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Bless us, then, with wished sight,
Goddess excellently bright!
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,

And thy crystal-shining quiver;
Give unto thy flying hart

Space to breathe, how short soever;
Thou that makest a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright!

Ben Jonson.

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk; Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-ward had sunk. 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thy happiness,
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of Summer in full-throated ease.
Oh for a draught of vintage

Cooled a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sun-burned mirth! Oh for a beaker full of the warm South,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouthThat I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim.

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.

95

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known -The weariness, the fever, and the fret;

Here, where men sit and hear each other groanWhere palsy shakes a few sad, last gray hairs

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and diesWhen but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs;
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-

morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull braip perplexes and retards : Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry Fays;

But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild :

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ;
Fast-fading violets, covered up in leaves;

And mid-May's oldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of bees on summer eves.

Darkling I listen ; and for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take.into the air my quiet

, breath; Now, more than ever, seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight, with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad,

In such an ecstasy !
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird !

No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home. She stood in tears amid the alien corn :

The same that oft-times hath
Charmed magic casements opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn.

Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell,

To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! Adieu! the Fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf! Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision or a waking dream ?
Fled is that music-do I wake or sleep?

John Keats.

NEW BOOKS,

JUST PUBLISHED BY

BUNCE & HUNTINGTON,

No. 540, BROADWAY, NEW YORK.

I. WHAT TO DO WITH THE COLD MUTTON. A Book

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III. OUR FARM OF TWO ACRES. By HARRIET MARTINEAU.

Although resembling in title a book published a few years ago, this little book is entirely new. The experiences it records are highly entertaining and suggestive. Paper cover, 48 pp. Price 20 cts.

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A third volume, entitled “Golden Leaves from the Dramatic Poets,” isin preparation.

VI.
THE MECHANICS, MACHINISTS', AND ENGINEERS'

PRACTICAL BOOK OF REFERENCE. By CHARLES HASLETT,
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Any book on this list sent by mail, post free, on receipt of price.

540, BROADWAY, NEW YORK.

HAVE JUST READY :

THE

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A RECORD OF THE

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ABRAHAM LINCOLN:

AN HORATIAN ODE.

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8vo, paper. Price 25 cents.

SOLDIERS LETTERS:

A Collection of Letters
FROM SOLDIERS, BOTH OFFICERS AND PRIVATES,

Relating their
PERSONAL ADVENTURES IN THE GREAT REBELLION.

EDITED BY LYDIA MINTURN Post.
The letters contained in this volume were collected by a Committee of
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They relate those thrilling incidents of heroic adventure and self-sacrificing patriotism, and those peculiar experiences of the MARCH, the BATTLE, and the CAMP, not to be found in the general public accounts; thereby affording a most vivid inside view of the War—the hardships, adventures, triumphs, and sufferings of our noble band of Northern heroes, told in their own simple, unaffected, but graphic language. One vol. 12mo, 468 pp., cloth, gilt back and side. ' Price $200. BUNCE & HUNTINGTON, PUBLISHERS,

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