Oh! Love's fond sighs, and fervent prayer, Then bear me thence one bough, to shed VII. THE STREAM SET FREE. FLOW on, rejoice, make music, Bright living stream set free! The troubled haunts of care and strife Were not for thee! The woodland is thy country, Thou art all its own again; The wild birds are thy kindred race, That fear no chain. Flow on, rejoice, make music Unto the glistening leaves! Thou, the beloved of balmy winds, And golden eves. Once more the holy starlight Sleeps calm upon the breast, Whose brightness bears no token more Of man's unrest. Flow, and let freeborn music While the stock-dove's lingering, loving voice And the green reeds quivering o'er thee, Strings of the forest-lyre, All fill'd with answering spirit-sounds, Yet, 'midst thy song's glad changes, For gentle hearts, that bear to thee One sound, of all the deepest, Then, then, rejoice, make music, VIII. THE SUMMER'S CALL. COME away! the sunny hours. Woo thee far to founts and bowers! O'er the very waters now, In their play, Flowers are shedding beauty's glow- Where the lily's tender gleam And the air is fill'd with sound, Faint winds whisper as they pass- Where the bee's deep music swells In the skies the sapphire blue Floats with leafy scents along- Where the boughs with dewy gloom In the deep heart of the rose Dreamy, starry, greenly bright— Come away! Where the fairy cup-moss lies, Now each tree by summer crown'd, There the deer its couch hath made- Where the smooth leaves of the lime Come away-away! IX.-OH! SKYLARK, FOR THY WING. OH! Skylark, for thy wing! With the heathery hills beneath me, Free, free from earth-born fear, And a thousand joyous measures From my chainless heart should spring, Like the bright rain's vernal treasures, As I wander'd on thy wing. But oh the silver chords, That around the heart are spun, And kind eyes that make our sun! GENIUS SINGING TO LOVE. "That voice re-measures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures The things of nature utter; birds or trees, Or where the tall grass 'mid the heath-plant waves, COLERIDGE. I HEARD a song upon the wandering wind, Might seem to gush from Sappho's fervent heart, |