I HAVE Seen

A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inland ground, applying to his ear
The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell;
To which, in silence hushed, his very soul
Listened intensely; and his countenance soon
Brightened with joy; for murmurings from within.
Were heard, sonorous cadences! whereby,
To his belief, the monitor expressed
Mysterious union with its native sea.
Even such a shell the universe itself

Is to the ear of faith; and there are times,
I doubt not, when to you it doth impart
Authentic tidings of invisible things;
Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power;
And central peace subsisting at the heart
Of endless agitation. Here you stand,
Adore, and worship, when you know it not:
Pious beyond the intention of your thought,
Devout above the meaning of your will.
Yes, you have felt, and may not cease to feel.
The estate of man would be indeed forlorn,
If false conclusions of the reasoning power
Made the eye blind, and closed the passages
Through which the ear converses with the heart.
Has not the soul, the being of your life,
Received a shock of awful consciousness,
In some calm season, when these lofty rocks
At night's approach bring down the unclouded sky

To rest upon their circumambient walls?

A temple framing of dimensions vast,

And yet not too enormous for the sound

Of human anthems,-choral song, or burst
Sublime of instrumental harmony,

To glorify the Eternal! What if these
Did never break the stillness that prevails
Here if the solemn nightingale be mute,

And the soft woodlark here did never chant

Her vespers?-Nature fails not to provide. Impulse and utterance. The whispering air Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights And blind recesses of the caverned rocks; The little rills, and waters numberless, Inaudible by daylight, blend their notes With the loud streams.

WORDSWORTH.

ADVANCING Spring profusely spreads abroad
Flowers of all hues, with sweetest fragrance stored;
Where'er she treads Love gladdens every plain,

Delight on tiptoe bears her lucid train;
Sweet Hope with conscious brow before her flies,
Anticipating wealth from summer skies;
All Nature feels her renovating sway,

The sheep-fed pasture and the meadow gay;
And trees and shrubs, no longer budding seen,
Display the new-grown branch of lighter green;
On airy downs the idling shepherd lies,
And sees to-morrow in the marbled skies.

BLOOMFIELD.

209

Down the sultry arc of day,

The burning wheels have urged their way,

And eve along the western skies
Sheds her intermingling dyes.
Down the deep, the miry lane,
Creaking comes the empty wain,
And Driver on the shaft-horse sits,
Whistling now and then by fits;
And oft, with his accustomed call,
Urging on the sluggish Ball.

The barn is still, the master's gone,
And Thresher puts his jacket on,
While Dick, upon the ladder tall,
Nails the dead kite to the wall.
Here comes Shepherd Jack at last,
He has penned the sheep-cote fast,
For 't was but two nights before,
A lamb was eaten on the moor:
His empty wallet Rover carries,
Nor for Jack, when near home, tarries.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.