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—— Aeove me are the Alps,
The palaces of nature, whose vast walls,
THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK.
The sun-heams streak the azure skies, And line with light the mountain's hrow;
With hounds and horns the hunters rise,
From rock to rock, with giant-hound,
Mute, lest the air, convulsed hy sound,
The goats wind slow their wonted way,
Mark'd hy the wild wolf for his prey,
And while the torrent thunders loud,
The huts peep o'er the morning cloud,
SNOWDON, IN A NIGHT STORM.
'Tis eve I The sun's last rays are glimmering still On Snowdon'scrested summit, and around His granite rocks flows the deep hosomed rill
In solitude and loveliness. Its sound,
fires Of day more faintly yon deep crags surround; Slowly even now each western heam retires, Fades, lightens o'er the wave, and with a smile expires.
Night, utter night succeeds.—Ahove—
helow All deepens slowly in one hlackening
gloom; Dark are the heavens, as is the front of
wo,— Dark as the mountain-prospects,—as the
tomh. Even as I slow descend, a fearful doom Weighs heavy on my heart, fhe hird of
night Screams from her straw-huilt nest as from
the womh Of infant death, and wheels her drowsy
flight, Amid the pine-clad rocks with wonder and
The note of wo is hushed; peace reigns
around In utter solitude; the night hreeze dies Faint on the mountain-ash leaves that
surround Snowdon's dark peaks—But hark .' again
the cries Of the scared owl, loud hymning to the
skies Her tale of desolation! Fearfully Night lengthens out the note;—the echo
flies From rock to rock; now whispering
shrilly hy— Now in the distance softened, lingering
Heaven smiles on earth again—the glimmering star
Pours in mild lustre down his full-orhed light;
And see his mistress in her hurnished car
Beams on the view!—At the refulgent sight
The clouds sail hy in homage, and the
night Weleomes her as a friend ;—the heavenly
train Of satellites attend her in her flight From pole to pole; while a full-chorused
strain Of heaven's own music swells and dies again.
Brightly she moves on in her loveliness!
The fair-haired regent of the sky!—Her smiles
Soothe the stern horrors of the scene, and hless
Nature's calm slumher; o'er yon splintered piles
Of heetling crags, how sweetly she heguiles
Gloom of its frown; and, see I the glittering rill
Heaves conscious of her presence, and reviles,
With murmuring voice, yon proudly frowning hill, That scorns meek Dian's gaze, and mocks her gentle will.
A sound rolls hy of horror !—on the wind
Rides the dark-hosomed Demon of the storm;
Whirlwinds with meteor-splendor, crowd hehind,
A nrt heaven peals out the trumpet of alarm.
Hark! from yon murky cloud with lightning warm,
A voice of death proceeds!—The Majesty
Of Heaven displays around its harrowing form !—
Hark! God in all his power is riding hy I Heard ye his chariot wheels sweep echoing thro' the sky?
He speaks! scared nature tremhles at the
sound; Earth, air, sky, ocean, dictate a reply; The mountain-rock tolls out the voice
profound, And woodland echo multiplies the cry :— Clashed with the night-owl's scream, along
the sky Rolls the live thunder; thros the forest
Dim flashes the hlue lightuing;—eddying
Leaps the swollen torrent; o'er the cataract raves With hrutal force, and headlong flings its hillowy waves.
The night-hreeze sails athwart the sky—
the thunder Has waked him from his sleep—the spirit
hears The Demon's call, and rudely rends
asunder The honds of rest: upon the cloud he rears His deathless might, and wrathfully careers Round the hlack rocks,—dashes in vengeance down Their craggy summits,—damps the toil of
years With one rude whirlwind—and, more
ruthless grown, Heaves up the ocean-waves his giant-strength
And now he sinks in softuess, and anon
reveal The death that has heen husy here;—again The clouds sail round, as anxious to conceal The sight of desolation, hut in vain— She walks in heanty forth, with all her starry train.
Dartmoor rears In the dim distance his cloud-cover' d head, With granite-girdle sweeping nearly round The varied map, until he plants his foot Suhlimely in the loud Atlantic wave.
But who that climhs the hrow suhlime, and thence Surveys the dread immensity of sea,
Wild-heaving often here, and seldom lull'd
The wave of ocean visits. On it roams
TO THE WINDS.
Hail, gentle Winds! I love your murmuring sound;
The willows charm me, wavering to and fro;
To see you crimp the wrinkled flood helow:
And give the landscape round a sweeter grace,
Puffing their rifled fragrance in my face.
