The waves in silvery glances break,
Like a short and quickly rolling sea,
When the gale first feels its liberty,
And the flakes of foam, like coursers, run,
Rejoicing beneath the vertical sun.

He has crossed the lake, and the forest heaves,
To the sway of his wings, its billowy leaves,
And the downy tufts of the meadow fly
In snowy clouds, as he passes by,
And softly beneath his noiseless tread
The odorous spring-grass bends its head;
And now he reaches the woven bower,
Where he meets his own beloved flower,
And gladly his wearied limbs repose,
In the shade of the newly-opening rose.

SONNET.

They talk of short-lived pleasure—be it so— Pain dies as quickly: stern hard-featured pain Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go.

The fiercest agonies have shortest reign; And, after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace. Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain,

Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to cease

Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase

Are fruits of innocence and blessedness:

Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release,
His young limbs from the chains that round him press.
Weep not that the world changes-did it keep
A stable changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.

SONNET.

Yet one smile more, departing distant sun!
One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air,
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run,
Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,

And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,
And the blue Gentian flower, that, in the breeze,
Nods lonely, of her beautious race the last.
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee

Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way,

The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,

And man delight to linger in thy ray.

Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear

The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.

SUNRISE ON THE HILLS.

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,

And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.

The clouds were far beneath me :-bathed in light
They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,
And in their fading glory shone

Like hosts in battle overthrown,

As many a pinnacle with shifting glance,

Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, And rocking on the cliff was left

The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. The veil of cloud was lifted,—and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow Was darkened by the forest's shade, Or glistened in the white cascade, Where upward in the mellow blush of day The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.

I heard the distant waters dash-
I saw the current whirl and flash-
And richly by the blue lake's silver beach
The woods were bending with a silent reach.
Then o'er the vale with gentle swell

The music of the village bell

Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills,

And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, E2

Was ringing to the merry shout

That faint and far the glen sent out, Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke Through thick-leaved branches from the dingle broke.

If thou art worn and hard beset

With sorrows that thou wouldst forget,-
If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills!-no tears
Dim the sweet look that nature wears.

THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY.

The Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light,
And wheels her course in a joyous flight:
I know her track through the balmy air,
By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there;
She leaves the tops of the mountains green,
And gems the valley with crystal sheen.

At morn, I know where she rested at night,
For the roses are gushing with dewy delight;
Then she mounts again, and around her flings
A shower of light from her purple wings,
Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high;
That silently fills it with ecstacy!

At noon, she hies to a cool retreat,
Where bowering elms over waters meet;

She dimples the wave, where the green leaves dip,
That smiles, as it curls, like a maiden's lip,
When her tremulous bosom would hide, in vain,
From her lover, the hope that she loves again.

At eve, she hangs o'er the western sky
Dark clouds for a glorious canopy;

And round the skirts of each sweeping fold,
She paints a border of crimson and gold,
Where the lingering sunbeams love to stay,
When their god in his glory has passed away.

She hovers around us at twilight hour,

When her presence is felt with the deepest power;
She mellows the landscape, and crowds the stream
With shadows that flit like a fairy dream:-
Still wheeling her flight through the gladsome air,
The Spirit of Beauty is every where!

SONG.

"Tis the season of tender delight,—

The season of fresh-springing flowers;

Young Spring in the joy of her beauty is bright,
And leads on the rapturous hours;