EVENING ODE.

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Or, ranged like stars along some sovereign

height,

Warbled, for heaven above and earth below,

Strains suitable to both.-Such holy rite,

Methinks, if audibly repeated now,

From hill or valley, could not move
Sublimer transport, purer love,

Than doth this silent spectacle-the gleam-
The shadow-and the peace supreme!

II.

No sound is uttered-but a deep

And solemn harmony pervades

The hollow vale, from steep to steep,
And penetrates the glades.

Far-distant images draw nigh,
Called forth by wondrous potency
Of beamy radiance, that imbues

Whate'er it strikes with gem-like hues!
In vision exquisitely clear,

Herds range along the mountain-side,
And glistening antlers are descried,
And gilded flocks appear.

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EVENING ODE.

Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal eve!
But long as god-like wish, or hope divine,
Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe
That this magnificence is wholly thine!
From worlds not quickened by the sun
A portion of the gift is won:

An intermingling of heaven's pomp is spread
On ground which British shepherds tread!

III.

And if there be whom broken ties

Afflict, or injuries assail,

Yon happy ridges to their eyes

Present a glorious scale,

Climbing suffused with sunny air,

To stop-no record hath told where!

And tempting fancy to ascend,

And with immortal spirits blend !

-Wings at my shoulder seem to play ;

But rooted here, I stand and gaze

On those bright steps that heavenward raise

Their practicable way.

Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad,

And see to what fair countries ye are bound!

EVENING ODE.

And if some traveller, weary of his road,

143

Hath slept since noon-tide on the grassy ground, Ye genii! to his covert speed;

And wake him with such gentle heed

As

may attune his soul to meet the dower Bestowed on this transcendent hour!

IV.

Such hues from their celestial urn

Were wont to stream before my eye,
Where'er it wandered in the morn
Of blissful infancy.

This glimpse of glory, why renewed?
Nay, rather speak with gratitude;

For, if a vestige of those gleams

Survived, 'twas only in my dreams.

Dread Power! whom peace and calmness serve, No less than nature's threatening voice,

If aught unworthy be my choice,

From Thee if I could swerve,

Oh, let Thy grace remind me of the light
Full early lost, and fruitlessly deplored,
Which, at this moment, on my waking sight
Appears to shine, by miracle restored!

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EVENING ODE.

My soul, though yet confined to earth,
Rejoices in a second birth;

'Tis past, the visionary splendour fades, And night approaches with her shades.

WORDSWORTH.

HOME SICKNESS.

HE night-wind breathes with a mysterious wail,

And from my "Father's House" the lights

do shine,

For, darting through the darkness, distant, keen, They blink and beckon like a call divine.

There is a home-sick weariness within

A heart-struck longing, deeper every day,

Oh, for that home-oh, for the songs they sing,
Oh, for the friends whom love hath called away.

Departed are ye ?-no, ye are not far,

Ye are gone from us-yet are present still, Present though distant, like that sad sweet star Whose eye looks on us o'er yon gloomy hill.

L