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Each sun, with the worlds that round him roll,
Each planet, poised on her turning pole ;
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,
And her waters that lie like fluid light.

SONG OF THE STARS.

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For the source of glory uncovers his face,
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space ;
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides,
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides :
Lo, yonder the living splendours play ;
Away on our joyous path away!

Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar,
In the infinite azure, star after star,
How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass !
How the verdure runs o’er each rolling mass !
And the path of the gentle winds is seen,
When the small waves dance, and the young woods lean.

And see where the brighter day-beams pour,
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower !
And the morn and the eve, with their pomp of hues
Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews !
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground,
With her shadowy cone, the night goes round.

Away, away in our blossoming bowers,
In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours, ,
In the seas and fountains that shine with morn,
See love is brooding, and life is born,
And breathing myriads are breaking from night,
To rejoice, like us, in motion and light.

Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres !
To weave the dance that measures the

years.

22

FROM THE IRISH MELODIES."

Glide on in the glory and gladness sent
To the farthest wall of the firmament,
The boundless visible smile of Him,
To the veil of whose brow our lamps are dim.

BRYANT.

From the “ Irish Melodies.”

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ET Erin remember the days of old,
Ere her faithless sons betrayed her ;
When Malachi wore the collar of gold

Which he won from her proud invader;
When her kings, with standard of green unfurl'd,
Led the Red-branch knights to danger-
Ere the emerald gem of the western world
Was set in the crown of a stranger.

On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays,
When the clear, cold eve's declining,

[Tuomas MOORE, the national poet of Ireland, was born in Dublin, in 1779. His poetical activity extended over a period of fifty years—from 1792, when he was contributor to a Dublin magazine, to 1842, when he revised a collected edition of his poems. His “Lalla Rookh" has been translated, not only into almost every European language, but actually into Persian. Moore lived till 1852, in the enjoyment of a liberal pension.)

FROM THE IRISH MELODIES.

23

He sees the round towers of other days
In the wave beneath him shining.

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Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime,
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;
Thus, sighing, look through the waves of Time
For the long-faded glories they cover.

MOORE.

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“ Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be ?”

“How many ? Seven in all,” she said, And wondering looked at me.

“And where are they? I pray you tell.”

She answered, “Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea.

[William Wordsworth was born at Cockermouth, in Cumberland, in 1770, and died at Rydal Mount, in the Lake district, on the 23rd of April, 1850, in the Soth year of his age. His long and blameless life was passed chiefly among the glorious scenes of Nature he described so well ; for in the exquisite appreciation of natural beauty lies the chief charm of his poetry. His sonnets deserve to be far better known than they are as yet; and the steadily-increasing popularity of his works generally may be taken as an acknowledgment of their worth. Wordsworth succeeded Southey as poet laureate.]

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