A MAN I KNOW.

He owns neither houses nor lands,

His wealth is a character good;

A pair of industrious hands,

A drop of poetical blood.

He never of fortune complains,

Of parentage, learning, or birth;

The sweat of his brow, and his brains, Yield more than he asketh on earth.

A bark in a tempest-tossed sea,

Exposed to each treacherous whirl;

A dew-drop lit up on the lea;

A rude shell concealing a pearl.

Unknown-far too modest to know;

A floret of little perfume;

A star, yet unseen, by his glow

Content his own sphere to illume.

His bliss are his eventide hours;

His book, wife, and children his pride;

In joy they're his sweetest of flowers,

And angels when sorrows betide.

His home is the mansion of God;

His altar's where Beauty's enshrined;

His path is where forest trees nod;
His study's a cell in his mind.

Content in obscurity's nook,

His thoughts are prophetic and sage; And when Death has sealed up his book,

You'll wish you had scanned o'er a page.

THE REVERIE.

No sound was heard, a gentle hush
Silenced the earth, the sea, and air;
No lark rose from the moorland bare,
Or woodland rang with piping thrush.

The yellow leaf forsook the tree,

Leaving the trunk that gave it birth,
To sleep upon the silent earth,
In nature's soft tranquillity.

The orange moon lit up the mere,
The sun went down in scarletry,

And Venus, like a light at sea,

Shone on the idle windmill near.

The broad clouds wore their crimson bands,

All interspersed with rainbow dyes;
And, 'neath the rich autumnal skies,

The wavelets sported on the sands.

Alone upon the sea-girt shore,

Bathed in the glories of the scene,

With melting soul, and brow serene, A Poet stood, and asked no more.

Two lovers in the evening air,

A brawny lad and gentle lass,

Paced o'er the unresounding grass, Chanting their song in music rare.

Still there he stood, nor deigned to turn,

Caging his thoughts, new-flown from heaven,

And felt his soul to frenzy driven,

And fires of inspiration burn.

"O God!" he cried, "instruct a worm! Almighty, Good, and Uncreate,

Oh, teach me how to meditate Upon thy wonders multiform.”

He ceased: And as from yonder sphere
Strains came in tones of gentle love,
Which bade his ear instinctive move,

As 'twere an angel whispering near.

Was it an echo from above

Of anthem sung where seraphs fly,
Sweet music dropping from the sky,
And come to tune his soul to love?

It ceased, the lovers stole away,

They knew that spirit, lingering there,
Sublimely sang the great and rare,
In notes of sweetest roundelay.

And when he mixed again with men,
He sang with such seraphic tongue,
That all who heard his burning song,

Proclaimed 'twas writ with cherub's pen.

I

VOL. 1.