The holy quiet of my native vale

Comes o'er me with an influence sweet and calm; The gentle, harvest-scented evening gale

Spreads all around a spirit-soothing balm.

Bright amber clouds, high o'er the distant hills,
Sail peacefully along the western sky;

And music from the neighbouring moorland rills,
In silvery strains, by zephyrs borne, floats by.

The golden day-streaks gently fade away;
The shades and dews of eve as gently fall;
The harvest moon sheds down her mellow ray
Upon the scene, and throws a charm o'er all.

Oh! 'tis a season and a scene so sweet

'Tis such a glimpse and taste of Eden's bliss! That in this silent, wood-embowered, retreat, I'd rest-environed round with happiness.

I love to bend my weary footsteps here,

For here the world's rude clamour reaches not;

But Meditation checks each rising tear,

And all life's bitter sorrows are forgot.

Here would I rest; but, ah! it may not be.

Still must I sail along the tide of life; Must steer my feeble bark o'er that dark sea, Amid its battling elements of strife.

Well, be it so; still will I not repine.

Why should I seek exemption from life's ill?
With trust in God-in hope of help divine,
I'll brave it in obedience to his will.

Yet, 'tis relief to snatch but one short hour
From busy life, and taste the bliss sublime

In scenes like this, which Nature's fountains pour

Into the soul, Heaven's draughts-before the time!

CELANDINE LEAVES.

Therefore am I still

A lover of the meadows and the woods,

And mountains, and of all that we behold,

From this green earth.

WORDSWORTH.

Never more!

Saddening words! ye cast a shadow Round our pathway full of gloom, Which, if lengthened out, would wither All the flowers that there may bloom;

But affection's sun still gleameth,

And exhales their sweet perfume.

Sun, shine on!

Oh! say not

Never more my feet shall wander,
Through that dear romantic vale,

Where those sunny streams meander,

Round the mountain primrose pale.
Say not that our hearts are severed,-

Friendship's holy feelings fail!
Say not so.

Ever more

Nature blooms! that pastoral landscape, Which we viewed, is still the same;

Poesy's shrine, at which we lingered, With beauties deck'd that want a name,

Still invites our pilgrim footsteps,

And our heart's devoted flame,—

Ever more.

Ever more,

Ope but once the glorious portal,
Then appeareth light divine,

If but once the Dove immortal

With his wings the heart enshrine, Then our skies, though often darkened, Smile with roseate beams benign,—

Blessed thought! for ever more.

STANZAS.

ONWARD, upward, soul! and never
Yield thyself to dark despair:

Be thy motto "Hope, endeavour,"
Joined with earnest, heartfelt prayer.

Believe in universal goodness,

Beauteous as the starry sky;

And though, alas! as far remote,
Yet be thy every aim as high.