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Happiness is of the heart, and it is the mind that gives its tone and coloring to Nature.
There is a spell in every flower
A sweetness in each spray,
To please me with its lay!
And there is music on each breeze
That sports along the glade!
Are gems, by Fancy made :
There's gladness too in everything,
And beauty over all,
A charm which cannot pall!
And I!-my heart is full of joy,
And gratitude is there,
Has yet vouchsafed to spare.
The friends I once condemned, are now
Affectionate and true :
But he proves faithful too.
And now there is a happiness
In everything I see,
The God who blesses me.
MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON.
(Written at West Point.)
I'm not romantic, but, upon my word,
There are some moments when one can't help feeling As if his heart's chords were so strongly stirred
By things around him, that 'tis vain concealing
And even here, upon this settee lying,
With many a sleepy traveller near me snoozing, Thoughts warm and wild are through my bosom flying,
Like founts when first into the sunshine oozing: For who can look on mountain, sky, and river, Like these, and then be cold and calm as ever?
Bright Dian, who, Camilla like, dost skim yon
Azure fields - Thou who, once earthward bending, Didst loose thy virgin zone to young Endymion
On dewy Latmos to his arms descendingThou whom the world of old on every shore Type of thy sex, Triformis, did adore :
Tell me - where'er thy silver barque be steering,
By bright Italian or soft Persian lands,
Whcse pearl-charged waves dissolve on coral strands-
Doth Achelous or Araxes flowing
Twin-born from Pindus, but ne'er meeting brothersDoth Tagus o'er his golden pavement glowing,
Or cradle-freighted Ganges, the reproach of mothers, The storied Rhine, or far-famed Guadalquiver, Match they in beauty my own glorious river ?
What though no turret gray nor ivied column
Along these cliffs their sombre ruins rear?
Of despots tell and superstition here -
Its sinking arches once gave back as proud
An echo to the war-blown clarion's peal,
As ever beat beneath a vest of steel
ON THE HUDSON.
For here amid these woods did He keep court,
Before whose mighty soul the common crowd Of heroes, who alone for fame have fought, Are like the Patriarch's sheaves to Heaven's chosen
bowed He who his country's eagle taught to soar, And fired those stars which shine o'er every shore.
And sights and sounds at which the world have wondered,
Within these wild ravines have had their birth; Young Freedom's cannon from these glens have thundered,
And sent their startling echoes o'er the earth ; And not a verdant glade nor mountain hoary But treasures up within the glorious story.
And yet not rich in high-souled memories only,
Is every moon-touched headland round me gleaming, Each cavernous glen and leafy valley lonely,
And silver torrent o'er the bald rock streaming : But such soft fancies here may breathe around, As make Vaucluse and Clarens hallowed ground.
Where, tell me where, pale watcher of the night
Thou that to love so oft hast lent its soul,
Or fiery Romeo to his Juliet stole-