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To reason, and on reason build resolve,
Attend their parent. Thou who didst put to flight
Primeval silence, when the morning stars

Exulting shouted o'er the rising ball;

Oh! thou whose word from solid darkness, struck That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul; My soul which flies to thee, her trust her treasure, As misers to their gold, while others sleep.

The bell strikes one.

But by its loss.

Is wise in man.

We take no note of time
To give it then a tongue

As if an angel spake

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright

It is the knell of my departed hours.

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. It is the signal that demands dispatch.

DAY AND NIGHT.

Gay.

WHEN the gay sun first breaks the shades of night,
And streaks the distant eastern hills with light,
Colour returns, the plains their livery wear,
And brightest verdure clothes the smiling year.
The blooming flowers with opening beauties glow,
And grazing flocks, their milk-white fleeces show.
The barren cliffs with chalky fronts arise,
And purest azure arches o'er the skies.
But when the gloomy reign of night returns,
Stript of her fading pride, all nature mourns;
The trees no more their wonted verdure boast,
But weep in dewy tears their beauty lost.

No distant landscape tempts our curious eyes,
Wrapt in night's robe the whole creation lies.
Yet still, e'en now, while darkness clothes the land,
We view the traces of th' Almighty's hand.
Millions of stars in heaven's wide vault appear,
And with new glories deck the boundless sphere.
The silver moon her western couch forsakes,
And o'er the skies her nightly circuit makes;
Her solid globe reflects the sun's fair rays,
And to the world her borrow'd light repays.

MIDNIGHT.

Akenside.

Lo, Midnight, from her starry reign,
Looks awful down on earth and main.
The tuneful birds lie hush'd in sleep,
With all that crop the verdant food,
With all that skim the the crystal flood,
Or haunt the caverns of the rocky steep.
No rushing winds disturb the tufted bowers;
No wakeful sound the moon-light valley knows,
Save where the brook its liquid murmur pours;
And lulls the silent scene to more profound repose.

MOONLIGHT.

Pope's Homer.

As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,

O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light; When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,

And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;

Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole;
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver every mountain's head;
Then shine the vales; the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies.
The conscious swains rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.

MOON OBSCURED BY CLOUDS.

Walter Scott.

THE moon is in her summer glow,
But hoarse and high the breezes blow,
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud
Varies the tincture of her shroud;
On Barnard's towers and Tees's stream,
She changes as a guilty dream,

When conscience, with remorse and fear,
Goads sleeping fancy's wild career.

Her light seem'd now the blush of shame,
Seem'd now fierce anger's darker flame;
Shifting that shade to come and go,
Like apprehension's hurried glow.
Then sorrow's livery dims the air,
And dies in darkness like despair.
Such varied hues the warder sees
Reflected from the woodland Tees.
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth
Sees the clouds mustering in the north;

Hears, upon turret, roof, and wall,
By fits the plashing rain-drop fall;
Lists to the breeze's boding sound,
And wraps his shaggy mantle round.

A TEMPESTUOUS NIGHT NEAR THE SEA.

THE night-flood rakes upon the stony shore;
Along the rugged cliffs and chalky caves
Mourns the hoarse ocean, seeming to deplore
All who lie buried in its restless waves.
Min'd by corrossive tides, the hollow rock
Falls prone, and, rushing from its turfy height,
Shakes the broad beach with loud resounding shock,
Fierce thundering on the ear of sullen night.
Above the desolate and stormy deep,

Gleams the wan moon by floating mists opprest,
And while all living things lie wrapt in sleep,
Silver the rolling waves that know nor peace nor

rest.

THE WHIRLWIND.

Dryden.

WHEN forth from gloomy clouds the Whirlwind

springs,

That bears the thunder on its dreadful wings,
Wide o'er the blasted fields the tempest sweeps,
Then, gather'd, settles on the hoary deeps;

Th' afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar,

The waves behind impel the waves before,

Wide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore.

NIGHT FAVOURABLE TO VIRTUE AND MEDITATION.

MAJESTIC Night!

Nature's great ancestor, Day's elder born,
And fated to survive the transient sun!
By mortals and immortals seen with awe!
A starry crown thy raven brow adorns,

Young.

An azure zone thy waist; clouds, in Heaven's loom
Wrought through varieties of shape and shade,
In ample folds of drapery divine,

Thy flowing mantle form; and, heaven throughout,
Voluminously pour thy pompous train.

Night is fair Virtue's immemorial friend.

The conscious moon, through every distant age,
Has held a lamp to Wisdom, and let fall,
On Contemplation's eye, her clearing ray.
Hail, precious moments! stolen from the waste
Of murder'd time! auspicious Midnight hail!
The world excluded, every passion hush'd,
And open'd a calm intercourse with heaven;
Here the soul sits in council; ponders past,
Predestines future action; sees, not feels,
Tumultuous life, and reasons with the storm.
What awful joy! what mental liberty!

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