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THE RECOLLECTION Now the last day of many days All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dead, Rise, Memory, and write its praise ! Up, do thy wonted work ! come, trace The epitaph of glory fled, For now the Earth has changed its face, A frown is on the Heaven's brow. We wander'd to the Pine Forest

That skirts the Ocean's foam ; The lightest wind was in its nest,

The tempest in its home. The whispering waves were half asleep,

The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep

The smile of Heaven lay;
It seem'd as if the hour were one

Sent from beyond the skies
Which scatter'd from above the sun

A light of Paradise !
We paused amid the pines that stood

The giants of the waste,
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude

As serpents interlaced,-
And soothed by every azure breath

That under heaven is blown
To harmonies and hues beneath,

As tender as its own :
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep

Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep

The ocean-woods may be.
How calm it was !-the silence there

By such a chain was bound,

That even the busy woodpecker

Made stiller by her sound The inviolable quietness ;

The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less

The calm that round us grew.
There seem'd from the remotest seat

Of the wide mountain waste
To the soft flower beneath our feet

A magic circle traced,
A spirit interfused around,

A thrilling silent life;
To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife ;-
And still I felt the centre of

The magic circle there
Was one fair Form that fill'd with love

The lifeless atmosphere.
We paused beside the pools that lie

Under the forest bough ;
Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky

Gulf'd in a world below;
A firmament of purple light

Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night

And purer than the day-
In which the lovely forests grew

As in the upper air,
More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn,

And through the dark green wood
The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen
Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green:
And all was interfused beneath

With an Elysian glow,
An atmosphere without a breath,

A softer day below.

Like one beloved, the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast
Its every leaf and lineament

With more than truth exprest;
Until an envious wind crept by,

Like an unwelcome thought
Which from the mind's too faithful eye

Blots one dear image out.
-Though Thou art ever fair and kind,

The forests ever green,
Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind
Than calm in waters seen!

P. B. Shelley


BY THE SEA It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea : Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder-everlastingly. Dear child ! dear girl ! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought Thy nature is not therefore less divine : Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, And worship’st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.

W. Wordsworth

Star that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary labourer free !

If any star shed peace, 'tis Thou

That send'st it from above, Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow

Are sweet as hers we love.

Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape's odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard

And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd

Curls yellow in the sun.
Star of love's soft interviews,
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in Heaven

Of thrilling vows thou art,
Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart.

T. Campbell



The sun upon the lake is low,

The wild birds hush their song,
The hills have evening's deepest glow,

Yet Leonard tarries long.
Now all whom varied toil and care

From home and love divide,
In the calm sunset may repair

Each to the loved one's side. The noble dame on turret high,

Who waits her gallant knight,
Looks to the western beam to spy

The flash of armour bright.
The village maid, with hand on brow

The level ray to shade,
Upon the footpath watches now

For Colin's darkening plaid.

Now to their mates the wild swans row,

By day they swam apart,
And to the thicket wanders slow

The hind beside the hart.
The woodlark at his partner's side

Twitters his closing song-
All meet whom day and care divide,
But Leonard tarries long !

Sir W. Scott


Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth,

Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth, --
And ever-changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

P. B. Shelley


A widow bird sate mourning for her Love

Upon a wintry bough ;
The frozen wind crept on above,

The freezing stream below.
There was no leaf upon the forest bare,

No flower upon the ground,
And little motion in the air
Except the mill-wheel's sound.

P. B. Shelley



A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by
One after one ; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; -

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