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THE MORNING LIGHT.

But I'd choose of all my jewels, Love, the richest and the

best,

To gleam in solitary pride, upon thy virgin breast ; And then around thy slender waist, I'd clasp the sparkling sheen

Of gems, which might have glittered on the cestus of Love's queen.

Yet, Mary, would thy clear blue eye, amid this wealth of light,

Appear less mildly beautiful, or shine less purely bright? Oh no! the ocean cavern and the undiscovered mine, Contain no gem whose starry glance is lovelier than thine.

THE MORNING LIGHT.

THOU cheerful morning light!

How through my lattice streams thy welcome ray!
Thou mild precursor of the perfect day,

Dispeller of the night!

Who loves thy gentle beam?

Not he whose hours are passed in revelry,

Not he who wakes to no reality

So blissful as his dream.

THE MORNING LIGHT:

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He, who forgets his care

Beneath the wing of soul entrancing sleep,
Thinks the star-sentinels that nightly keep
Their watch above the air,

More lovely far than thou

For on the earth alone they seem to gaze;
But through his curtains thy obtrusive rays
Fall on his anxious brow.

Yet some do love thee well,

The sailor, tossed on the unquiet sea,

With deeper transport turns and blesses thee,
Than any words can tell.

For on the distant rim

Of the free waters mellowing in thy smile,

He sees the faint line of his native isle,
Rise shadowy and dim.

The happy, sportive child,

Slumbering since evening twilight on his bed,
Joys to behold the morning sweetly shed

Its radiance soft and mild.

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HYMN TO THE SOUTH WEST WIND.

The maiden with pure

cheek,

Touched only by the chaste and rosy gale,

Delights to see, as love's young visions fail,
Thy beam her eyelids seek.

And he who at the shrine

Of glorious nature worships, when the glow
Of early sunrise rests on things below,

Deems thy first ray divine.

Even I, who thus beguile

This dawning hour with thoughts serenely bright,
For this do love thee, cheerful morning light;
Thou seem'st creation's smile!

HYMN TO THE SOUTH WEST WIND.

HAIL to thee, voyager of the Southern sea!
Freshly thou visitest my heated brow,

While thy soft music through the sheltering tree,
Sounds with the motion of each laden bough.
The flower-leaf's treasure to the languid bee
Cannot be dearer, than, sweet wind, art thou;

As thus upon my eyelids in the bliss
Of calm repose, I feel thy gentle kiss.

With what delicious fragrance from the sky,
Moving the wavy clouds pavilioned there,
The newly-moistened earth thou breathest nigh!
Oh tenderly uplift the glossy hair

Of beauty listening to thy murmured sigh;
Stir thy thin locks of age all silvery fair;
And stray, oh child of heaven, o'er the green land,
Burthened with sweetness, scattered by thy hand.

Kind nature woos thee to her mild embrace ;
The lofty forests and far sloping vales;
The shadowy outlines, in the distant space,

Of mountains broad, where mortal vision fails;
The sweeping stream, upon whose waters chase,
Like sportive pinions, many graceful sails;
The very rocks that totter o'er the steep;
All seem to feel thy breathings pure and deep.

And living creatures, with a sudden thrill

Of gladness, hear the rustling of thy wings,
Among the leaves where rain-gems glitter still;
Aloft the deer his antlers proudly flings,

While drops of clear delight his big eye fill;
A merry song the pensive blackbird sings,
And homely kine forget the scented grass,
When, like a heavenly blessing, thou dost pass.

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TWILIGHT.

Breath on, thou gentle spirit, linger yet-
Till melancholy twilight comes to steal
Day's weary fervor - till some star has set

Upon the scroll of heaven its brilliant seal
Till bending roses with night's tears are wet;
Then, leave us, if thou must, when we can feel,
Like thine own influence, on the unquiet breast,
'The silent holiness of evening rest!

TWILIGHT.

CALM Twilight! in thy mild and stilly time, When Summer flowers their perfume shed around, And nought save the deep, solitary sound

Of some far bell is heard with solemn chime,

Tolling for Vespers, or the evening bird —
Sending low music through the shady grove
Sweet as the gentle breathings of first love -

While not a leaf by Zephyr's breath is stirred:
As the faint crimson lingers on the wave,
Fond thoughts of those beloved and nearest come,
And memory's dews with gentle freshness lave

Joys that once blossomed in the bower of home
Oh, that my last day-beam of Life would shine
As purely beautiful, calm hour, as thine!