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To deck their bosoms. There, on high, bald trees,
From varnished cells some peep, and the old boughs
Make to rejoice and dance in warmer winds.
Over my head the winds and they make music;
And, grateful, in return for what they take,
Bright hues and odours to the air they give.

Thus mutual love brings mutual delight-
Brings beauty, life ;- for love is life ;-hate, death.

Thou Prophet of so fair a revelationThou who abodest with us the winter long, Enduring cold or rain, and shaking oft, From thy dark mantle, falling sleet or snow Thou, who with purpose kind, when warmer days Shone on the earth, ’mid thaw and steam, camest forth From rocky nook, or wood, thy priestly cell, To speak of comfort unto lonely manDidst say to him—though seemingly alone 'Mid wastes and snows, and silent, lifeless trees, Or the more silent ground—it was not death, But nature's sleep and rest, her kind repair ;That Thou, albeit unseen, didst bear with him The winter's night, and, patient of the day, And cheered by hope, (instinct divine in Thee,) Waitedst return of summer.

More thou saidst, Thou Priest of Nature, Priest of God, to man! Thou spokest of faith, (than instinct no less sure,) Of spirits near him though he saw them not: Thou badest him ope his intellectual eye, And see his solitude all populous : Thou showedst him Paradise, and deathless flowers; And didst him pray to listen to the flow Of living waters.

Preacher to man's spirit! Emblem of Hope! Companion! Comforter! Thou faithful one! is this thine end? 'Twas thou, When summer birds were gone, and no form seen In the void air, who camest, living and strong, On thy broad, balanced pennons, through the winds. And of thy long enduring, this the close! Thy kingly strength, thou conqueror of storms, Thus low brought down.

The year's mild, cheering dawn
Upon thee shone a momentary light.
The gales of spring upbore thee for a day,
And then forsook thee. Thou art fallen now;
And liest among thy hopes and promises -
Beautiful flowers, and freshly-springing blades,
Gasping thy life out. Here for thee the grass
Tenderly makes a bed; and the young buds



In silence open their fair, painted folds —
To ease thy pain, the one - to cheer thee, these.
But thou art restless : and thy once keen eye
Is dull and sightless now. New blooming boughs,
Needlessly kind, have spread a tent for thee.
Thy mate is calling to the white, piled clouds,
And asks for thee. They answer give no back.
As I look up to their bright, angel faces,
Intelligent and capable of voice
They seem to me. Their silence to my soul
Comes ominous. The same to thee, doomed bird,
Silence or sound. For thee there is no sound,
No silence.- Near thee stands the shadow, Death ;-
And now he slowly draws his sable veil
Over thine eyes; thy senses softly lulls
Into unconscious slumbers. The airy call
Thou'lt hear no longer; 'neath sun-lighted clouds,
With beating wing, or steady poise aslant,
Wilt sail no more. Around thy trembling claws
Droop thy wings' parting feathers. Spasms of death
Are on thee.

Laid thus low by age? Or is 't
All-grudging man has brought thee to this end ?
Perhaps the slender hair, so subtly wound
Around the grain God gives thee for thy food,
Has proved thy snare, and makes thine inward pain.

I needs must mourn for thee. For I—who have
No fields, nor gather into garners-I
Bear thee both thanks and love, not fear nor hate.

And now, farewell! The falling leaves, ere long, Will give thee decent covering. Till then, Thine own black plumage, that will now no more Glance to the sun, nor flash upon my eyes, Like armour of steeled knight of Palestine, Must be thy pall. Nor will it moult so soon As sorrowing thoughts on those borne from him, fade In living man.

Who scoffs these sympathies,
Makes mock of the divinity within ;
Nor feels he gently breathing through his soul,
The universal spirit.—Hear it cry,
“How does thy pride abase thee, man, vain man!
How deaden thee to universal love,
And joy of kindred with all humble things-
God's creatures all !"

And surely it is so. He who the lily clothes in simple glory, He who doth hear the ravens cry for food, Hath on our hearts, with hand invisible, In signs mysterious, written what alone Our hearts may read.- Death bring thee rest, poor bird. HYMN OF NATURE.


God of the earth's extended plains !

The dark green fields contented lie : The mountains rise like holy towers,

Where man might commune with the sky: The tall cliff challenges the storm •

That lowers upon the vale below, Where shaded fountains send their streams,

With joyous music in their flow.

God of the dark and heavy deep!

The waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm

Hath summoned up their thundering bands ; Then the white sails are dashed like foam,

Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas,
Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale
Serenely breathes, “ Depart in peace.”

God of the forest's solemn shade!

The grandeur of the lonely tree,

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