From thy great Sire they come-thy Sire, the Word
Thou, in the moon's bright chariot, proud and gay
Dost thy bright wood of stars survey,

And all the year dost with thee bring

re,

Of thousand flow'ry lights thine own nocturnal spring.

Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above

The Sun's gilt tent for ever move,

And still, as thou in pomp dost go,

The shining pageants of the world attend thy show.

The dramatic lyrists, Shakspere and Fletcher, have painted some of the characteristics of Morning with rainbow hues :

Full many a glorious morning have I seen

Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.

SHAKSPERE.

Messire de la Borde, my eldest brother, who was in great trouble and perplexity of mind, having been constrained, in order to preserve his life, to go to mass, and being constantly beset by men who called upon him to abjure the reformed faith. Our friends of Paris, learning that I was in his house, and fearing that I might prevail upon him not to make the abjuration, sent to warn him that his ruin was certain if he kept me in his house and I still refused to go to mass. Being thus moved, my brother on the following Sunday led me into his chapel, where a Catholic priest was ready to officiate. As soon as I saw the priest, I turned my back upon him, and went away in great affliction. My brother then regretted what he had done. I took the resolution to stay there no longer. I employed a whole week in seeking out some waggoner that would convey me to Sedan*. Out of fifteen hundred francs that were owing to me at La Borde, I received forty crowns; and during my sojourn there one of my chamber-women and one of my men-servants came and joined me. My brother found my resolution very hazardous. Nevertheless, he assisted me in procuring a waggoner, begging me, however, not to let my mother and our other friends know that he had willingly consented to my dangerous journey. In bidding me farewell, he said that he felt assured that, on account of my zeal and fidelity in serving God, God would bless my journey and protect my person, and this, by the heavenly grace, happened to me. I arrived at Sedan on the day of All Saints, being the first day of November, without having met with any hindrance, disturbance, or trouble on the way. So soon as I arrived I found many friends, who offered me all that they had. I was not one hour at Sedan ere I was properly attired as a lady of rank, everybody hastening to give me whatsoever I wanted. I received also much honour and friendship from the Duke and Duchess of Bouillon. And I resided quietly at Sedan until the time of my marriage with Duplessis-Mornay.

* The Lordship of Sedan was, at this time, an independent principality, possessed by the Duke of Bouillon, who, together with all his family, inclined to the reformed faith. The city of Sedan was a stronghold of the French Protestants.

107.-MORNING.

[THE poets luxuriate in their descriptions of Morning and Evening. These descriptions belong more especially to the mornings and evenings of Summer, when "the breath of morn" is sweet, and "the coming on of gentle evening" is "mild."

First let us hear a quaint and simple old master sing the charms of Morning]:

The Sun, when he had spread his rays,
And showed his face ten thousand ways,
Ten thousand things do then begin
To show the life that they are in.
The heaven shows lively art and hue,
Of sundry shapes and colours new,
And laughs upon the earth; anon,
The earth, as cold as any stone,
Wet in the tears of her own kind,
'Gins then to take a joyful mind,
For well she feels that out and out
The sun doth warm her round about,
And dries her children tenderly,
And shows them forth full orderly--

The mountains high, and how they stand!
The valleys, and the great mainland !
The trees, the herbs, the towers strong,
The castles, and the rivers long.
And even for joy of this heat
She showeth forth her pleasures great,
And sleeps no more; but sendeth forth
Her clergions; her own dear worth,
To mount and fly up to the air;
Where then they sing in order fair,
And tell in song full merrily
How they have slept full quietly
That night, about their mother's sides.
And when they have sung more besides,

Then fall they to their mother's breast,
Whereas they feed, or take their rest.
The hunter then sounds out his horn,
And rangeth straight through wood and corn.
On hills then shew the ewe and lamb,
And every young one with his dam.
Then lovers walk, and tell their tale,
Both of their bliss, and of their bale;

'

And how they serve, and how they do,
And how their lady loves them too.
Then tune the birds their harmony;
Then flock the fowl in company;
Then everything doth pleasure find
In that, that comforts all their kind.
SURREY.

