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For that day's fiery toil,

Rose on high hearts, that now with love gush'd o'er
A solemn scene and dread!
The victors and the dead,

The breathless burning sky!
And, passing with the race
Of waves that keep no trace,
The wild, brief signs of human victory!
A stern, yet holy scene!
Billows, where strife hath been,
Sinking to awful sleep;

And words, that breathe the sense
Of God's omnipotence,

Making a minster of that silent deep.

Borne through such hours afar,
Thy flag hath been a star,

Where eagle's wing ne'er flew ;—
England! the unprofaned,

Thou of the hearths unstain'd,

Oh! to the banner and the shrine be true!

EVENING SONG OF THE WEARY.

FATHER of heaven and earth!

I bless thee for the night,

The soft, still night!

The holy pause of care and mirth,
Of sound and, light!

Now, far in glade and dell,
Flower-cup, and bud, and bell,

Have shut around the sleeping woodlarks's nest-
The bee's long murmuring toils are done,
And I, the o'erwearied one,
O'erwearied, and o'erwrought,

Bless thee, O God! O father of the oppress'd.
With my last waking thought,
In the still night!

Yes, e'er I sink to rest,

By the fire's dying light,

Thou Lord of earth and heaven!

I bless thee, who hast given

Unto life's fainting travellers, the night,
The soft still, holy night!

THE DAY OF FLOWERS.

A MOTHER'S WALK WITH HER CHILD.

"One spirit-His

Who wore the platted thorn with bleeding brows,

THE DAY OF FLOWERS.

Rules universal nature.-Not a flower

But shows some touch, in freckle, freak, or stain,
Of his unrivall'à pencil. He inspires

Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar.
Happy who walks with him!"--Cowper.

COME to the woods, my boy!
Come to the streams and bowery dingles forth,
My happy child! The spirit of bright hours
Woos us in every wind; fresh wild-leaf scents
From thickets where the lonely stock-dove broods,
Enter our lattice; fitful songs of joy

Float in with each soft current of the air ;
And we will hear their summons; we will give
One day to flowers, and sunshine, and glad thoughts,
And thou shalt revel 'midst free nature's wealth,
And for thy mother twine wild wreaths; while she
From thy delight, wins to her own fond heart
The vernal extasy of childhood back:

Come to the woods, my boy!

What! wouldst thou lead already to the path
Along the copse wood brook? Come, then! in truth
Meet playmate for a child, a blessed child,
Is a glad singing stream, heard or unheard,

Singing its melody of happiness

Amidst the reeds, and bounding in free grace
To that sweet chime. With what a sparkling life
It fills the shadowy dingle !-now the wing

Of some low skimming swallow shakes bright spray
Forth to the sunshine from its dimpled wave;
Now, from some pool of crystal darkness deep,
The trout springs upward, with a showery gleam
And plashing sound of waters. What swift rings
Of mazy insects o'er the shallow tide

Seem, as they glance, to scatter sparks of light
From burnish'd films! And mark yon silvery line
Of gossarner, so tremulously hung

Across the narrow current, from the tuft

Of hazels to the hoary poplar's bough!
See, in the air's transparence, how it waves,
Quivering and glistening with each faintest gale,
Yet breaking not-a bridge for fairy shapes,

How delicate, how wondrous!

Yes, my boy!

Well may we make the stream's bright winding vein Our woodland guide, for He who made the stream Made it a clue to haunts of loveliness,

For ever deepening. Oh, forget him not,

Dear child! that airy gladness which thou feel'st
Wafting thee after bird and butterfly,

As 'twere a breeze within thee, is not less
His gift, his blessing on thy spring-time hours,

Than this rich outward sunshine, mantling all
The leaves, and grass, and mossy tinted stones
With summer glory. Stay thy bounding step
My merry wanderer! let us rest a while
By this clear pool, where, in the shadow flung
From alder boughs and osiers o'er its breast,
The soft red of the flowering willow-herb
So vividly is pictured. Seems it not
E'en melting to a more transparent glow
In that pure glass? Oh! beautiful are streams!
And, through all ages, human hearts have loved
Their music, still accordant with each mood
Of sadness or of joy. And love hath grown
Into vain worship, which hath left its trace
On sculptured urn and altar, gleaming still
Beneath dim olive boughs, by many a fount
Of Italy and Greece. But we will take
Our lesson e'en from erring hearts, which bless'd
The river deities or fountain nymphs,

For the cool breeze, and for the freshening shade,
And the sweet water's tune. The One supreme,
The all-sustaining, ever-present God,
Who dower'd the soul with immortality,
Gave also these delights, to cheer on earth
Its fleeting passage; therefore let us greet

Each wandering flower scent as a boon from Him,
Each bird-note, quivering 'midst light summer leaves
And every rich celestial tint unnamed,

Wherewith transpierced, the clouds of morn and eve,
Kindle and melt away!

And now, in love,
In grateful thoughts rejoicing, let us bend
Our footsteps onward to the dell of flowers
Around the ruin'd mansion. Thou, my boy,
Not yet, I deem, hast visited that lorn

But lovely spot, whose loveliness for thee

Will wear no shadow of subduing thought

No coloring from the past. This way our path

Winds through the hazels;-mark how brighty shots
The dragon-fly along the sunbeam's line,

Crossing the leafy gloom. How full of life,
The life of song, and breezes, and free wings,

Is all the murmuring shade! and thine, O thine!
Of all the brightest and the happiest here,
My blessed child! my gift of God! that makest
My heart o'erflow with summer!

Hast thou twined
Thy wreath so soon! yet will we loiter not,
Though here the blue-bell wave, and gorgeously
Round the brown twisted roots of yon scathed oak
The heath-flower spread its purple. We must leave
The copse and through yon broken avenue,

THE DAY OF FLOWERS.

Shadow'd by drooping walnut foliage, reach
The ruin's glade.

And, lo! before us fair,
Yet desolate, amidst the golden day,

It stands, that house of silence! wedded now
To verdant nature by the o'ermantling growth
Of leaf and tendril, which fond woman's hands
Once loved to train. How the rich wallflower scent
From every niche and mossy cornice floats,
Embalming its decay! The bee alone

Is murmuring from its casement, whence no more
Shall the sweet eyes of laughing children shine,
Watching some homeward footstep. See! unbound
From the old fretted stone-work, what thick wreaths
Of jasmine, borne by waste exuberance down,
Trail through the grass their gleaming stars, and load
The air with mournful fragrance, for it speaks
Of life gone hence! and the faint southern breath
Of myrtle leaves from yon forsaken porch,
Startles the soul with sweetness! Yet rich knots
Of garden flowers, far wandering, and self-sown
Through all the sunny hollow, spread around
A flush of youth and joy, free nature's joy,
Undimm'd by human change. How kindly here,
With the low thime and daisies, they have blent!
And, under arches of wild eglantine,

Drooping from this tall elm, how strangely seems
The frail gum-cistus o'er the turf to snow
Its pearly flower-leaves down!-Go, happy boy!
Rove thou at will amidst these roving sweets,
Whilst I, beside this fallen dial-stone,

Under the tall moss rose-tree, long unpruned,
Rest where thick clustering pansies weave around
Their many-tinged mosaic, 'midst dark grass,
Bedded like jewels.

He hath bounded on,
Wild with delight!-the crimson on his cheek
Purer and richer e'en than that which lies

In this deep-hearted rose-cup!-bright moss rose!
Though now so lorn, yet surely, gracious tree!
Once thou wert cherish'd! and, by human love,
Through many a summer duly visited

For thy bloom-offerings, which o'er festal board,
And youthful brow, and e'en the shaded couch
Of long secluded sickness, may have shed
A joy, now lost.

Yet shall there still be joy,

Where God hath pour'd forth beauty, and the voice
Of human love shall still be heard in praise

Over his glorious gifts!-O Father, Lord!

The all-beneficent! I bless thy name,

That thou hast mantled the green earth with flowers,

487

488

HYMN OF THE TRAVELLER'S HOUSEHOLD.

Linking our hearts to nature! By the love
Of their wild blossoms, our young footsteps first
Into her deep recesses are beguiled,

Her minster cells; dark glen and forest bower,
Where thrilling with its earliest sense of thee,
Amidst the low religious whisperings
And shivery leaf-sounds of the solitude,
The spirit wakes to worship, and is made
Thy living temple. By the breath of flowers,
Thou callest us, from city throngs and cares,

Back to the woods, the birds, the mountain streams,
That sing of Thee! back to free childhood's heart,
Fresh with the dews of tenderness!-Thou bidd'st
The lilies of the field with placid smile

Reprove man's feverish strivings, and infuse
Through his worn soul a more unworldly life,
With their soft holy breath. Thou hast not left
His purer nature, with its fine desires,
Uncared for in this universe of thine!
The glowing rose attests it, the beloved
Of poet hearts, touch'd by their fervent dreams
With spiritual light, and made a source

Of heaven ascending-thoughts. E'en to faint age
Thou lend'st the vernal bliss ;-the old man's eye
Falls on the kindling blossoms, and his soul
Remembers youth and love, and hopefully
Turns unto thee, who call'st earth's buried germs
From dust to splendor; as the mortal seed
Shall, at thy summons, from the grave spring up
To put on glory to be girt with power,
And fill'd with immortality. Receive

Thanks, blessings, love, for these, thy lavish boons,
And, most of all, their heavenward influences,
O Thou that gavest us flowers!

Return, my boy,
With all thy chaplets and bright bands return!
See, with how deep a crimson eve hath touch'd
And glorified the ruin! glow-worm light

Will twinkle on the dew drops, e'er we reach

Our home again. Come, with thy last sweet prayer
At thy bless'd mother's knee, to-night shall thanks
Unto our Father in his heaven arise,

For all the gladness, all the beauty shed

O'er one rich day of flowers.

HYMN OF THE TRAVELLER'S HOUSEHOLD ON HIS

RETURN,

IN THE OLDEN TIME.

Joy! the lost one is restored!

Sunshine comes to hearth and board.

From the far-off countries old

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