I

THE VOICE OF SPRING.

COME! I come! ye have called me long,'

I come ō'er the mountains with light and song;
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth
By the winds which tell of the viölet's birth,3
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

4

I have breathed on the south, and the chestnut-flowers
By thousands have burst from the forest-bowers :

And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes,
Are vailed with wreaths on Italian plains.
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin' or the tomb!

I have passed o'er the hills of the stormy North,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth;
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,

And the reindeer bounds through the pastures free,
And the pine has à fringe of softer green,

And the moss looks bright where my step has been.

I have sent through the wood-paths10 a gentle sigh,
And called out each voice of the deep-blue sky,
From the night-bird's lay through the starry time,
In the groves of the soft Hesperian" clime,
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-bough into verdure1 breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain;
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,

They are flashing down from the mountain-brows,

They are flinging spray on the forest-boughs,

1 Long (long), see Note 6, p. 20.
'The (thů), see Rule 2, p. 29.
'Birth (berth), see Note 5, p. 20.
• Grass (grås), see Note 4, p. 20.
'Burst (berst), see Note 5, p. 20.
Italian (it tål' yån).

'Ruin (rô'in), see Rule 3, p. 29.

Pasture (påst'yer). Through (thro). 10 Paths (pathz). "Hesperian (hes pè' ri an), occidental; western.

1 Verdure (verd' yer), greenness ; freshness of vegetation.

They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds1 with the joy of waves.

Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie may now be your home.
Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye,
And the bounding footstep, to meet me, fly;
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay.

Away from the dwellings of carewōrn3 men,
The waters are sparkling in wood and glen ;
Away from the chamber and dusky hearth,*
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth;
Their light stems thrill to the wildwood strains,
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

The Summer is hastening?, on soft winds bōrne,
Ye
may press the grape, ye may bind the corn;
For me I depart to å3 brighter shōre-

Ye are marked by care, ye are mine no mōre.

I

go where the loved who have left you dwell,

And the flowers are not Death's-fare ye well, farewell!'

MRS. HEMANS.

W

SONG OF THE STARS.

HEN the radiant morn of creation broke,

And the world in the smile of God ǎwōke,

And the empty realms of darkness and death

Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,
And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame

From the void abyss by myriads came,

In the joy of youth as they darted away,

Through the widening wastes of space to play,

1 Resounds (re zoundz').

2 Your (yår).

3 Careworn (kår' wòrn).

Hearth (hårth), here pronounced

hårth, to rhyme with mirth.

'Dancing (dåns' ing).
• Youth (yoth).
'Hastening (hà' sn ing).
8A (3), see Rule 1, p. 29.
'Farewell (får wel').

Their silver voices in chorus rung,

And this was the song the bright ones sung:

66

Away, away, through the wide, wide sky,-
The fair blue fields that before us lie,-

Each sun, with the worlds that around him roll,
Each planet, poised on her turning pole ;
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,
And her waters that lie like fluid light.

"For the Source of Glory uncovers his face,
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space;
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides
In our ruddy air and our bloomy sides:
Lo, yonder the living splendors plāy;
Away, on cur joyous path, ǎway!

"Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar,

In the infinite ǎzure, star after star,

How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass!

How the verdure runs ō'cr each rolling mass!

And the path of the gentle winds is seen,

Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean.

"And see, where the brighter day-beams pour,
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower;
And the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues,
Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews;
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground,
With her shadowy cone the night goes round!

'Away, away! in our blossoming bowers,

In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours,
In the seas and fountains that shine with morn,
See, love is brooding, and life is born,
And breathing myriads are breaking from night,
To rejoice, like us, in motion and light.”

Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres,
To weave the dance that measures the years;
Glide on, in the glōry and gladness sent,
To the furthest wall of the firmament,—

The boundless visible smile of Him,

To the vail of whose brow your lamps are dim.

W. C. BRYANT.

THE SAILOR'S SONG.

HE sea! the sea! the open sea!

THE

The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without ǎ mark, without à bound,

It runnèth the earth's wide regions round;
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.

I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!

I am where I would ever be;

With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go;

If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love, oh, how I love to ride
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goëth the world below,
And why the sou'west blasts do blow.

I never was on the dull, tame shōre,
But I loved the great sea more and mōre,
And backward flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seekèth its mother's nest;
And a mother she was and is to me;
For I was born on the open sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,

In the noisy hour when I was born;

And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outery wild
As welcomed to life the ocean-child !

I've lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a sailor's life,

With wealth to spend and ǎ power to range,
But never have sought nor sighed for change;
And DEATH, whenever he comes to me,

Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea !

B. W. PROCTER.

Ho

LIFE IN THE WEST.

O! brothers-come hither and list to my story-
Měrry and brief will the narrative be

Here, like ǎ monarch, I reign in my glōry

Master am I, boys, of all that I see!

Where once frowned ǎ forest à garden is smiling—
The meadow and moorland are marshes no mōre;
And there curls the smoke of my cottage, beguiling
The children who cluster like grapes round the door.
Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest;
The land of the heart is the land of the West!

Talk not of the town, boys-give me the broad prairie,
Where man, like the wind, roams impulsive and free;
Behold how its beautiful colors all vary,

Like those of the clouds, or the deep-rolling sea!
A life in the woods, boys, is even as changing;
With proud independence we season our cheer,
And those who the world are for happiness ranging,
Wōn't find it at all, if they don't find it here.
Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest;
I'll show you the life, boys, we live in the West!
Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil and danger,
We reap what we sow, for the soil is our own;
We spread hospitality's board for the stranger,
And care not ǎ jot for the king on his throne.
We never know want, for we live by our labor,
And in it contentment and happiness find;
We do what we can for a friend or a neighbor,

And die, boys, in peace and good-will to mankind