HOFFMANN. SPARKLING AND BRIGHT. SPARKLING and bright in liquid light, Which a bee would choose to dream in. As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, Oh! if Mirth might arrest the flight Of Time through Life's dominions, We here awhile would now beguile The grey-beard of his pinions. To drink to-night with hearts as light, As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, But since delight can't tempt the wight, Nor Love himself can hold the elf, Nor sober Friendship stay him, We'll drink to-night with hearts as light. To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, Old tree! the storm still brave! And woodman, leave the spot; Thy axe shall harm it not. POETRY. To me the world's an open book, That sings its way towards the sea. The swelling grain, the waving grass, And in the cool, fresh evening breeze That crisps the wavelets as they pass. The flowers below, the stars above, In all their bloom and brightness given, Are, like the attributes of love, The poetry of earth and heaven. Thus Nature's volume, read aright, Attunes the soul to minstrelsy, Tinging life's clouds with rosy light, And all the world with poetry. 'Tis winter, yet there is no sound Along the air, Of winds upon their battle-ground, But gently there, The snow is falling,-all around How fair-how fair! The jocund fields would masquerade; Fantastic scene! Tree, shrub, and lawn, and lonely glade Have cast their green, And joined the revel, all arrayed So white and clean. E'en the old posts, that hold the bars And the old gate, Forgetful of their wintry wars, And age sedate, High capped, and plumed, like white hussars, Stand there in state. The drifts are hanging by the sill, The eaves, the door; The hay-stack has become a hill; All covered o'er The waggon, loaded for the mill The eve before. Maria brings the water-pail, But where's the well! Like magic of a fairy tale, Most strange to tell, All vanished, curb, and crank, and rail! How deep it fell! |