Her children dearly love your whispering charms:
That now lies dormant in Death's icy arms,
Ye viewless Minstrels of the sky!
That ye were deified:
Unearthly thoughts supplied.
Awful your power! when hy your might,
Like mountains in your wrath I
Yawn Hk« Death's op'ning path I
Graceful your play! when, round the
To wreathe her dark locks there,
And stir her silken hair.
Still, thoughts like these are hut of earth,
Ye come !—we know not whence!
Though audihle to sense.
The Sun,—his rise and set we know;
The Moon,—her wax and wane;
Bat you his search disdain.
Ye restless, homeless, shapeless things!
What epithet can words supply into the Bard who takes such high Uumanageahle theme?
But one :—to me, when Fancy stirs
My thoughts, ye seem Heav'n's Messengers-.
Who leave no path untrod;
It seems the Voice of God.
s. c. hAll.
When the first day-heam hless'd the sky,
And dull and naked, after night;
And clad them in a rohe of light. Others, as if they loved to dwell
In darkness, moved hat slowly on, And when on them its hrightuess fell,
But little of their gloom had gone: One, gloomier still, its course delays,
As though too heavy for the sky,
Then hreaks and passes gaily hy :— While some had gathered round the rays That gave them hues and forms so fair,
As loth to leave that glorious place,
To lose their heanty and to trace
Others of many a varied dye,
Than those that deck'd the morning sky,
And gaz'd, till over all on high The sun held uncontrolled sway And chased from heaven all gloom away, While the few clouds that o'er it past, No heam ohscur'd, no shadow cast.
But when the day was almost done,
All cover'd with their suow-white spray;
They vanish'd, as the night came on—
*r Those very clouds, so hright, so gay,
So fair—are vapours which the earth Flung, as diseased parts away,—
Foul mists, which owe their second hirth To htm who keeps his throne on high, To hless the earth and gild the sky. Ye.s! 'tis the sun whose influence hrings A change to these degraded tiiings— That gives them lovely forms—and then
Deprives them of their haneful powers, And sends to mother Earth again
In gentle dews and cheering showers, What was her hurthen and her hane.
Man feels a change as great—when man
Feels that immortal spark within— Whose might no human tongue can tell, Which shines to lighten and dispel The darkness and the weight of sin ;— When He, who form'd Creation's whole, To school and guide the human soul, Bids o'er the intellectual skies The Sun of Righteousness arise, And things of heaven and earth assume Their proper shape of light or gloom."
Now let the contemplative mind Fill up the hlank I leave hehind; And see through all Creation's plan Some useful lesson taught to man; Compare the changes wrought within,
And those without,—hy nature wrought— Compare the man who lives in sin,
And him, hy Jesus led and taught. See how the Christian's shining light Makes all that once was darkness, hright; And see how, like the clouds on high,
His every feeling, every thought, Adorn and hless the mental sky,
And then his glories never die 1
TO THE CLOUDS.
O Painted Clouds! sweet heauties of the sky, How have. I viewed your motion and your rest, When like fleet hunters ye have left mine eye, In your thin gauee of woolly-fleecing drest:
Or in your threaten'd thunder's grave, hlack vest, Like hlack, deep waters slowly moving hy,
Awfully striking the spectator's hreast With your Creator's dread suhlimity,
As admiration mutely views your storms; And I do love to see you idly lie,
Painted hy heav'n as various as your forms, Pausing upon the eastern mountain high, As morn awakes with spring's wood-harmony; And sweeter still, when in your slumher's sooth You hang the western arch o'er day's proud eye: Still as the even-pool, nncarv'd and smooth, My gazing soul has look'd most placidly; And higher still devoutly wish'd to strain, To wipe your shrouds and sky's hlue hlinders hy, With all the warmness of a moon-struck hrain,— To catch a glimpse of Him who hids you reign, And view the dwelling of All Maiesty.
A Cloud lay cradled near the setting sun,
A gleam of crimson tinged its hraided snow, Long had I watch'd the glory moving on,
O'er the still radiance of the lake helow; Tranquil its spirit seem'd, and floated slow,
E'en in its very motion there was rest; While ev'ry hreath of eve that chanced to hlow,
Wafted the trav'Iler to the heauteous west. Emhlem, methought, of the departed soul
To whose white rohe the gleam of hliss is giv'n, And hy the hreath of mercy made to roll
Right onward to the gbldeu gates of heav'n, Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies.