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O smile not ! nor think it a worthless thing,
If it be with instruction fraught;
Is alone worth a serious thought:
Who giveth, upbraiding not,
And his love be unforgot ;
CLOSE OF A BEAUTIFUL DAY.
THE day declines, and to his couch
The air is fragrant with the soul of flowers,
My days amid the dead are past;
Around me I behold,
The mighty minds of old :
With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;
How much to them I owe,
I live in long-past years ;
Partake their hopes and fears ;
My hopes are with the dead; anon
My place with them will be,
Through all futurity;
“ AND art thou cold, and lowly laid,
For thee, who lov'd the minstrel's lay,
“ What groans shall yonder valleys fill!
Shall with my harp her voice combine,
THE ALPS AT DAYBREAK.
THE sun-beams streak the azure skies,
And line with light the mountain's brow; With hounds and horns the hunters rise,
And chase the roebuck thro' the snow.
From rock to rock, with giant-bound,
High on their iron poles they pass;
Rend from above a frozen mass.
The goats wind slow their wonted way
Up craggy steeps and ridges rude;
From desert cave or hanging wood.
And while the torrent thunders loud,
And as the echoing cliffs reply,
There are passes in the Alps, where travellers are obliged to move on in silence, and even, it is said, to muffle the bells of their mules, lest the agitation of the air should loosen the snows above.
THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS HORSE.
My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, With thy proudly arch'd and glossy neck, and dark
and fiery eye, Fret not to roam the desert now with all thy winged
speed, I may not mount on thee again, thou art sold, my
Arab steed; Fret not with that impatient hoof, snuff not the
breezy wind The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I be
hind. The stranger hath thy bridle rein thy master
hath his gold — Fleet-limb'd and beautiful! farewell: thou'rt sold,
my steed, thou’rt sold. Farewell! these free untired limbs full
mile must roam, To reach the chill and wintry sky, which clouds
the stranger's home. Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and
bed prepare The silky mane I braided once, must be another's
The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more
with thee Shall I gallop through the desert paths where we
were wont to be. Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the
sandy plain, Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me
home again; Yes, thou must go, the wild free breeze, the brilliant
sun and sky, Thy master's home, from all of these, my exild one