It shoots athwart our visions, like the gleam IV. 'Tis piety alone that can impart A peace of mind that ne'er will fade away, Then yet may pleasure dwell in earthly bower, Though man buds, blooms, and withers like a summer flower. William Anderson. EVENING SONG OF THE TYROLESE PEASANTS. Come to the sun-set tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.. The twilight-star to heaven, And the summer-dew to flowers, And rest to us is given, By the cool soft evening hours. Sweet is the hour of rest! Pleasant the wind's low sigh, And the gleaming of the west, And the turf whereon we lie; When the burden and the heat And kindly voices greet The tired one at his door. Come to the sun-set tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, Yes-tuneful is the sound That dwells in whispering boughs; Welcome the freshness round, And the gale that fans our brows.. TO MARY. Here's a health to thee, Mary, Here's a health to thee; The drinkers are gone, And I am alone, To think of home and thee, Mary. There are some who may shine o'er thee, Mary, And many as frank and free, And a few as fair; But the summer air Is not more sweet to me, Mary. I have thought of thy last low sigh, Mary, And thy dimmed and gentle eye; And I've called on thy name Be thou but true to me, Mary, And at set of sun, When my task is done, Be sure that I'm ever with thee, Mary. Barry Cornwall. BATTLE OF TALAVERA. Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? Red battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. Lo! where the giant on the mountain stands, eye Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now anon Flashing afar, and at his iron feet Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done; |