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MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON.
But now, bright Peri of the skies, descending
Thy pearly car hangs o'er yon mountain's crest,
As if to hide thy envied place of rest,
Farewell! Though tears on every leaf are starting,
While through the shadowy boughs thy glances quiver, As of the good when heavenward hence departing,
Shines thy last smile upon the placid river. So—could I fling o'er glory's tide one rayWould I too steal from this dark world away.
TO THE HUMA.
A bird peculiar to the East. It is supposed to fly constantly in the air and nev.
er touch the ground.)
BY L. P. SMITH.
Fly on : nor touch thy wing, bright bird,
Too near our shaded earth,
May lose its note of mirth.
In the home of " care-worn things ;"
And thy brightly burnished wings,
The fields of upper air are thine,
Thy place where stars shine free :
Above life's stormy sea.
So near this place again,
TO THE HUMA.
With wing and spirit once light and free —
They should wear no more the chain
There are many things like thee, bright bird,
Hopes as thy plumage gay;
But still in air they stay.
Is ever hovering o'er,
On a waveless peaceful shore,
His echoing axe the settler swung
Amid the sea-like solitude,
The Titans of the wood;
With its supporting bough,
On the wolf's haunt below.
Rude was the garb, and strong the frame,
Of him who plied his ceaseless toil:
Contributed their spoil ;
Where men their crowds collect;
This forest tamer decked.
The paths which wound ’mid gorgeous trees,
The stream whose bright lips kissed their flowers, The winds that swelled their harmonies
Through those sun-hiding bowers,
Dark cave and swampy lair ;
His world, his pleasures, there.
His roof adorned a pleasant spot,
'Mid the black logs green glowed the grain, And herbs and plants the woods knew not,
Throve in the sun and rain.
All made a landscape strange,