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PART III.

PART III.

TO THE EVENING WIND.

SPIRIT, that breathest through my lattice, thou

That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day, Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow;

Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their

spray, And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorch'd land, thou wanderer of the sea !

Nor I alone a thousand bosoms round

Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound

Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,

Lies the vast inland stretch'd beyond the sight. Go forth, into the gathering shade; go forth, God's blessing breath'd upon the fainting earth!

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,

Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest,

Summoning from the innumerable boughs The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast :

Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And 'twixt the o’ershadowing branches and the The faint old man shall lean his silver head,

grass.

To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moisten'd curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more

deep;
And they who stand about the sick man's bed,

Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains to allow
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.

Go - but the circle of eternal change,

Which is the life of nature, shall restore, With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range,

Thee to thy birth-place of the deep once more; Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange,

Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore;
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.

BRYANT

A MOONLIGHT NIGHT.

How beautiful on yonder casement panes
The mild moon gazes,

- mark !
With what a lovely and majestic step
She treads the heavenly hills !
And oh! how soft, how silently she pours
Her chasten'd radiance on the scene below;
And hill, and dale, and tower
Drink the pure flood of light!
Roll on — roll thus, Queen of the midnight hour,
For ever beautiful !

NEELE.

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