He hears the sound of the hunter's gun, And sighs in his ear, like a stirring leaf, And flits in his woodland track. The shade of the wood, and the sheen of the river, He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver, Like the light of your very eye. He blurs the print of the scholar's book, In the darkest night, and the bright daylight, In earth, and sea, and sky, In every home of the human thought, Will Love be lurking nigh. STANZAS. BY R. H. WILDE. "My life is like the summer rose My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon's pale ray, Its hold is frail-its date is brief, Restless-and soon to pass away! Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent-tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree, But none shall breathe a sigh for me! STANZA 8. My life is like the prints, which feet All trace will vanish from the sand, All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea, But none, alas! shall mourn for me! 93 THE DYING RAVEN BY R. H. DAN A. COME to these lonely woods to die alone? It seems not many days since thou wast heard, From out the mists of spring, with thy shrill note, Calling upon thy mates—and their clear answers. The earth was brown, then; and the infant leaves Had not put forth to warm them in the sun, Or play in the fresh air of heaven. Thy voice, Shouting in triumph, told of winter gone, And prophesying life to the sealed ground, Did make me glad with thoughts of coming beauties. In blessed bands, or single, they are gone, Or by her brooks they stand, and sip the stream; Or peering o'er it-vanity well feigned In quaint approval seem to glow and nod |