Beneath a mountain's brow the cottage stood, That hung its festoon foliage over head, Where wild deer came at eve, unharmed, to drink, While moonlight threw their shadows from the brink. The green earth heaved her giant waves around, Where through the mountain vista, one vast height Towered heavenward without peer, his forehead bound With gorgeous clouds, at times of changeful light, While far below, the lake in bridal rest, Slept with his glorious picture on her breast. TO THE FRINGILLA MELODIA.* BY H. PICKERING. Joy fills the vale, With joy ecstatic quivers every wing, The violet Awakens at thy song, and peers from out While from the rock The columbine its crimson bell suspends, That careless vibrates, as its slender stalk Say! when the blast Of winter swept our whitened plains,—what clime, What sunnier realm thou charmedst, and how was past Thy joyous time? The song sparrow. Did the green isles Detain thee long? or, 'mid the palmy groves Of the bright south, where liberty now smiles, O, well I know Why thou art here thus soon, and why the bowers Thou art returned On a glad errand, -to rebuild thy nest, And thy wild strain, Poured on the gale, is love's transporting voice- Nor calls alone T'enjoy, but bids improve the fleeting hour- The poet too It soft invokes to touch the trembling wire; TO THE FRINGILLA MELODIA. Yet ah, how few its sounds shall list, how few But thy sweet lay, Thou darling of the spring! no ear disdains; Thy sage instructress, nature, says And prompts thy strains. O, if I knew "Be gay!" Like thee to sing, like thee the heart to fire,- Oft as the year In gloom is wrapped, thy exile I shall mourn— Thy glad return. 193 THE FALLS OF THE PASSAIC. BY W. IRVING. In a wild tranquil vale, fringed with forests of green, No grandeur of prospect astonished the sight, Here the wild flow'ret blossomed, the elm proudly waved, But the spirit that ruled o'er the thick tangled wood, All flushed from the tumult of battle he came, |