We pass from out the city's feverish hum, To find refreshment in the silent woods; And Nature, that is beautiful and dumb, Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods. Yet, even there, a restless thought will steal, To teach the indolent heart it still must feel. Strange, that the audible stillness of the noon, And the light whisper as their edges meet— Strange-that they fill not, with their tranquil tone, The spirit, walking in their midst alone. THE SABBATH. It was a pleasant morning, in the time When the leaves fall; and the bright sun shone out Upon a world at rest. There was no leaf T The well-apparell'd crowd. The holy man Rose solemnly, and breathed the prayer of faith ; And the grey saint just on the wing for heaven, And the fair maid, and the bright-hair'd young man, And child of curling locks, just taught to close The white-hair'd Pastor rose, I went my way; but as I went I felt THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. A HARE, who, in a civil way, As forth she went at early dawn, What transport in her bosom grew, She next the stately Bull implored; |