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Morning Hymn.

THESE are Thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, Thine this universal frame,

Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sitst above these heavens
To us invisible or dimly seen

In these thy lowest works, yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power Divine :
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels, for
ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle His throne rejoicing, ye in Heaven,
On earth join all ye creatures to extol

Him first, him last, him midst, and without end,
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,

Sure pledge of day, that crownst the smiling Morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge Him thy greater, sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climbst,
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fallst;
Moon that now meetst the orient sun, now fliest

With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies,
And ye
five other wandering fires that move
In mystic dance not without song, resound

His praise, who out of darkness called up light.

MILTON.

Air, and ye elements the eldest birth

Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix
And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rise,
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncoloured sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling still advance his praise.

His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs warbling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls, ye birds,
That singing up to Heaven gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise;
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise.
Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still

To give us only good; and if the night
Have gathered aught of evil or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

MILTON.

207

Sonnet.

WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OP SPRING.

THE garlands fade that Spring so lately wove,

Each simple flower, which she had nursed in dew, Anemones that spangled every grove,

The primrose wan, and harebell mildly blue. No more shall violets linger in the dell,

Or purple orchis variegate the plain,
Till Spring again shall call forth every bell,
And dress with humid hands her wreaths again.
Ah, poor humanity! so frail, so fair,

Are the fond visions of thy early day,
Till tyrant passion, and corrosive care,
Bid all thy fairy colours fade away!
Another May new buds and flowers shall bring;
Ah! why has happiness no second Spring?

CHARLOTTE SMITH.

SHAKSPEARE.

FROM

66

The Passionate Pilgrim.

ON a day (alack the day!)
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wished himself the heaven's breath.

Air," quoth he, "thy cheeks
may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But alas! my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn :
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.

Do not call it sin in me,

That I am forsworn for thee;

Thou for whom ev'n Jove would swear

Juno but an Ethiop were;

And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love."

SHAKSPEARE.

209

Dirge.

O DIG a grave, and dig it deep

Where I and my true love may sleep!—'
We'll dig a grave, and dig it deep,
Where thou and thy true love shall sleep!

And let it be five fathom low,
Where winter winds may never blow!—
And it shall be five fathom low,

Where winter winds shall never blow!
And let it be on yonder hill,
Where grows the mountain daffodil !--
And it shall be on yonder hill,
Where grows the mountain daffodil !
And plant it round with holy briers,
To fright away the fairy fires!—

We 'll plant it round with holy briers,
To fright away the fairy fires!
And set it round with celandine,
And nodding heads of columbine !—

We'll set it round with celandine,
And nodding heads of columbine!
And let the ruddock build his nest
Just above my true love's breast!—

The ruddock he shall build his nest
Just above thy true love's breast!

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