GLIMPSES OF NATURE. SONNET ON THE RIVER RHINE. WAS morn, and beauteous on the mountain's brow (Hung with the beamy clusters of the vine) We bounded, and the white waves round the prow Some convent's ancient walls or glistening spire N itself the ocean panorama is very grand. It would be hard to exaggerate the beauty of both sea and sky, especially in and near the tropics. The sky near the horizon was of pale blue, and often the clouds all round the sea line of a light pink tint, and the sea near the ship like an amethyst or the wing of some tropical bird. In those rare times when the sea was calm, the motion of the ship made it flow in large sheets as of some oily liquid; or, again, like the blue steel of some polished cuirass. H TO THE CUCKOO. AIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, Soon as the daisy decks the green, I hail the time of flowers, The school-boy, wandering through the wood Starts, thy most curious voice to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom, An annual guest in other lands, Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year! O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! LAYER of winter, art thou here again? Yea, welcome, March! and though I die ere June, Unmindful of the past or coming days; O, what begetteth all this storm of bliss, THE SHADED WATER. HEN that my mood is sad, and in the noise It is a quiet glen, as you may see, Shut in from all intrusion by the trees, That spread their giant branches, broad and free, The silent growth of many centuries; And make a hallowed time for hapless moods, A sabbath of the woods. Few know its quiet shelter, - none, like me, And all the day, with fancies ever new, And sweet companions from their boundless store, Of merry elves bespangled all with dew, Fantastic creatures of the old-time lore, Watching their wild but unobtrusive play, I fling the hours away. And still the waters, trickling at my feet, Sometimes a brighter cloud than all the rest Hangs o'er the archway opening through the trees, Breaking the spell that, like a slumber, pressed On my worn spirit its sweet luxuries,— And with awakened vision upward bent, I watch the firmament. |