And the green reeds quivering o'er thee, Strings of the forest-lyre,

All fill'd with answering spirit-sounds, In joy respire.

Yet, 'midst thy song's glad changes,
Oh! keep one pitying tone

For gentle hearts, that bear to thee
Their sadness lone.

One sound, of all the deepest,
To bring, like healing dew,
A sense, that nature ne'er forsakes
The meek and true.

Then, then, rejoice, make music,
Thou stream, thou glad and free!
The shadows of all glorious flowers
Be set in thee!

VIII. THE SUMMER'S CALL.

COME away! the sunny hours

Woo thee far to founts and bowers!

O'er the very waters now,

In there play,

Flowers are shedding beauty's glow-

Come away!

Where the lily's tender gleam

Quivers on the glancing stream-
Come away!

All the air is filled with sound,
Soft, and sultry, and profound;
Murmurs through the shadowy grass
Lightly stray;

Faint winds whisper as they pass—
Come away;

Where the bee's deep music swells From the trembling foxglove bells— Come away!

In the skies the sapphire blue
Now hath won its richest hue;
In the woods the breath of song
Night and day

Floats with leafy scents along-
Come away!

Where the boughs with dewy gloom
Darken each thick bed of bloom-
Come away!

In the deep heart of the rose
Now the crimson love-hue glows;
Now the glow-worm's lamp by night
Sheds a ray,

Dreamy, starry, greenly bright-
Come away!

Where the fairy cup-moss lies,
With the wild-wood strawberries,
Come away!

Now each tree by summer crown'd, Sheds its own rich twilight round;

Glancing there from sun to shade,
Bright wings play;

There the deer its couch hath made-
Come away!

Where the smooth leaves of the lime
Glisten in their honey-time-
Come away-away!

IX.-OH! SKYLARK, FOR THY WING.

OH! Skylark, for thy wing!
Thou bird of joy and light,
That I might soar and sing
At heaven's empyreal height!

With the heathery hills beneath me,
Whence the streams in glory spring,
And the pearly clouds to wreath me,
Oh, Skylark! on thy wing!

Free, free from earth-born fear,
I would range the blessed skies,
Through the blue divinely clear,
Where the low mists cannot rise!
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,

From gentle tones and words,
And kind eyes that make our sun!
To some low sweet nest returning,
How soon my love would bring,
There, there the dews of morning,
Oh, Skylark! on thy wing!

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,
Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze,'

COLERIDGE.

I HEARD a song upon the wandering wind,

A

song of many tones-though one full soul Breathed through them all imploringly ; and made All nature as they pass'd, all quivering leaves And low responsive reeds and waters thrill, As with the consciousness of human prayer. -At times the passion-kindled melody Might seem to gush from Sappho's fervent heart, Over the wild sea-wave ;-at times the strain Flow'd with more plaintive sweetness, as if born Of Petrarch's voice, beside the lone Vaucluse; And sometimes, with its melancholy swell, A graver sound was mingled, a deep note Of Tasso's holy lyre;-yet still the tones Were of a suppliant ;—“ Leave me not!" was still The burden of their music; and I knew

The lay which Genius, in its loneliness,

Its own still world amidst th' o'erpeopled world,
Hath ever breathed to Love.

They crown me with the glistening crown,
Borne from a deathless tree;

I hear the pealing music of renown—
O Love! forsake me not!

Mine were a lone dark lot,

Bereft of thee!

They tell me that my

soul can throw

A glory o'er the earth;

From thee, from thee, is caught that golden glow! Shed by thy gentle eyes

It gives to flower and skies,

A bright new birth!

Thence gleams the path of morning, Over the kindling hills, a sunny zone

Thence to its heart of hearts the rose is burning With lustre not its own!

Thence every wood-recess

Is filled with loveliness,

Each bower, to ring-doves and dim violets known.

I see all beauty by the ray
That streameth from thy smile;
Oh! bear it, bear it not away!
Can that sweet light beguile?
Too pure, too spirit-like, it seems,
To linger long by earthly streams;
I clasp it with th' alloy

Of fear 'midst quivering joy,