Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, • O, why should this thy soul elate? Sweet Music's loudest note, the poet's story, Didst thou ne'er love to hear of Fame and Glory? And is not War a youthful king, A stately hero clad in mail? Beneath his footsteps laurels spring; Him earth's majestic monarchs hail Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye 'Tell this in some more courtly scene, And therefore is my soul elate. War is a ruffian, all, with guilt defiled, 'A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, Steals all his widow's toil had won; Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day. Then wisely is my soul elate, That strife should vanish, battle cease; I'm poor and of a low estate, The Mother of the Prince of Peace. Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn: Peace, peace on earth, the Prince of Peace is born.' COLERIDGE. HYMN BEFORE SUN RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNY. Besides the rivers Arvé and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mount Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the glaciers, the gentiana major grows in immense numbers, with its 'flowers of loveliest blue.' HAST thou a charm to stay the morning star Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form! O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee, Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thoughts, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy: Into the mighty vision passing—there, As in her natural form, swell'd vast to heaven! Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale! O struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink : And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came), "Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?" 2 Ye ice-falls! Ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amainTorrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?— Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! Ye lively flowers that skirt the' eternal frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the element! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise! Once more, hoar mount! with thy sky pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure se rene, Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast- COLERIDGE. VOL. I. F CHORUS OF HEBREW FEMALES, IMPLORING JEHOVAH TO AVERT THE FALL OF KING of Kings! and Lord of Lords! O'er all the hills of Palestine. No! by the marvels of thine hand, |