The Land of Song Volume Ii Part 21

MORNING.

Oh! timely happy, timely wise, Hearts that with rising morn arise!

Eyes that the beam celestial view, Which evermore makes all things new!

New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove; Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life, and power, and thought.

New mercies, each returning day, Hover around us while we pray; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of G.o.d, new hopes of Heaven.

JOHN KEBLE.

EVENING.

Shepherds all, and maidens fair, Fold your flocks up, for the air 'Gins to thicken, and the sun Already his great course has run.

See the dewdrops how they kiss Every little flower that is, Hanging on their velvet heads, Like a rope of crystal beads.

See the heavy clouds low falling, And bright Hesperus down calling The dead night from underground, At whose rising, mists unsound, Damps and vapors fly apace, Hovering o'er the wanton face Of these pastures, where they come Striking dead both bud and bloom.

Therefore from such danger lock Every one of his loved flock; And let your dogs lie loose without, Lest the wolf come, as a scout From the mountain, and ere day Bear a kid or lamb away; Or the crafty thievish fox Break upon your simple flocks.

To secure yourselves from these, Be not too secure in ease.

So shall you good shepherds prove, And deserve your master's love.

Now, good night! may sweetest slumbers And soft silence fall in numbers On your eyelids; so, farewell; Thus I end my evening knell.

JOHN FLETCHER.

SONG.

Orpheus with his lute made trees And the mountain tops that freeze Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.

Everything that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by.

In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

A FAREWELL.

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver: No more by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, A rivulet, then a river: Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree, And here thine aspen shiver; And here by thee will hum the bee, For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee.

A thousand moons will quiver; But not by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

TO A MOUSE.

ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOW.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earthborn companion, An' fellow mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!

A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin; Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!

An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green!

An' bleak December's winds ensuin', Baith snell and keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' weary winter comin' fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till, crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!

Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley, An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain, For promis'd joy.

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!

The present only toucheth thee: But, och! I backward cast my e'e, On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear.

ROBERT BURNS.