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Lit up the dull and cheerless scene,
That late one blaze of light had been,
Save where some cottage taper bright
Broke through the growing gloom of night.

But suddenly there gleamed on high
Upon that dim and shadowy sky,
Over the western hills afar,
A brilliant, solitary star,

So clear and fair, 'twas like a gem
From some celestial diadem.

And, like a beacon-fire on shore,
That shines the waste of waters o'er,
By some benighted crew descried
When pilotless they roam the tide,
That star awoke within my heart
A joy that shall not soon depart.

Oh! beauteous are the charms of morn,
When growing beams the hills adorn ;
And lovely is the noontide hour,
When all is full of life and pow'r :
But neither noon nor morning bears
So sweet a grace as evening wears.

And, like the Sabbath, which bestows
Upon the week a soothing close,
So to the day the evening brings
Repose and comfort on its wings,
And sheds on hearts by toil opprest

The heaven-born joys of peace and rest.

THE NIGHTINGALE.

"He that should hear, as I have, the clear airs of the nightingale, the sweet descants, the rising and falling of her voice, might well be lifted above the earth, and say, 'Lord, what music hast Thou provided for Thy saints in heaven, when Thou hast given bad men such music here on earth?"-Izaak Walton.

I

N gath'ring gloom around,

The daylight fades from view ;

And on the thirsty ground

Descends the welcome dew;
While earth and air hail with delight

The gentle presence of the night.

The stars, with rays of gold,

Spangle the azure sky ;

Till, beauteous to behold,

Mounting in state on high,

The full-orbed moon, with brilliant beam,
Is mirrored in the crystal stream.

The flow'rs that deck the day
Their weary petals close;
The birds their lightsome lay

Have hushed into repose;

Whilst slumber seems all else to bind
Save babbling brook and whisp'ring wind.

But, hark! a voice I hear
From yonder thicket swell,

So pure, so calm, so clear,
It seems to cast a spell,

Surpassing strong, and yet so light, O'er sleeping earth and heavens bright.

With ripple light and low,

Doth the swift brook rejoice;
Unwearied is its flow,

And merry is its voice :
But happier glides the strain along
Of that unhesitating song.

Over the meadow-grass,

And underneath the trees,
With rustle soft, doth pass

The newly-wakened breeze :

But sweeter on the ear there floats
The sound of those melodious notes.

Mysterious bird of night,

Thou hidden fount of joy,

What sources of delight

Thy ceaseless tongue employ?

Thou seemest, with thy music grand,

Some spirit of the better land.

Oh! welcome is to me

The song of ev'ry bird :
But none compares with thee

Of all I ever heard ;

And more than all thy strain I love,

Thou minstrel of the slumb'ring grove.

WH

THE ROBIN.

HEN some heavy storm of winter
Passes from the darkened sky,

And the clouds in broken masses
Fast across the heavens fly;

When some fitful gleam of sunshine
Breaks the gloom that hangs around,
While the droppings of the shower
Patter thickly to the ground;

Often have I heard a robin,

Perched upon some lofty tree, Pour, in outbreak loud and sudden, Strains of sweetest melody.

Like some heaven-inspired singer,

In an hour of dark despair,

Soothing with his holy music

Hearts oppressed with pain and care;

Like some hopeful, fleet forerunner

Of the joys of coming spring.

Oh! I cannot but be happy

When I hear the robin sing.

Many a bird that all the summer
Carolled gaily every day,

At the first approach of winter,

Flies to warmer lands away.

D

But not thus the faithful robin :
Winter, with its snow-drift white,
Draws him nearer to our houses,

Makes him dearer to our sight.

Other birds, when all is pleasant,
Sing the leaves and flowers among ;
But, when leaves and flowers are withered,
Hush the music of their song.

But not so this merry minstrel :
Though in summer seldom heard,

In the dreary days of winter

All his soul to speech is stirred.

Thanks to thee, thou cheerful robin,
For the lesson thou dost give!

May I, with a grateful spirit,

Learn from thee the way to live!

Thus, when fast around is fading
All that once was fresh and fair,
When misfortune gathers o'er me,
And the heavy gloom of care;

Still, in patient hope abiding, .
May I watch the tempest fall,
And, like thee, when dark days lower,
Boldly meet and face them all!

And, like thee, though silent often
When the gay and merry sing,
While the happy fields of summer

With their tuneful voices ring;

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