Where science raised her sacred fane, Of ignorance hath brooded long; Thy sun hath set, the evening storm Gone is thy glory's diadem, To And freedom never more shall cease her mournful requiem pour O'er blighted, lost, degraded Greece! THE CORAL GROVE. BY J. G. PERCIVAL. DEEP in the wave is a coral grove, But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and the waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air: There, with its waving blade of green, The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter: There, with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea: And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe, when the wrathful Spirit of storms, Has made the top of the waves his own: And when the ship from his fury flies, Where the myriad voices of Ocean roar, When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, And demons are waiting the wreck on shore; Then, far below, in the peaceful sea, The purple mullet and goldfish rove, Where the waters murmur tranquilly, Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. SCENE AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER. BY A. NORTON. THE rain is o'er. How dense and bright In grateful silence, earth receives The general blessing; fresh and fair, The softened sunbeams pour around The wind flows cool; the scented ground Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile, Methinks some spirit of the air Then turn to bathe and revel there. The sun breaks forth; from off the scene With trembling drops of light is hung. Now gaze on Nature-yet the same- Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand. 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 of love. 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. |