Cowley's Hymn to Light' is a noble performance, from which we extract a few stanzas:First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come

From the old Negro's darksome womb;

Which when it saw the lovely child,

The melancholy mass put on kind looks, and smiled,

Thou tide of glory which no rest doth know,

But ever ebb and ever flow!

Thou golden show'r of a true Jove!

Who does in thee descend, and heaven to earth make love!
Hail

active Nature's watchful life and health!

Her joy, her ornament, and wealth!

Hail to thy husband, Heat, and thee!

Thou the world's beauteous bride! the lusty bridegroom he!

Say, from what golden quivers of the sky

Do all thy winged arrows fly?

Swiftness and Power by birth are thine;

From thy great Sire they come-thy Sire, the Word Divine.

Thou, in the moon's bright chariot, proud and gay

Dost thy bright wood of stars survey,

And all the year dost with thee bring

Of thousand flow'ry lights thine own nocturnal spring.

Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above

The Sun's gilt tent for ever move,

And still, as thou in pomp dost go,

The shining pageants of the world attend thy show.

The dramatic lyrists, Shakspere and Fletcher, have painted some of the characteristics of Morning with rainbow hues :

See, the day begins to break
And the light shoots like a streak
Of subtile fire; the wind blows cold,
While the morning doth unfold;
Now the birds begin to rouse,
And the squirrel from the boughs
Leaps, to get him nuts and fruit;
The early lark that erst was mute,
Carols to the rising day
Many a note and many a lay.

FLETCHER.

Shepherds, rise, and shake off sleep!
See, the blushing morn doth peep
Through the windows, while the sun
To the mountain-tops is run,

Gilding all the vales below
With his rising flames, which grow
Greater by his climbing still.
Up, ye lazy grooms, and fill
Bag and bottle for the field!
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
To the bitter north-east wind;
Call the maidens up, and find
Who lays longest, that she may
Go without a friend all day;
Then reward your dogs, and pray
Pan to keep you from decay:
So unfold, and then away!

After these, the modern sonnet sounds somewhat tame:--
'Tis not alone a bright and streaky sky—

Soul-cheering warmth—a spicy air serene—
Fair peeping flowers, nor dews that on them lie-
Nor sunny breadths topping the forest green-
That make the charm of Morning-thoughts as high,
As meek, and pure, live in that tranquil scene,
Whether it meet the rapt and wakeful eye

In vapoury clouds, or tints of clearest sheen.
If to behold, or hear, all natural things

In general gladness hail the blessed light-
Herds lowing-birds sporting with devious flight,
And tiny swarms spreading their powdery wings—
And every herb with dewy shoots up-springing-
If these be joys, such joys the Morn is ever bringing.

We may fitly conclude with Milton's noble Hymn:

So cheer'd he his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd,
But silently a gentle tear let fall

From either eye, and wiped them with her hair
Two other precious drops that ready stood,
Each in their crystal sluice, he, ere they fell,
Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse
And pious awe, that fear'd to have offended.
So all was clear'd, and to the field they haste.
But first, from under shady arb'rous roof,
Soon as they forth were come to open sight
Of day-spring, and the sun, who scarce up-risen,
With wheels yet hovering o'er the ocean brim
Shot parallel to the earth his dewy ray,
Discovering in wide landscape all the east
Of Paradise, and Eden's happy plains,
Lowly they bow'd, adoring, and began
Their orisons, each morning duly paid
In various style; for neither various style
Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise

FLETCHER.

ANON.

Their Maker, in fit strains pronounced or sung
Unmeditated, such prompt eloquence

Flow'd from their lips, in prose or numerous verse
More tuneable than needed lute or harp

To add more sweetness; and they thus began :-
These are thy glorious works, Parent of Good,
Almighty; thine this universal frame,

Thus wond'rous fair; thyself how wond'rous then!
Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens
To us invisible, or dimly seen

In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.
Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels-for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonics, 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 crown'st the smiling morr.
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 climb'st,
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st,
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies,

And ye five other wand'ring fires that move
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, muitiform, 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 streaming 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' uncolour'd 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's gate ascend,

Bear on your wings, and in your notes his praise.