Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,

Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,

Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains ;

And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,

When the morning star shines dead.

As, on the jag of a mountain crag

Which an earthquake rocks and swings,

An eagle, alit, one moment may sit

In the light of its golden wings.

And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneth,

Its ardors of rest and of love,

And the crimson pall of eve may fall

From the depth of heaven above,

With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest,
As still as a brooding dove.

That orbéd maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon,

Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn ;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,

May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer:

And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,

Like a swarm of golden bees,

THE CLOUD.

When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,

Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the moon's with a girdle of pearl;

The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,

Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof,

The mountains its columns be.

The triumphal arch, through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,

When the powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-colored bow;

The sphere-fire above, its soft colors wove,
While the moist earth was laughing below.

I am the daughter of earth and water,

And the nursling of the sky;

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;

I change, but I cannot die.

For after the rain, when, with never a stain,

The pavilion of heaven is bare,

And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air—

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain,

Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,

I arise and upbuild it again.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

1*

9

Light and Color.

LIGHT, everlastingly one, dwell above with the One

Everlasting;

Color, thou changeful, descend kindly to dwell among men F. VON SCHILLER.

To Night.

WIFTLY walk over the western wave,

SWIFT

Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave,

Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,-
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day,

Kiss her until she be wearied out;

Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand-
Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;

When night rode high, and the dew was gone

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,

And the weary Day turned to her rest,

Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sighed for thee.

NIGHT AND DEATH.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me ?-and I replied,
"No, not thee!"

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-

Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

Night and Death.

MYSTERIOUS Night! when our first parent knew

Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,

This glorious canopy of light and blue ?

Yet 'neath the curtain of translucent dew,

Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came;

And lo! creation widened in man's view.

Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed Within thy beams, O Sun? or who could find, While fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed,

That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? Why do we then shun death with anxious strife?— If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?

J. BLANCO WHITE

T

The Northern Lights.

'O claim the Arctic came the sun
With banners of the burning zone.
Unrolled upon their airy spars,

They froze beneath the light of stars;
And there they float, those streamers old,
Those Northern Lights, forever cold!

BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR.

To the Skylark.

HAIL to thee, blithe spirit !—

Bird thou never wert,

That from heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher,

From the earth thou springest,

Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning

Of the sunken sun,

O'er which clouds are brightening,

Thou dost float and run;

Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale, purple even

Melts around thy flight;

Like a star of heaven,

In the broad daylight

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,