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JOHN DYER.

Proudly towering in the skies;
Rushing from the woods, the spires
Seem from hence ascending fires;
Half his beams Apollo sheds
On the yellow mountain-heads,
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rocks.

Below me trees unnumbered rise, Beautiful in various dyes: The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, The yellow beech, the sable yew, The slender fir that taper grows, The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs;

And beyond the purple grove,
Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love!
Gaudy as the opening dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,
On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wandering eye.
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood:
His sides are clothed with waving
wood,

And ancient towers crown his brow,
That cast an awful look below;
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps ;
So both a safety from the wind
In mutual dependence find.
"T is now the raven's bleak abode;
'Tis now the apartment of the toad;
And there the fox securely feeds;
And there the poisonous adder breeds,
Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds;
While, ever and anon, there fall
Huge heaps of hoary mouldered wall.
Yet Time has seen, - that lifts the low
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has seen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state.
But transient is the smile of Fate!
A little rule, a little sway,
A sunbeam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And see the rivers how they run, Through woods and meads, in shade and

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When will the landscape tire the view!
The fountain's fall, the river's flow;
The woody valleys, warm and low;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky;
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower;
The town and village, dome and farm, –
Each gives each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's southern side, Where the prospect opens wide, | Where the evening gilds the tide; How close and small the hedges lie! What streaks of meadow cross the eye!

sun,

Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, -
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life to endless sleep!
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wandering thought:
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.

Ever charming, ever new,

A step methinks may pass the stream,
So little distant dangers seem;
So we mistake the Future's face,
Eyed through Hope's deluding glass;
As yon summits, soft and fair,
Clad in colors of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear;
Still we tread the same coarse way,
The present's still a cloudy day.

O, may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see;
Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tamed, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul:
'Tis thus the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.

Now, even now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton Zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky,
Now, even now, my joys run high.

Be full, ye courts; be great who
will;

Search for Peace with all your skill:
Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor.

In vain you search; she is not there!
In vain you search the domes of Care!
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure, close allied,
Ever by each other's side;
And often, by the murmuring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is still
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

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ISAAC WATTS.

"O Yarrow fields! may never never rain | Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds,

Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, For there was basely slain my love,

And crown my careful head with willow. "Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved,

My love, as he had not been a lover.

O, could my warmth to life restore thee! Ye'd lie all night between my breasts,

No youth lay ever there before thee.

"The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,

His purple vest, 't was my ain sewing; Ah! wretched me! I little little kenned He was in these to meet his ruin.

"Pale pale, indeed, O lovely lovely youth, Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter,

"The boy took out his milk-white milk- And lie all night between my breasts, white steed, No youth shall ever lie there after."

Unheedful of my dule and sorrow, But e'er the to-fall of the night

He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

"Much I rejoiced that waeful waeful day;
I sang, my voice the woods returning,
But lang ere night the
Spear was flown
That slew my love, and left me mourn.

ing.

"What can my barbarous barbarous fa-
ther do,

But with his cruel rage pursue me?
My lover's blood is on thy spear,
How canst thou, barbarous man, then
Woo me?

"My happy sisters may be, may be proud;
With cruel and ungentle scoffin,
May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes
My lover nailed in his coffin.

"My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid,

And strive with threatening words to

move me,

My lover's blood is on thy spear,
How canst thou ever bid me love thee?

"Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, With bridal sheets my body cover, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door,

Let in the expected husband lover.

"But who the expected husband husband is?

His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter.

Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon, Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after?

"Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, O, lay his cold head on my pillow;

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Return, return, O mournful mournful
bride,

Return and dry thy useless sorrow:
Thy lover heeds naught of thy sighs,
He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

ISAAC WATTS.

[1674-1748.]

THE HEAVENLY LAND.

THERE is a land of pure delight,

Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,

And pleasures banish pain.
There everlasting spring abides,

And never-withering flowers;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides

This heavenly land from ours.

Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dressed in living green;
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
While Jordan rolled between.

But timorous mortals start and shrink
To cross this narrow sea,
And linger shivering on the brink,
And fear to launch away.

O, could we make our doubts remove,
These gloomy doubts that rise,
And see the Canaan that we love

With unbeclouded eyes,

Could we but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o'er,
Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold
flood,

Should fright us from the shore.

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