A HOLY-DAY--the frugal banquet spread On the fresh herbage near the fountain head, With quips and cranks-what time the wood-lark there Scatters her loose notes on the sultry air. THE SUN. Most glorious art thou! when from thy pavilion Brightening the mountain cataract, dimly spied Through glittering mist; opening each dew-gemm'd flower, Or touching, in some hamlet, far descried, Its spiral wreaths of smoke that upward tower, Where birds their matin sing from many a leafy bower. And more magnificent art thou, bright Sun! Even to the centre of the vaulted sky, Thy beams pervade the heavens, and o'er them shed Hues indescribable-of gorgeous dye, Making among the clouds mute glorious pageantry. Then, then how beautiful across the deep The eye, unsated in its own despite, Still up that vista gazes; till thy way Over the waters seems a pathway bright For holiest thoughts to travel, there to pay Man's homage unto Him who bade thee "rule the Day." BARTON. WILD FLOWERS. A FILBERT-EDGE with wild-brier overtwined, That with a score of bright-green brethren shoots Round which is heard a spring head of clear waters, Prattling so wildly of its lovely daughters, By infant hands, left on the path to die. Ye ardent marigolds ! Dry up the moisture from your golden lids, For great Apollo bids That in these days your praises should be sung Of buds into ripe flowers. KEATS. |