful silence earth receives the well. That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure; The general blessing; fresh and fair, Each flower expands its little leaves, As glad the common joy to share. For often at noon, when returned from The softened sunbeams pour around the field, A fairy light, uncertain, pale; The wind flows cool; the scented ground Then turn to bathe and revel there. The sun breaks forth; from off the scene With trembling drops of light is hung. Hear the rich music of that voice, Which sounds from all below, above; She calls her children to rejoice, And round them throws her arms oflove. Drink in her influence; low-born care, And all the train of mean desire, Refuse to breathe this holy air, And mid this living light expire. CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY. [1787-1854-] MARINER'S HYMN. LAUNCH thy bark, mariner! Look to the weather-bow, Breakers are round thee; "What of the night, watchman? No land yet all 's right." Be wakeful, be vigilant, - At an hour when all seemeth How! gains the leak so fast? -thou mayst destroy this form, And lay it low at rest; But still the spirit that now brooks I said to Penury's meagre train, Yet still the spirit that endures Shall mock your force the while, And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours With bitter smile. WILLIAM KNOX. I said to Friendship's menaced blow, Strike deep,-my heart shall bear; Thou canst but add one bitter woe To those already there; Yet still the spirit that sustains This last severe distress Shall smile upon its keenest pains, I said to Death's uplifted dart, 149 And the memory of those who have loved her and praised, Are alike from the minds of the living erased. The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne, The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn, The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, For we are the same things our fathers have been; We see the same sights that our fathers have seen, The child that a mother attended and We drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun, loved, The mother that infant's affection who And run the same course that our fathers have run. thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think; From the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink; To the life we are clinging to, they too would cling; But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing. Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through! A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Embossed, and filled with water, as pure As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch In a fine golden hand-basin made to match. And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap Of the best white diaper fringed with pink, And a cardinal's hat marked in perma nent ink. The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Of these nice little boys dressed all in white; From his finger he draws |